By: New Order
From: Low-Life (1985)
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— No... No no no... You ain't human! YOU AIN'T HUMAAARGH!
And you have been blessed by ignorance, my friend. Also a heart attack.
Now, where I was? Still the same Lindblum, albeit unseen by many who travel here. Tourists who tour around the streets, fat bodies too tight for these kinds of alleys. Dark, covered in soot alike chimneys, the few ones left, unlike my people. They came to stay, most of them. So do the thieves, but they already were hanging around since coins were made. Same for the alphabet, distributed by a few schools. The right way of speaking, the one that appears on books, theather pieces, the tongue of a rich wearing a wig filled in of fleas. Geez, these nights have taken the best out of me. Except life, since the reason to... So much death. These thieves fainted before me, as I can feel one of their pulses, and a stink coming out of their mouths. Empty of words, full of spit. And a few scars left, but that happens.
It's only natural for a burmecian to share of claws. But a church to pray for a god, untouchable unlike the spear once in hand, is something else. To lie as well. Where have I gotten this amount of money, they ask. I only say that's worthy for charity, but I can't say this same amount of gils will be enough for Jack to see soon. He wouldn't like to see what I do, and too young to understand why. Too old for relying on fantasies. At the moment, this Dragoon Knight here tries to forget when invading a private institution used to be considered an act of dishonor by her part. One more won't do that much of a difference. Dishonor, disorder, disentery... all the same, belonging to a world already covered in filthy, alike this coat. My name is on it, so do the blood a few times. Before he came to be a bedtime story to scary children, Lord Gizamaluke wore red on the battlefield, only for his men not care about when he bleeded.
A familiar scent covers this room. It's so clean, unlike those who step on it. Not only counting me, but the ones who survived the disaster, which I could have prevented had I been smart. Stronger I already am, but... I'm a liar. I couldn't have done nothing for Cleyra. Besides paying a visit, and I didn't even had time to say goodbye. Not that any of these choices made a difference. A difference that meant something more. There were mages, soldiers, the enemy who appeared in the skies, the troops who left the place by using a portal, which I and the party whom I followed choose. Zidane and Vivi are somewhere else, I can't be sure if Quina really cares about what happened, the princess of Alexandria almost got killed, and with the eidolons extracted out of her, many were killed by the fire with the shape of a mushroom. These can be found attached on the woods, sucking their lives.
A single, giant mushroom, made of fire and smoke not as white as the one I feel running throught my nose. Guess Lindblum should thank its reconstruction due my people. Althought they have being paid less than others, the work is done. That's what matters, a postcard to share with all your friends. Burmecia have none, neither I. Didn't knew who was this Jack, or his brother Adam. Children who were born soon as I left the Kingdom of eternal rain, but sorrow can be found anywhere. Like people, in the streets, in the graveyards, it's all the same. Became the same, now that's something different. Problem with people is that everyone wants the same to be the same. Sometimes the moon is blue, other times is red, and there are those who care why it is, and those who do not give a shit. And sorry if I was a bit rude in the last part... yes, there are those scumbags who want to be correct too.
An interest to be correct, you mean. Soon I've learned that there is no good or bad, only interests. Queen Brahne ain't 'evil' by law, althought she and her actions made me cry. Fratley was a 'good' man, and by seeing him laying there, not knowing who he is, or the size of the wounds left on his skin and beneath... I don't know why I cried. Was I happy, or sad, both? Nothing seems to surprise me. Sure, I may get caught by surprise, feel my beat dislocate only a bit, yawn and cry due pressure, feel a relief and take a sit, walk in circles when I could dig a hole and put my head there. My screams would still be unheard. It ain't polite to shout inside a building whose walls make echoes come back to you, and others who might have an ear ache, or no ears at all. The worst part is witnessing amputated members and where they turn out to be gone after, and to not feel anything.
Sure, I feel something. But it ain't the same for his, With my hand found upon Fratley's chin, I can feel its fever. He doesn't complain, due the effect of sedactives. A sweet tea that made him talk groggy, and I to follow with a hush. Hushhhhh... don't forget the 'feel better soon' part. By tomorrow, you mean? Do I have all the time in the world? As much as this world have a time left, even after all that happened. The world doesn't have eyes like Atlas, that giant who's sustaining it. Father was my Atlas, but since he's gone... well, you learn nothing with history. Only the names change, and the clocks on a square to another are late by minutes, or half minutes. It's eight thirty, time to sleep. I do not, but Jack and Adam are forced to by their mother. She's weak, unlike those words. They do not order, but explain the why of a good night of sleep. A slap won't do that much to someone whose heart is already hurt.
