Maybe
"Maybe they were right," I thought silently as the rain poured down my face. Slowly I walked on down the street, not really caring where I was going. I had nothing to do now, nowhere to go as long I was here. My only comfort was knowing that this was my last night on Earth before I returned to space, to the Sweeper Group. I sighed as my pace slowed. What was the point to all this, this thing called life? Was it all merely a feeling, an illusion created by our carnal lust to survive? For the first time I realized that I didn't really understand what life was. All I understood was death, blood, and war. But where does a soldier go when there is nothing but peace? Yes, I was a soldier, no matter what else I made of my life. In confusion I swore under my breath. There was that word again…life. It was a word that had no meaning for me, for those around me. Shaking off an on-coming shiver I laughed, I'm always laughing. What would the others do if they knew I thought this deeply? Would they understand that laughter itself is not happiness? I chuckle again; no, they wouldn't get it…they refuse to. I'm the one that sees the bright side all the time because they can't see it for themselves. There are days I wonder why I act so happy even though I'm not. Then I look at their faces and remember that I have to laugh or else my friends wouldn't know what life is. I swear again. Why do I keep coming back to the understanding of life? Why is that so important? Maybe I used to know, maybe I cared once. I keep trying to convince myself that I don't give a dung heap about what it all means…but really I do. I stop walking and look up at the stars. For some reason all those little lights remind me of Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. They used to tell me that God made the sun, the moon, the earth, and the stars. I'm not sure I believe in God anymore, or if I ever did. Someone once told me that people die because of sin, because people have free will. They said that if God simply told us what to do He would be taking away one of His greatest gifts: The right to choose, to be human instead of a flesh-covered machine. That made more sense than just being told that God won't control people just because that's how He is. Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me; they walk in a pattern I recognize. Shrugging it off I continue to gaze at the stars, lost in thought until a voice breaks my contemplation.
"We've been looking for you," Trowa states flatly, though his voice wavers a little. Perhaps he realizes that he has broken a moment of intense searching.
"I know," is all I feel like telling him, for once not wanting to say anymore. He nods and turns to leave, expecting me to follow, though I don't. Slowly he looks over his shoulder at me.
"What are you thinking about?"
For a moment there is silence as I let the rain continue to soak me. I can see their faces still: Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, the un-forgotten angel who explained things so well. Quickly I shake off the mental vertigo, tearing my eyes from the sky. I nod at my friend and we begin to walk, though I can feel him glancing at me in a sideways stare. Tiredly I look at him and mumble an answer he will never understand, " I think that maybe they were right."