THAT MAN OF DIFFERENT FACES
CRUEL
Do you commit a mortal sin by being cruel to others,
or is it more grave when you do it to yourself?
Just as I've thought.
That boy—no, I shall call him wimp—does not yet know the truth of this world.
He thinks that by playing it safe,
he would be able to live a peaceful, normal life.
I laugh every time I think about it.
Who on this earth leads a normal life?
So I push him.
I push him hard.
He always thinks I know everything that will happen,
and that I know what to do when it happens.
But the truth is…I don't.
I didn't know what happened to the others
or where they've gone to,
(I didn't really care much,
except that I want to see them when the time comes
to go back to our normal selves)
just as I don't know what to do once I've returned to normal.
Should I continue being a hitman?
Perhaps, after so long, I have tired of it.
But then again, that would be running away from the problem.
Which is exactly what that wimp is always doing
and what I hate the most.
I hate that wimp.
Because he reminds me of the escape I had so cowardly done.
So I tell myself—and I make sure I tell him too, in a scary way—that
he, that wimp who has so much potential to be both a nobody and a somebody,
should not make the same mistake as me.
He should be stronger.
He should not run away.
He should not forget.