To think Jack and Adam are part of the only few children here... no, don't think about the children, as much as you do not know how to grate a High Priestess. Someone who shouldn't had been alive, like the rest. Kildea share only of a few burns in her face, and new clothes. There haven't been a plenty of donations sent to this place, since everyone wants to keep the food and cloth who remained by themselves, except those who are selling it. They do not sell money, only when you're asking to die. There are better ways to ask for it, and there are people who haven't asked for anything. Some that can't say anything at all. The explosion was too loud, and with screams went unheard, all that is left to is wonder. I do not ask for Kildea how her legs had been replaced by a pair of wheels, but it's hard to not keep watching.
— Excuse me, but where did you have gotten this wheelchair, Reverend Kildea? – I asked, for the sake of putting an end to my curiosity. Another attempt, which I failed to accomplish.
— Well, the engineers who came for our aid were kind to build new legs for me – though, I can still see the old ones, and I wonder, for one of those whom I have left behind...
— Will your legs heal soon?
— I'm not sure, Lady Freya. But the wheels can be fixed anytime, so you know.
— I hope they do. You deserve to walk once again.
— Why do you think it so, Lady Freya? – asked Kildea, as if being buried alive was nothing else. So do losing your limbs, but they're still there with you.
— Uh, I mean... – I know Kildea is strong, even on her own, but against all kinds of odds? – I wonder how you go upstairs, Reverend Kildea.
— It's not that hard, but since you are here to lend me a hand – both hands. I hold the High Priestess as we walk upstairs, where it lies her room, so do the bells above. They haven't rang for a while, despite being covered of dried bird poo, so do these stairs. Fortunately, their scent can't be felt, but the noise reminds something alike stepping upon gravel and hail, though I can't feel nothing, neither Kildea does, other than being holded by my arms. When I look to her face, and later to her body, I perceive that Kildea ain't that old. In fact, she is as young as I and Learie do.
But young people know each other. I haven't met both of them until I went back to Burmecia and Cleyra. Now I will never do, since there's none left. Like rats in a boat, we can be found everywhere, wearing of different clothes. Althought a High Priestess and a Dragoon Knight may look different to each, we do not hold of weapons on our hands. I do not, most the time. They can be found and bought easily on the market, mixed with another element on the synthesis shop. Decorations, for mere tools, but the man inside the knight had to be inspired. And the woman too. Angels hanging on the walls, with wings whose feathers do not fall, and a A nice view of the streets coming from this room. Same streets where I walked upon to see nothing but the same decay I can see in that mirror. Smoke comes out of the mouths as they did before and after the attack promoted by Alexandria.
Out of the many places invaded, they do not come here. Yet, they didn't cared about our god's house, and the people who prayed there. Or those who had been put on sleep. Except for me, everyone is on its own sleep. I'm so tired, but I don't give up. Or maybe I am reckless enough to not afford a faint, or to put another to faint instead of me. And when I couldn't do nothing but squirm like a worm into sunlight, hoping to faint or for it to stop in any way... I'm so tired. Good night, Lindblum, because I'll be out for a while. It took me five years to come back home, without fullfilling of Fratley's wish, or ever finding what was that about. The nations powering themselves, making holes on Gaia as they do on its people, a volcan who bleeds and burns those around it, until they become statues. But following an explosion, and its heat, comes the snowflakes who tastes like ashes.
I do not believe your entire life passes throught your eyes soon as you're about to die.
But if it does... so much happens throught life, after all.
But little, I mean, a little inch that matters.
Who am I? Why am I here? Why do and for what I struggle to?
