The Judge's pure white fur swayed gently in the breeze, almost indistinguishable from the now-colorless land that used to be Zone 0. What a fool he was to sit on the sidelines as she and her puppet purged the world of all that stood in the way. Of course, the Judge had only been created to fill the role as a neutral party, but he could have stopped that horrible Batter before he "purified" the Zones. No, this wasn't purity, this was fascism; forcing those brainless drones to do whatever those above them wanted them to. In this case, dying. Although the Judge felt guilty to admit, he did loathe those Elsen. They hadn't had a creative cell in their brain. But what was left of his conscience had told him even the most hated of acquaintances deserved a right to live. And the Batter had taken that away so effortlessly.
It suddenly felt so ironic that the strange cat still had a Cheshire smile plastered across his face. What an odd change of mood. What has caused such static emotions to falter? Such a weighing depression only previously experienced when Valerie's frail body was revealed to host that feather-shedding deviant. Perhaps if I had resided in a different form I would shed a tear. But by the laws of nature I shall remain a feline, with eternally dry eyes and an eternally inappropriate grin.
Is this feeling sadness? How long it has been since I incorporated such a simple term in sentence, yet its definition matches my thought so perfectly. I yearn to screech at an eardrum-bursting volume. I yearn to confide in those who have been bereaved as I have. Not only of a brother, but of a home, a place that's palette was much fuller than a lone, boring hue, one so similar to my own. What if I have been drained of my color as well? Am I only the aftermath of an abused character, his purpose so non-existent that the artist found it pointless to even finalize the sketch? It seems incredibly more likely now than it did before the Batter reared his empty face in our direction.
Oh Batter, what would you have done if your life force still remained? Why had you not swung your bat of false purification at me one last time, now that your strings are no longer attached? Your puppeteer has broken away from you. She is lost now-what is she without her doll?
I could say, if I resorted to your form of speech, that I have purified you, although I believe the phrase does no justice. I have not purified you; I have killed you. I eliminated any chance of you realizing true purity. However, I speak with confidence when I say that you have brought this fate upon yourself, Batter. You became ruthless-murderous, even-to achieve your tainted perception of a perfect world. You were determined enough to kill your own wife and child, and those who had dedicated themselves to preserving the ruins of what you destroyed. Can you rest in peace knowing you classified that switch with the correct amount of significance? What would occur if you were to rise from the grave to flip it? I will put these inquiries of mine to rest as I silently bid you goodbye, Batter. I shall sleep contented for eternity knowing that the switch is not, and will never be, off.
The Judge sat perched atop the skyscraping building. He observed the faraway earth, numbers of yards below his measly feet. The peculiar cat wore his extravagant smile one last time…