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- SPLINTER (by Kuroya) ((Written: 1/31/05 Published: 2/04/05)) -

Oh, what a mess we all are...

Humans.

Such dirty, filthy, humans...

And so weak.

Just a touch, a fall, a wrong turn, a cigarette- and the truth of mortality sets in so soon, like the match is too quick to ignite the candle wick. And before you know it, the candle melts into nothing: just a puddle of wax, dripping oh so silently in the confinements of your mind.

I used to want to save them... Save all of them from their pathetic, tortured lives...

But I never could.

And I never will.

Isn't it funny how things turn out?

It hurts me too, you know... Being like this. Being... A monster.

But who's to say what evil is and what evil is not? I could argue, my friend, that you are evil... It is your job, after all, to kill.

Evil is simply a perspective, a state of mind, a simple human delusion... Because, with this strange concept of "evil" they can convince themselves that they are "good": because, you see, they are convinced that they are not evil; and as good is the opposite of evil, they must be good... By default.

It is a game, you know, that we play with ourselves... Trying, vainly, to free ourselves from the prison that we have created... The prison of being human. The prison of being alive. The prison... Of mind and thought.

We chase ourselves in circles, every day, struggling to find answers when even we do not know what the questions are. It is a curse, don't you see? It is a curse to be human.

The things we are capable of... Hate. Spite. Jealousy. Anger. And then... Murder. Rape. Bribery. Corruption.

And we do all this, hating each other and the tangled webs we weave... While telling ourselves that we are not evil; and therefore, we are good.

You may notice that I use "we" referring to humans as a whole, myself included... Perhaps I should not, because, unlike them, I see the truth... The truth that struggles, desperately, to hide itself from us, like a young girl will hide from a stalker in the night.

But I digress...

You, my friend, are not like them... Yet you are also not like me. What, then, are you? Not human is not an adequate answer. I want to see, perhaps because of my curiosity as a doctor, exactly who you are... What you are, why you are.

You... So beautiful, so mysterious, soft dark hair streaked with blood by the crimson light of the full moon.

Tell me what it is like to be you... To be not human, this enigma which tortures me, a black-winged butterfly inside my soul. I want to know. I have to know.

Yet... At the same time... You are so much like them, capable of the same acts of hatred and- dare I say- evil. Mentally, emotionally, you are no different from them... No different from me.

So, my lovely doll, who are you?

What is it like when you break, when you splinter into a thousand pieces, shards of glass strewn across the floor? Shards of hate and love and death, reflecting the light, over and over again, glinting so beautifully in a world where the sun never rises...

I never wanted to be human, you see. I never wanted this... This curse. I never wanted to be judged, no more than you did... I never wanted to be the object of such fear, such hate.

Don't deny it... I see it in your eyes, those lovely amethyst orbs, when you look at me... Loathing. Hatred.

You have no right to judge me, yet you do... Because, in the end, you are human, just a fragile human soul inside a body that breaks and twists and shatters. Because you are human, you must judge others in order to avoid judging yourself.

This world... Full of pain. Full of death. But you know that, don't you? You are, after all, a shinigami... Death is your job.

Doesn't it ever make you sad, my friend? All this needless death, this suffering, this evil, this good, endless perspectives, endless despair? Won't you ever break simply from the tragedy and the desperation of it all?

Won't you ever break?

Won't you ever splinter?

See what life has given me...? Power, yes... But also this knowledge, this awful clarity, this utter helplessness, this life, in which being alive is surely worse than death- for we must live with the knowledge that we will one day die.

It's not fair, is it, my friend? Life? Death? None of it is ever fair...

But all of this, all of our suffering, is greatly diminished by the simple fact of mortality... We will not exist forever. Not even you- my friend, my doll.

So judge me, and I'll judge you, even as the rest of the world condemns us both as sinners. Even as we are thrown away, cast aside, for being black sheep- the Pagans among the Christians.

You know what it's like, don't you, to be thrown away... Cast aside, broken, shattered, by others- even as those others slowly splinter and break.

It's an endless cycle... Pain to end pain, which only brings more pain, transforming our hearts and minds into dangerous weapons- sharpened knives, glinting dangerously in the light of the blood-red moon... That lovely orb stained crimson by our own blood.

It hurts you, doesn't it? To be different... To be hated. It hurts you because you cannot let go of the ideas of love and compassion... It hurts you because you are too frail, too fragile, to exist in this world.

And you should not exist...

Neither should I.

I want to take you and rip you apart with my hands and my power and everything I am made of. I want to break you, my friend... I want to take your life away, cease the terrible beating of your heart, be close to you forever and feel your blood, like silk, against my skin.

I want you to understand, I want to open your eyes even as you gasp your last breath. I want you to see me... I want you to splinter.

Let me end it.. Let me end it all... I'm so tired of being human. I'm so tired of life...

Won't you let me escape it? Won't you take me away?

My angel, my Guardian of Death... Even as my heart dies, so slowly, like a wingless butterfly... I will shatter you. I will splinter you.

Because you should not exist.

And neither should I.