My attempts to tie both sides of life past weeks were in vain. Yet, I try once again. This ain't the Kingdom I used to walk upon. Still it is, now in bits. A jigsaw whose pieces are lost, but nobody bothers if they'll be found. A new kind of statue is built instead, for less time and less people to use time. Clocks melting like eggs, my head about to burst as a melon hitting the sidewalk. I feel ill belonging here, and then I notice it's just the rain. It rains everywhere, but in Burmecia, rain is eternal. Only the rain, and nothing else. Freya went to Alexandria, and I wonder if she'll be back, or if she would like to weren't for me. Or for those left behind. Walking on thin air, falling like snowflakes. On Burmecia, everything falls. Hollow spaces instead of windows, emptiness for eyes whose colors faded a long ago.
A laurel woman with blue eyes over the pages of a book, yet all I see is a white haired woman with green eyes like mine. I also see trees chopped down by a hurricane. How I used to be strong, but I can't remember. Or I do not to, because there are things more important to. In a world who have already lost it's meaning, they are hard to be found.
— I... I can still walk – for some, to walk is like breathing. For many, something doesn't matter that much until it gets taken out of you. Fratley can walk, but that's not a memory of its own. Then he trips, and it ain't funny at all. Never it had been, despte the giggles and laughters coming from those bastards on the avenue. Same ones who I found laying on red puddles soon as I got back home. Back to a nightmare.
— Idiot – with that tumble, he could have broken a finger, or a teeth. The tail as well. Maybe I'm being too harsh, when I do not need to. Well, the time for crying is over, should be. Why aren't you glad that the one you've loved once is alive? Feeling of your touch, which doesn't come back, only by a hold of hands. We're practicing the basic exercises, not a sparring match, which used to be basic to both of us. Just like wearing those fancy clothes.
— Oof – this is so painful to watch. I mean, it should be, but I'm used to see blood draw without feeling queasy at all.
— I think you should stop for today, Fratley – I said it, to the same man who once forced me to do a hundredth abdominals with the shield on. But he never did anything that required a lot of effort when I felt , even with a hot fever struck on his chin, he decided to take a walk with me. And I didn't insisted otherwise, as usual since we came to be from teacher and student to acquaintances.
— Yes, maybe we can take a break to sit.
— Where? I can't see a bench.
— I see a pub – said Fratley, looking to a place who I used to be a common guest. A piece of silk in the middle of filthy produced by factories still open, where ghosts comes in and out of boxes everyday. We all drink to forget, except Fratley...
A bell rang upon us soon as we arrived into the pub. Empty chairs, and an empty roof. A giant piece of cloth covers the hole left. It never rains, only snow falls. The snow of Cleyra, which tastes worse than a hot mug of beer, or a wine which tastes like grape juice poured in water. Water doesn't have taste, but it feeds the ones without a tongue. Many are served with aspic, useless as shark fins. Chicken is poured on them, and since nobody is marrying these days, going to funerals became a more tasteless experience. Fratley asked for a chamomile tea, and I wondered if they served it here before. Now they do, anything lacking a plenty of storage is being sold these days to a higher price. For Fratley to be here didn't costed anything that had a value to later be sold. His memories were stolen, and only. At least, he doesn't complain about the taste of anything.
A bowl of yellow and green like lime syrup called soup was made free, and you can swallow it without a spoon.
A thousand arms raised before me.
They do not ask for protection.
I already gave them a chance to live a bit more. Was it something good or bad, it depends if you're willing to give them money. They say money can't bring happiness. It doesn't. Really doesn't. As a Knight, after a day of work, I'm grated of a plenty of gils. And a back hurt, but that's nothing compared to a severed limb. Beneath me, lies a woman who have lost it's tail in change of escaping and returning to this pitiful place. She stands near what was once a house, blown into bits. The family portrait as well. Don't know how or what she feels, besides cold. They do not ask for help, and that's already expected. Nobody seems to trust anyone, some are really trying hard to, like me. To give money to her and let it be won't work, only as a cheap solution, an easy way out of those hungry eyes staring at you.
And you, who walks everywhere to see nothing but the same. Who can afford of legs who used to jump a height taller than any building, if there's one left. Or legs left for the people left. A few pairs are enough for soft skins crawling around to be spotted. Potatoes and tomatoes won't be on the table of many, like always. Peanuts who are already rotten sold to be eaten with a beer who tastes worse than castor oil. All kinds of medicines tastes bad, anyway. A river of blood below the bridge, where the old killed the young, only their scents to be taken notice. There are a few spaces where rain can't reach, where a fire spread can only be taken control by a Dragoon Knight. Only a few Dragoons to subdue the fire spread, and unseen flames who do not hurt, but choke instead. Me and my spear do not agree with each other. One of us is heavier and stood the same, unlike another.
