Scarred
This is the work of a pesturing idea that wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Definiately not one of my better works but I like the way it came together.
Yet another fic of mine delving into Reno's thoughts. Hope you like
Children aren't born scarred. They enter this world bouncy, healthy and unblemished. Over the years as they grow older they may begin to collect some scars. A small nick on the hand where they cut it on a stone, or a rough piece of skin on the knee where they fell over. They usually grin proudly at them, show them off to their friends. Trophies of their bravery.
My point is, children think scars can be cool, they compare marked skin to each other and regale on how they got them. I wish I could be like that. I'm sure you have noticed these two scars on my face, one hideous strike on each cheek bone.
I could regale you with my tale on how I got them. Would you like to hear it? After all, your job is to find out as much as you can about my past, so you can make bull shit conclusions on my personality and behaviours. These two scars remind me constantly on how close I came to death. When my parents were brutally murdered.
I have more scars than I can count. Most aren't on my body either. It's easy to scar a mind. Traumatic experiences, grisly sights and horrifying moments can scar a child easier than just breaking the skin.
Hearing as the bullets tear through your father like he was silk and watching your mother painfully die will hurt a child more than anything. Yes, that is how my parents died, do you want me to wait a moment whilst you scribble all this down in your notepad?
Scars like that can be seen though. It's in the eyes. You look at every inhabitant of the slums and you will see every scar their mind holds… Stop staring at my eyes. I doubt you can see them, you just read behaviour, not how people feel.
Rude is pretty scarred too, maybe not in the same way I am but he is, maybe even more so than me. You see, my scars are on my skin and in my eyes, Rude's are in his personality. The reason he doesn't talk much, he has some in his eyes too, not that anyone has seen them. I doubt even he remembers what his eyes look like anymore.
Being a Turk is to become scarred. They just don't write that in the binding contract. I mean, how can anyone kill people for a living and not become emotionally scarred? I see them at night, the people I've murdered, the mother and baby each with a bullet through the skull, the young girl fried on the end of my EMR, countless people. I see them all at night. They're waiting for me you know. Waiting for that inevitable mission where I don't make it back alive when they can inflict the pain I caused them back upon me. Kind of gives you a motive to live doesn't it?
Rude has a crowd waiting for him to join them, not as big as mine but they're still there. I've seen the crinkle on his face when he sleeps, the frown on his brow as soon as he wakes. He's frightened to die just the same as I am.
The rookie, 'Lena suffers more than me and Rude put together, although her tally of murders is nothing compared to ours. She wears a mask during the day, cold and emotionless on a job, and chirpy when not. Her fear penetrates the mask at night when she sleeps. The nightmares hurt her almost physically, I know she takes sleeping pills. It hurts me. Everyone we kill is slowly killing us in return.
All these scars upon our bodies have already been inflicted, and the scars are just a mark to remind us. But the scars on our souls, we're going to receive our injuries for them in hell.
What do you think? Again should I just shoot my muses in the foot and barricade them in the wardrobe?
