One Man's Story
Copyright © 1997 by MAL/Takibi Studio. All rights reserved by the author, including the right to reproduce this work, or portions thereof, in any form.
One Man’s Story
My life began in the shadows.
It ended there, too.
Some people say you can never leave.
They say that it’s a loop.
It had no beginning, it has no end.
Those are the shadows that were with me.
With me until forever.
My life started in the shadows and I lived with the shadows.
They were mine.
My love, my life, my only desire.
I learned from them.
Trust no one.
Not even yourself.
Eat enough for two meals.
Eat more, you’ll puke.
Eat less, you’ll starve.
Don’t sleep next to metal unless you want to die.
Don’t do drugs unless you won’t need use of your limbs for two days.
Don’t kill a man unless you can destroy all evidence.
Sometimes the shadows were very light.
They wouldn’t talk to me so much, so I could think my own thoughts.
I could see the hand before my face.
It had lines on it – wrinkles.
The old woman said I would die old.
The lines told her so.
No one dies old here.
I never knew my mother.
She never spoke a word.
She was always curled in the corner.
Unless the old black-faced bastard wanted a good f***.
The bastard was loud and big.
He screamed and his breath smelled.
His skin was – big – and puffy.
He got angry and did things.
My mother never spoke.
The Bastard was an imbecile.
He couldn’t read.
I can.
The priest taught me.
He’s dead.
The Bastard liked to hit people.
He could wallop them upside the head really good.
Hard.
He practiced on me.
I practiced on the bed.
I don’t need practice anymore.
The black-faced Bastard doesn’t practice anything anymore.
He can’t.
His skin is still puffy.
I met a girl.
She was pale.
She had black hair.
She was very much alone.
So was I.
We talked a little.
She said many things.
She said things that I could understand.
We talked about things she had done.
I did them too.
We talked about feelings.
About what we felt.
I felt it all.
We were very much alike.
But we only spoke a little.
She left.
I met another girl.
She wasn’t the same.
We talked.
I couldn’t understand anything.
It wasn’t the same.
I left.
Sometimes the shadows are very dark.
They scare many people.
I grew up in the shadows.
My love, my life, my desire.
I thrive on shadows.
The old woman says they make people sick.
She also says I’m different.
I know that.
I will often dress up.
Like another person.
I carry weapons in my coat.
No guns.
Guns aren’t allowed.
That’s stupid.
Many weapons I own are more dangerous than guns.
Doesn’t matter.
I kill anyway.
I erase the traces.
I make money.
Being a Bounty Hunter is good.
They say blood is warm.
I am always in fever.
Blood is cool to me.
It soothes.
The fight is always exciting.
I can feel each muscle when it works.
It feels good to move fast.
I do it for fun sometimes.
But I don’t need to practice.
I’m past that.
I kill.
Sometimes it’s good.
Blood soothes.
Sometimes.
A sick man pissed in the water.
No one knew.
It was yellow with little red specks.
Piss is usually yellow.
Lots of people get red specks.
They come from drugs, and f***ing and the metal dump.
They can come from the shadows, sometimes.
Sick people don’t piss in the water.
But he did.
Everyone got sick.
I got a little sick.
If the shadows cause the sickness, then I won’t get hurt.
I slept deeply, though.
I couldn’t wake up for two days.
A junkie slit my throat.
He wanted money for crystals.
After two days I never woke up.
They took my body and sliced it up.
I can see through the eyes of another person now.
No one took my brain.
It had died.
Many people took my arms and legs, tried them, and gave them back.
I don’t like my arms and legs now.
My eyes still see the same world outside.
I try to help the person with the shadows.
They don’t understand.
Shadows can be good.
They can also be bad.
I lived for the shadows.
My love, my life, my desire.
I discovered magic in the shadows.
No one else wants to look.
Everyone tries so hard to not go in.
I went in.
I would have lived until I was old.
But a junkie slit my throat.
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