Wufei's Day of Sorrow
I have a box in which I place all of my sorrows. A lock of hair, a scrap of paper, a piece of gundanium alloy. These are my sorrows, my memories, my reminders that I survived and others did not. They all mark important moments in my life. A marriage ended before it began, the diploma that was to precede a life of intellectual pursuit, the crafted friend and warrior whom I betrayed and then destroyed in an explosion that seem to rain tears of fire.
My box of sorrow.
I watched a man die today. I didn't know him well. I felt his passing and closed his eyes and made a note to mark the time.
Man down, now gone; a life briefly held and quickly lost.
I watched as agents around me cried and swore, blood dripping and mixing with tears. I listened as they called me a cold bastard who offered no comfort. I gave no solace and accepted their anger, and ordered them to move on.
I am not an easy man. Chang Wufei is not a name associated with warmth and the close companionship of friends and family. Alliances are made and tentatively maintained.
Patience is a virtue I never had the patience to master.
We are not at war, but we still fight for peace. We take an oath to uphold that ideal and our lives are forfeit. One soul in the place of many, one spark of sadness in a sea of calm. I would give my life for the same, as that man did today.
Yet I feel their anger; I know their pain. I know what they think. I see the look in their eyes, eyes full of grief, anger, disgust, bitterness and hatred. All for me to hold and carry and accept as my burden.
I did my job.
I brought them home.
The day is done; the door is closed. Like myself, the walls have little comfort to offer.
I close my eyes and hold my breath and let myself grieve.
And then I take ink to paper, write a name I never got to know, and added it to my box of sorrow.
