"You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger..."
Buddha

He gets mad pretty easily, at least he could admit that much, but it feels justifiable most of the time.

But that burning anger rarely boiled over to a point of committing such a vile act as to kill someone. No, he understood life was a precious thing and so he fought to always find another way, another path to take, that wasn't stained in the useless shedding of blood.

That being said, he's not a saint - and most will have no problem calling him a demon. It wasn't like he has never killed anyone before out of anger.

Sometimes, to be honest, it was a pure and utter accident. A slip of the hand and that same hand would warm over with fresh blood. Seeing once such lively eyes gaze over into cloudiness, to feel such warmth suddenly turn ice cold.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Remorse, more so, left that bitter taste behind as he tried to swallow back the feelings later on. After the flames of hatred would die down into smouldering irritation.

I'm sorry...

It felt useless and he hated that feeling more than anything else.

Other times, when no other way could be seen, he really did kill someone. It seemed oh-so fair at that time, so easy to do and felt so good when he came out the victor. It was easier to give into anger, easier to get lost in its fires (and when it came to getting lost, he would never admit this, but that was easy for him in general). To feel such a pure and innocent blade slide easily through muscle and skin and bone as if it were nothing but butter, even if that blade cried, left such a wonderful feeling that washed over him and he relished in that single bright moment.

But it still left that bitter and bloody taste to linger in his mouth after the light died down.

I'm so sorry...

He was taught that life was precious and fleeting, a lesson he had learned at such a young age. He still remembers how naive he was back then, when the only thing he had was his dream to keep him going. He wanted to be known, to be strong, to be recognized as something important! He wanted to protect his own dream so he fought anyone who dared to take that away from him.

She shared that dream too...

But it had cost someone important to him their life...it didn't seem so fair anymore.

And it left a bitter taste in his mouth again.

And that had been the first time he had let his anger drive him mad.

I'm so very sorry...

He felt so useless, a feeling he never wanted ever again. So, when that blade was thrust upon such small hand, he knew that right there...he could make it right again. A call upon heaven, an oath, and he hoped that she could see him too.

So, he left.

And found himself surrounded by others who felt the same as he did. As time wore on, he felt those heavy feelings fade away like an old memory. That hurt and pain and utter anguish he felt scared over, leaving behind a bright but bumpy canvas where something new could be painted on.

Like the laughter with friends, like the arguments over the petty things, like the celebrations and tears of joy they shed to the one person that had collected all their broken pieces and joined them together to create something new.

For a long time, he forgot what it was like to be truly angry, to feel that craving for blood. With everyone they met, that feeling never surfaced.

Not until they had reached the heaven themselves and the angels had brandished their weapons in the name of their God.

They had hurt not only one of his friends, but someone who had valued life as much as he did. They tried to take away his dreams and hopes and love. Inside, he knew what was happening, he could feel those still too fresh scars break open and bleed.

But he didn't care.

He wanted blood.

And so he fought, in the name for nothing more than his own anger. It felt so right, so very right, to see every bruise and droplet of blood ooze from the one who even dared to take away something so precious to him.

A life.

A friend.

A saviour from his own madness.

Yet he still couldn't do it, he still wouldn't give into that anger anymore. He promised her that he wouldn't.

And so, with a last arching light, a defeat was handed. The swordsman left with his honour still intact and his friend in hand.

Such warm blood ran over his worn out hands as he walked away from the smoke and rubble, a sword singing happy in the bright sunlight.

And for the first time in a long time, that bitter taste wasn't there once the fire had died down.

I forgive you, Zoro...

I wrote this 3 years ago one night, I don't remember writing it (since I had been half-asleep) but I still like this one from my old collection. A piece that is meant to reflect on the fact that Zoro has stated he never fights for revenge (when he fights Ohm) and that moment when he sees Chopper, I couldn't help but to think about the times he killed someone. Cause if you think about it, if I remember correctly, he does try NOT to kill someone (ex: using the back of his blades)

But it doesn't mean he hasn't, accidentally or not. His reputation isn't exactly for show.

I edited this from it's original posting (2015) to both change a few sentences and the format (where the Author's Note is at the bottom, a style I much prefer for my stories). I don't think anyone will read this considering it's been 4 years at the time of this edit (2019) but if you do, thank you for taking the time to read this!

KB