Disclaimer: *shrugs* I owe nothing…..i juss borrow….comprende?
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Water slithered down my body. It feels familiar—standing here in the midst of the rubble and wreckage of what must have been a prosperous city. I don't feel cold at all. Instead I am refreshed as the rain hovers above me. It's weird how I always find myself returning within the limits of this forsaken planet—the small blue bead of earth. Maybe it has something to do with my impeccable attachment with the past. The drops of rain and the bareness of the ground eagerly mingled together with ease; forming puddles of muddied water.
It reminds me of how my memories are like. They are like reflections on murky waters. Shimmer of broken images gathering at a random manner, only to dissipate back to where they had come from. There are times when it is only pervaded by the darkness, voices ringing out into a cacophonic sound that echoes throughout my mind, alleviating the distortion of the images. It is like a dream that continues to unfold—as if I was peeling an onion—layer through layer, unwanted tears streaking my thoughts, searching for the truth that is also synonymous to ambiguity.
I don't remember why I wanted to find out what my former life was like. What importance is it to me now? I'm still at the same position as I was before I had invoked the truths of my past. I am still submerged in the shadows, wallowing at the emptiness of this vessel; deprived of my rightful stipend. This is what happens when men play God. They ruin the natural order of things. Death would have marked the bestowing of an eternally peaceful sleep to my weary body. Instead life was pumped into my lifeless body and awakened at a time where I do not belong.
Maybe that's what he felt too. He felt as if he no longer belonged with the living. His scrawny frame often moved fluidly—that careless manner in which he carried himself. A grin framing a face that has lost its hope, his mind floating in a dream as he trudge haggardly among people. He took great care to wear a mask of nonchalance, yet deep down he too was hurting.
Nevertheless, he belonged among the stars of the night, prepared to catch his falling angel. His thoughts were often to her as mine were often to him. We were like streams that detachedly flowed to the ocean, searching for something; yearning to be found. But his memories, they never floated on sordid waters as mine had; his floated on fresh, clear waters. Right from the beginning, he knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed.
Before he left he told me he wanted to find out whether he was still alive. But he knew—both he and I knew—that he still was. What he wanted was peace that could never be parted from him again—a sleep that sustained dreams that never ended.
Maybe I should have tried harder to stop him. But who was I to stand in the way of a man walking to his death—walking to his peaceful sleep—walking to the same place I wanted to go—walking to where I should have already been? I didn't want to be a hypocrite. If that choice was taken away from me, at least I didn't take that away from him.
But sometimes I wonder. If I had thrown all my effort to stop him, would I still be here? Here on earth, walking among rubble and wreckage? Here in the rain, searching for something? Gazing at the wretchedness of what was once a beautiful place, but where I now fit in with its acquired bleak state?
I walk steadily to where I had parked the red tail. Hunger seizing my thoughts. Maybe I should try to catch a bounty. Or maybe a more decent job. It rains even harder now, seemingly as if the heavens are now crying uncontrollably. Maybe I should go back here tomorrow. I look around. The possibilities of 'what could have's and 'what might have's linger on my thoughts—the rain would not wash it away. I shut my eyes, relishing the familiarity of the water sliding down my skin. Hoping that I would not find the need to return here again. But I know I will. I always do.