Bullets and Sorrow

Doesn't your physical wound bruise your beating heart, and at the same time, leaves a scratch on your supposed to be unscathed soul?

Are there any prerequisites to being a human, or is it sufficient to just be a living, breathing person of flesh and blood?

Some say that once someone's hand has been stained with blood, no liquid can ever cleanse it ever again. However, after gaining enough knowledge about that, I realized that it wasn't real. In this world that I live in, some humans felt more alive after eliminating someone. They'd be filled with satisfaction after taking care of someone that's been getting in their way. Doing something so inhumane . . . made them feel human.

Even as a child, I never learned how to love anything. Everything around me felt like an illusion, and everyone was fooling me. Like the time when I was eight and I had a glimpse of someone hitting my mom. When the screaming stopped, the large door in front of me opened and she entered with a smile on her face, as if she never got beaten up at all. As an innocent little one, I was confused.

And again, as an innocent little one, I have decided to figure things out by looking at the expression painted on their faces. I thought, "She was smiling. That means she's not hurt, right?" instead of walking towards her and asking her directly. When I found out that my method of understanding people was wrong, it was already too late.

If I remember correctly, the rain was pouring from the sky that day. When I looked outside the window, there was a child sitting on the side of the road and she was crying. As an eleven years old girl who thought she could change everything, I went outside and walked towards her.

We talked for hours. When it stopped raining, I told her to go home . . . but I wasn't even done talking yet when I saw a hole on her forehead. Until now, I can still feel how wide I opened my eyes that day. Few minutes after staring into the lifeless body in front of me, I realized that it never stopped raining. It just felt like the world had stopped for me when it happened.

I didn't know what to do, so I went inside our house . . . and found my family laying on the floor. They weren't moving no matter how hard I kicked them in the face, just like the child outside.

Two years after that incident, I found out that I left the door open that day and that the child was used as a distraction by the person who killed my family.

The day came when I finally understood how human emotion works aside from being able to feel and express it. After becoming a licensed psychologist at the age of 25, I thought I already knew everything that I've been dying to know about a person.

'Till I met Dashiel.

Not everyone who is courageous enough to fire a gun and fight injustice are also strong enough to face such cruel reality.

He approaches the inferno without fear and leaves as if the flame did not burn some parts of him. He was holding the matches as the ashes from the fire soared into the air. Then, when he has already walked far enough, he watched . . . with no emotion evident on his face.

He felt so close to me, and at the same time, felt so far away because I couldn't understand him deeply. All I could understand are the words that he utters . . . but him as a person? I couldn't.

"Dashiel Auberon Octavius, when was the last time a teardrop has fallen from those exhausted yet alluring eyes that you own? Doesn't your back feel too heavy for carrying too much burden? Do you still look forward to doing the things that once made you happy?

Or . . . did the universe take that person away from everyone, and you're nothing but a lost, wandering soul jailed inside a skin and bones?

You can't feel a thing, can't you?"

"The sun that's setting is such a sight to behold, don't you think?"

"I better bid my farewell to the sun before the moon appears then."

-

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, events and incidents are all from the writer's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Plagiarism /ˈplājəˌrizəm/ : is not allowed! This story will not be that perfect for I, the writer, is struggling when it comes to writing nowadays but that doesn't give anyone the right to plagiarize this story in any way. Do remember that it is a crime.

Grammatical Errors and Typographical Errors ahead.

loved by,

himelunatrix // rosarene // aishiterosa

of hopes and dreams ; of tears and sorrow.