How long will it take for us to realise there are no winners? All I see are losers. And Freya, well... she is far more woman than I ever was a man.
— My brother is asking to die.
— Don't say that, Jack.
— He can't say anything but coughs, mom.
Bleeding from inside and outside... A lost soul struggling like a fly into a web, unable to get out. Those nights were the worst experiences I ever had. Do you remember when death seemed to pour only on those who deserved it? No, I don't, because such never happened to be true. Like, a Knight can't save all lives, and nothing prevents each of us of feeling the same. Even that person, a knight from a faraway land who went here to pay a visit to an Adam already sent to its resting place. Both wearing hoods to hid their faces, one with an idiotic expression left and the another still a child. He'll be coughing no more, there's no need to. A curtain of smoke spread around you, no escape to it, and don't tell me you wouldn't spend all day coughing for a single piece of dust which fell on your hands. A dust that could happened to be your father, or what remained of it. At least, something had been put to a rest, but it had a cost other than a ground to pay for.
— You here? – I dared to ask, while the others had nothing to say, but feel instead. Pain, and a bit of fear. Not that people do not die too often on a country of millions, but some of us learned that death can't be brought by the hands of a single person. This before Beatrix came – just so you know, Adam was a hero, had he been offered of a title or not.
— My condolences for the family – though, it seems that she ain't here to as for forgiveness alone. Now, where was the mercy on that pitiful night? Day, night... it's all the same when you are found beneath the clouds.
— To how many you've paid a visit lately, Beatrix?
— I'm occupied most the time.
— What's so important? – for you to not care about the lifes you've ruined...
— You and your spear already know – that was the same excuse of before, told in different words.
— My methods aren't like yours. I do not promote disregard to lifes. I protect innocents, while you left a trail of corpses around, feeling proud of it...
— Do I look that proud of what I did?
— You are insane for going here without protection – except for the armor, Beatrix doesn't hold of a sword. A pencil whose ink had been spreaded around the walls by a brat, but unlike those, Beatrix knew what she had been doing, so did I – it seems that regret became such a word nowadays.
— Freya, if we must fight together, then-
— I'm not an assassin as you do, Beatrix. Blood doesn't pour out of my hands.
— You wear red, after all. Which makes things harder.
— The coat I wear ain't the only thing which prevents me from doing whatever I want to, so you know.
Dear Reis...
Fratley already lost too much blood. The fever increases. I can feel a force that doesn't belong to this world... So, I ask for your help. This man has an entire life to head on. A disturbed soul, that belongs to a good man he used to be. Still he is. One of the few things I'm sure about. What I am showing to these people, running around, wearing a red velvet coat... Engaging into fights, against or in favour of violence... If I need to be punished for my sins, then so be it. But Fratley... So many need him. I need him. Spare the life of this worthy man. Hear my prayers.
Winter comes like an unwanted relative.
It arrivers before time, as much as it seems to stay forever. Cold, raspy like fingers pressed against a sandpaper. For someone who doesn't remember, only hearing of voices was enough to know a bit about this world. Jack wants to know everything as well. One thing at time is better enjoyed than everything placed before you. Anything for an empty vessel is worthy a while. I ate all brocolli from Jack's dish. He didn't liked them, and I asked why. Their taste is disgusting, which I do not agree. Can't even remember how something tastes alike, but I know a food is a food. Avoid colored food, or anything with a strong color. I can't await to see them, even if every kind of maggot looks disgusting. Only heard from Jack that they are, but he's only a child. I thought I was one too, but given my size, and how my voice sounds like, the sweat coming after a night of fever...
— Fratley, are you hungry?
— No, but it's good to feel my own heartbeat slowing down – good to see her too. If I could feel Freya's heartbeat... She looks fine. Now she went there to talk with Kildea, the High Priestess of Cleyra. Jack saw what happened to that place. It was the last thing he saw. Hopefully, he'll see again, instead of remembering that this world has good to offer too. So do the people of Cleyra, who were kind to offer help.
