Cynical

I've always hated people in general and myself specifically, and I suppose I'll never be able to understand exactly why. Perhaps it's because I never placed any value on my life. Who would? I'm a horrible person, inside. They can talk about how beautiful, almost ethereal, my physical appearance is, but they can never scratch the surface of the true darkness deep in my heart.

I'm not a nice person. I think that's become apparent quite recently. I have a heavy hatred in my heart, It's a giant iron shackle clasped around my soul which prohibits others from entering and myself from escaping. It's a shackle called cynicism.

I can't recall when I began to loose faith in the world, but at some point in time I did. It was a gradual decline into this cursed atheism, a slight break in faith here, another there, until I was falling. I had thought that Koumyo Sanzo, the man who was almost a father to me, could have restored some degree of faith in me, but such a wish was infinitely naïve and foolish. It was that night, that night of change full of brutal slaughter that I realized something. You can't depend on anyone to save you but yourself.

Strength is the only thing that matters. Strength to live alone, strength to save yourself from peril, strength to resist useless emotions.

I had almost forgotten that, until now, lying in this gritty sand almost completely incapacitated while a raging battle full of unbridled emotion occurs around me. It reminds me of that rainy night so long ago when the full weight of my utter powerlessness hit me.

When you can't protect the ones you love, it's easier just to shut off the whole world.

…and shut off the whole world I did.

To hold nothing. If you meet the Buddha kill the Buddha. If you meet your father, kill your father. Free of everything, not bound by anything, live your life just as it is.

Why is it that this motto is so hard to follow anymore? I try to push them away, I try to push them all away, and yet they only have to look at me with those stubborn eyes and I'm once again drawn into a world full of laughter and light.

It's quite disgusting. I'd rather remain in this gray monotony I have the audacity to call my life. Here it's safe, here no one can be taken away. If there's nothing to loose, you can't be hurt, but still, there's this feeling…

…inexplicable…

…unerringly frustrating…

When I think about these comrades of mine, these burdens of mine, being injured, raindrops start falling in my head. I hate the rain. It symbolizes all of those good, caring things that I left behind.

Yeah, I lie here, immobile, in the midst of a waterless land but I can still hear the falling rain.

Dear Koumyo Sanzo, if you could see me now, what would you think?

I'm getting sick of myself. I think it's time to give up. I want to drop this wall of cynicism.

Dear Koumyo Sanzo, I think I'm getting better.

Author's notes Sanzo's voice. It's great, after almost an entire year I'm finally done, and I realize just how craptastic my writing is. Ah well, I believe I shall work on some of my other works in progress after I post this. Told ya, I'm not dead.