Did he just see light at the end of the tunnel? Or was he hallucinating? It was probably more of the latter.

He had already gone for days without sustenance, and his mortal body was slowly wasting away. No matter how powerful he was spiritually, under the bounds of the mortal body, he was just like everyone else, susceptible to pain and death. He was already hearing voices in his head, whispering things that he dare not repeat to save his own soul. Already driven to the very edge of desperation, he had begun to despair.

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It brings back wonderful memories every time I see a set of No. 1. And today was no different. Along with my other fellow PCs and friends, I was invited to the wedding dinner of my Boss to be his sword-bearers.

In the midst of preparations, I thought back to those army days. I wouldn’t say all of us had fun, but certainly we did learn some lessons that couldn’t be taught in the classroom, and in explicably, lasting friendships are also forged. We hadn’t gathered ever since we had ORDed, or perhaps that may be me only, what with us being busy with work and school. As I was fixing the faux gold buttons upon the pristine white uniform, I was reminded of the last time that I wore the No. 1. And that was for our graduation parade, where everyone of us was so excited that no words could ever describe it. There was a sense of bubbling excitment in the air, and everyone could feel it. Finally, our nine to ten months of efforts were going to pay off. We were going to see the fruits of our labour.

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“Not again,” he thought.

He was bleeding again, having accidentally cut his finger. This was not the first, and it would not be the last either. He looked on with morbid fascination as it continued to bleed profusely. Though it was not a big cut, it ran quite deep, and he could feel the flap of skin if he moved his thumb around. He was dripping blood all over the counter and he should try to stop the bleeding immediately. But no, he continued to let it bleed, feeling the sensation of pain in his thumb. He was oblivious to the rest of the world as he stared at the blood. It was deep red in colour.

Thoughts of how it would taste ran through his mind. Slowly he lifted it up to his mouth and gave his bloodied thumb a lick.

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Mortality. It is always very frightening to you humans, isn’t it? The fear of the unknown, the fear of losing everything that you have and perhaps the fear of being judged by another entity. When a mortal passes from this world into the next, he may think that he has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Perhaps not all mortals, from what my experience tells me. For there are some out there who yearns to pass from this world to be with their God.

Whatever it is, I have learnt that people fear Death one way or another. As for me, curiously I don’t. I don’t fear Death that is. I am not afraid to lose anything. When it comes, it will come, to claim those close to my bosom. Am I afraid of losing them? I have no idea at all. None whatsover. I don’t yearn to be put to the test as well.

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An Unfinished Fairytale

My heart is still weary, heavy from the recent events that have happened. Calamities have befall me, and I am in no shape to take them up. Each day, sleep continues to elude me and the food has lost its taste. No matter how delicious, how ravenous I may be, I still couldn’t be bothered to bring a piece of grub to my orifice. I know I must, but yet, spiritus quidem promptus est, caro vero infirma. The spirit is willing, but the flesh, ever, is weak.

Bit by bit, I allow each shred of humanity to fly to the wind, to disperse it along the sandy dunes of the desert. I am hollowed out and wearied, hollowed out, for trusting too much and being too naive. As I have mentioned before, words are but physical constructs, and no one, not even an immortal, could have predict what was going to happen in the future. Perhaps I would be like the Hollows in Bleach, waiting for a Death God to come and claim me, to cleanse me of my sins and bring me with them.

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Haste not thine wisdom, for the hollow is ta’en –
By whom, know I not; ‘lack! am I of twain –
And as a crux – cede I my words –
Fro my heart wilt thou ne’er
Have I been ’sooth sinsyne.
Be left without – come!

Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
Ryking for thee;
“List and heed”, thou say’st
Wistful, whistful –
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown ’tis –
Dodge na ‘way herefro, do come here in eath!

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The hurt in me. It can never be measured, never at all. I know I should channel this hurt into some useful energy, but I can’t bring myself to do it. All I know now is to wallow in my own sins, in the vices of the mortals. Some time later, perhaps I would pick myself up. Pick up the pieces…

What should I do? Wait by the shadows quietly and be a guardian of the night? Perhaps that should be my option..The rose will serve to remind me of my one true love, my utter devotion.

Your servant

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