So do I, and maybe that's the reason I went there. Kildea may have lost her legs, but she doesn't feel crippled at all. With a plain line instead of lips, standing erect like a spear who used to be in hand, Freya looks sad, althought a bit glad. It's hard to deduce with that hat, and that hair covering her eyes. Then I close my eyes, despite being able to see, only to open my mind for imagination. It's still there, after all that happened, and I don't know what. It was an explosion, an disaster, a failure I don't seem to hold on as Freya do. A few survivals out of a few who lived in that settlement. All I want is to wake up, but I feel tired. Freya comes near me, holding on a píllow, as if she already knew what I wanted to do. Not that I can do that much on this state, out of the many things I could do before.
— The fever ain't boiling your head as before, but it's better for you to rest.
— Okay. Freya...
— Anything else?
— Don't get me wrong, but... Am I supposed to know you? Because... this seems to be the first time we met. Eye to eye, I mean.
— Seeing isn't believing, though there's still a plenty to see other than talk about.
— Has someone told you are beautiful?
— Well, you did.
— Before?
— Right now – and then she left. Was about to, before...
— Uh, Freya...
— Yes, Fratley?
— Are... are you my mom?
— Of course not.
See? I made her smile.
There are three ways you can do something.
Ask for someone else to do, don't let the kids do for themselves, or do it yourself. Now, what I am about to... is something I never thought about. Forbidden of since I grew up, became a Knight, and for this reason I can't do it. Not without a reason. I had a reason to be here, and not. Fratley is alive, which's far from good. So do Jack, but he can't see for awhile. And what he would say if he saw this world, same one we're growing into? How filthy is the air I breathe, but I don't care. As long as I... no, I won't last for that far long, this if I do what I intend to. Not only I, but I have the power. A Knight has the power, and rules to obey and carry on alike the spear in hand. I don't have none of these, only the armor to hide what lies beneath, which'll be shown in time. Instead of the crowd, I walk upon the rooftops, unnoticed as a shadow found below you. So many shadows, and they all look the same. Less than people, some far more than people ever do.
At Alexandria, the lamps bring the heat, and that same orange belonging to a setting sun, and the scorched skies of before. Like an oil painting I can relate to, because something in me keeps melting each day. All colors bleeding into one, fading to a black void... I almost asked why when I had the chance, and reasoning to. A Knight's armor may be cold, yet what lies inside has a heart, and your worst enemy. When I had the chance... I won't miss it, this time. When I could have done something other than fighting and advance throught barricades of canned food. When you could have grabbed that neck and twisted it backwards, barely hearing cries of mercy, which you never heard after all. Yes, I had been planning for this moment. This ain't war, because there'll be no prisoners, and an only victim on its sleep, the one I had been privated of.
— You are gonna catch a cold with this window let open like that.
— I wasn't expecting visits this late of night. They usually come in the front door, so you know – I already reserved a place to hit with my fists.
— I didn't came here to say hello, Beatrix. I'm here to say goodbye – I said, sitting on her desk table. With a single pillow, this would be over, but she had to make things harder than usual.
— You already said it before, if my memory serves – a good memory, indeed. But to be awaken at this time of night, with a calm face instead of the one brought by horrifying nightmares, and a candle that screams surrounded by shadows, including mine... not that much of a surprise – please get out, or you'll be arrested.
— No, you didn't understood. To be put in a cage is the least of my concerns – with that said, Beatrix stopped writing whatever it was on that letter. It didn't mattered, for someone who shared of a few words in battle, and lots of screams to be heard by each cut. This will be the last one, but I'll get there soon – now you must be wondering why I am here. Sure, during our encounters, and at the end of same, you have sparred my life. Half of it, to be fair. Fair, mercy... guess you still do not know the meaning of these words.
— As much as you do not know the meaning of chivarly we both hold on.
— I've heard that Brahne made a trip. It seems that this continent we live wasn't enough to satisfy her. A fat woman needs a lot of meat, after all – then I smirked, but same can't be said for Beatrix. She looks so serious it's dumb.
— If you are here to disgrace someone else's name...
— She ain't my queen. It's yours, the one you are loyal too. That's what means to be a knight, right? I used to believe, for a long time, that chivarly was meant to protect people. In the end, it failed with them.
— To be a Knight has others virtues, Crescent, but you seem to have forgotten that. I do not fight only for myself, but for Peace and Security to my country.
— Peace is nothing but a relief of times. And how many you had to kill in order to be so insecure? – I said, soon as I left that table, walking slowly to spare of some energy I consumed with this talk – you fight for things that can't be achieved by hands.
— This won't won't do that much to solve your problems. You know it, Crescent – sure, if I could bare a night of sleep, these headaches would be gone.
— Beautiful, don't you think? – I asked, while touching those flowers in a bouquet. Made of glass, the kind that doesn't leave small cracks.
— Get to the point – said Beatrix, getting to her sword. My guess is that she'll be holding up that tool like a cane for the rest of her life, if there'll be one afterwards – know that you won't have a chance with me on this state of mind.
— Don't be cocky. Well, a single person can be many things. Beautiful, ugy, life, death... everything in this world has a specific nature. A rose is a rose, soon it's born or when it withers away. When a person dies, all that remains is her name and what she did on life, spoken in brief words. Now, does a fear have a name, Beatrix? There are the phobias, such as the fear of heights, fear of the dark, or even fear of death. Since the last one began to be tolerated by the likes of ours...
— You do not scare me.
— Really? – soon as I release the belt that tightened it against my chest, the coat of arms on my chest is now lying on the ground, but not before it fell down making an awful noise. Yet, with something meant to be put on a deep slumber alraedy awaken, it didn't mattered that much. Like a coin, it spinned for a short while, less than seconds to fall in either Heads or Tails, but like I said, it doesn't matter. Your fate has already been sealed, Beatrix. By a leather belt, outstretched by both of my claws, a plain horizontal line casting a shadow on my eyes, though my ears can still appreciate what happens next.
Fear doesn't need a name, as much as it doesn't share of a single shape. It can happen to be alike spiders gathered in a web, and the mantis tangled there, unable to fled, already lost of a head and blood which flowed into same. Sand melts into glass, as easily as it can be brought into small cracks once again. Beatrix is Beatrix, and no matter the place she calls by home, your existence must come to an end, before mine or another does. Well, that's it. A bit of struggle comes from Beatrix's part, but soon it'll go away like the effort of generations. Against the table, I play the surgeon. A single life as yours won't make a miss. Generals, knights, the entire chivarly can be changed, replaced as pieces of a chess. Paws are brought to sacrifice first. When I approached you, I didn't as a pawn. Unarmed at first sight, for sure, but when I press these claws against your aorta, feeling your heart beat... everyone has a heart.
Even an animal as you do. A dog hired for hunt in change of meal. A cat that only kills poor birds to show its owner how many he killed, instead of eating them, absorving their essence. I do not need yours, Beatrix. Though I admire your strenght without the Save the Queen. That's the name of your sword, right? It's just a tool, not a friend of yours, or a sister, a father, whatever you have that I do not. No matter how sharp or big it is, a stone can kill. A pull only breaks bones, but given enough strenght, or height. You stop to talk, but I do not listen, like the neighboors of below. When I know deep in the heart that what I do is right... When I hate you so much it makes me cry for no reason... When I feel the scent emanating out your dirty skin, and it's a sweet one... The smell and touch of fire taking it all, except our bodies.
A single candle, which happened to be pulled out of that table by a boot, lit the woods below our feet. Smoke rises as Beatrix and I fall from a window, landing upon cracks and a basket of avocados, tainting us with colors that remind and stink alike puke. Nosebleed? How old-fashioned of yours. Instead of the edge, my chest feels the tip of that sword, as I tore the skin of that face with the sign of my claws. Some bystanders fled with their screams, while some came in and out of that building, and nobody struggled to take us apart from each. Only a feet to do it so, releasing me alike a projectile to a wall, as I feel one of my ribs stuck alike a knife inside of me. Speaking of knives, I threw one which did not made a hole not only on that bandana, but at the right eye who lied within.
An old wound, and a pain that happened to appear, of the many whom Beatrix didn't cared to miss.
A hundred knights killed by a single hand, holded by a sword. I don't have none, but these claws sunk on her back are sharp as the canines on my mouth. It tastes like iron, before something in my groin bursts alike the bright dots in my eyes. Why... why is she... they are fleding. Pant... Monster... I'm not a... pant... then I hear voices, and something that stays on shadows should stay on shadows. Yet, if you really want to change the system instead of working for it, you need to walk into sunlight. None to be found at Burmecia, or the dim that covers the once golden skies of Alexandria. I do not contain myself as I jump and hit a runaway Beatrix with all my strenght. Bare and naked fists, then I spit on her face as I hit her from below the chin. Never that I've felt this satisfied, never that I ever had the need to feel this way, weren't for her.
An empty square for a wall built in shame, instead of a place full of people, fragile like paper. This won't work, Beatrix; I only have eyes for you. You're out of mind, and so my ears do not listen to you as before. If I could hear each piece of bones as we fall from these stairs...which lead to the station, where a metallic beast roars louder than our cries. Louder than my ears can take, had not I been wearing protection, feeling the reverberation crashing throught this metallic helmet. Pant... Dazzled, I do not care for the pain, but soon as a boot kicks me in the chest, unprotected as the whole of me do... Pant. I want to puke, do not feel disgusted at all. Blind, and deafened as well. Though, I can still see something blurred. Blood and dirt can be felt by these lips, and the tips of my fingers, covered in scratches like both our faces. That's a face, and a harsh breath coming out of an air hole.
Out of my hole, comes blood. Nothing had been brought of a birth, other than violence. Now my right arm is numb, what a bad mistake. I've learned to use the left one so well, that I've missed Beatrix. She is cold like the iron bar flesh and bones collided against. Pant... A kick bends my back, and it hurts more than both of my arms. My only weapons, since words became futile, your voice is feeble, pathetic and weak. So does the alexandrian knight's arms grinding your bones as a snake. Only one of us to be near a collapse, but soon as I can feel your touch, I can find and pull you out of the darkness you were hiding, Beatrix. Pant, pant, pant... To only bring your carcass holded by these legs to the tracks, its dust, and the impact, again and again, same noise... then nothing. Pant... pant... I can hear anything. Pant. Can't feel a pulse. She's unconscious.
Pant!... Pant!... Pant!... My chest... a hole... I feel... pant... I feel empty... pant... pant... though... I won this time, Beatrix. Pant... pant... Know why? Because... because I never give up... pant... Never... pant pant... pant... pant... So cold... the world is... dark... pant... pant... pant... Huh?... Wait... my hands... shaking... No... it's the tracks... pant... Waves... Vibrating... I can barely... pant... see a thing... pant... pant... pant... I see... I see a light. A bright, clear light... It's a train. Coming to us. Pant... pant... Not me, but Beatrix... pant... She's still lying there. Lift... Nothing... nothing I can do. Too weak... pant... pant... You'll be killed... good. You deserve it, Beatrix. Pant... Never learn... will kill again... I hate you. I... pant... hate you so much... pant... pant... pant.. pant... That's it... it's over... pant... there'll be no final battle... pant... only tomorrow... for us both.
I had already been ill for a long time. But not this much.
That much.
Last night, following my further descent to darkness. Then I saw a light, and like a moth, I had been guided to it on a way out. Beatrix... she's strong, and reckless too. Will recover in time, so I said to Steiner. The knight and the person lying beneath couldn't look eye to eye for what I've did, despite a change of fought alongside each other, only once, and for the sake of being alive. Haven't swore or exhumed the name of nobody else, other than mine. That me, deep within my self. Some call it by Trance, which's only a state, but that was me. Not only a state, or a power, an entity... just me, and these bare hands, before they came to be wrapped on white bandages. So do my chest, and hands shaking, as if they were still holding the tracks. Teeth creaking, cold inside the infirmary, and on his stare. The stare of someone who knows what I was capable of. With all that happened, and didn't seem to happen, but unlike many, I was there.
An only ego can't decide the life of millions. The tip of Save the Queen alone doesn't know what an ego is, or what are laws and the structure society built with time. They prevent us from killing each other. Now, when a man kills another, he's contibuting for the ruin of society we agreed to live into. I may despise what Beatrix did, so do Steiner, yet I'm not a judge, nor the jury, neither I am the executor. When the night arrives, I'll come back to Lindblum and pray to Reis that what I did was the right thing.
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