Mine eyes were blind
****
When I looked up, I wasn't expecting to see what I
really did see.
Which was the death of something more human than any of us.
Behind me, the cheers. Oh yes, I thought to myself, cheer
on. You yell for a worthless cause, you holler because you believe you're right
and yet you have no idea that you have danced into the waiting hands of the
enemy. I couldn't help but turn from the glare of the screen as the explosion
happened. The bitter smirk on my face faded with the increased cheers and yells.
I just sighed and looked away. Oppression of the rebels. It
was so completely wrong. No one had any idea that there were other ways to stop
fighting than with more fighting. Try killing.
Ah. You think I'm joking but I'm not. There is a
difference between the mindless fighting that goes on, such as the explosion
that occurred here today, and the beauty and glory of a death.
Such as the one I witnessed instead of the explosion.
See, just as I turned around, I saw him.
He's quite possibly the most wanted man on the colony, though
I'd never turn him in. I saw the glint of the screen in his eyes, the yellows
and reds glowing in his eyes. He got a little scared. He stumbled back and began
to choke. On what, I don't know, but he grabbed his throat and positively began
to die.
I tried my damndest not to run over to him. It was one of the
biggest strains of my life. He was so helpless. I knew that the machine meant
something to him, that it had some terrifying symbolism to him. Was he a rebel,
too? A designer? A freedom fighter?
Or maybe just someone who had the Human touch and knew that it
wasn't fighting that was going to stop the battles, that it was deaths that
would stop the battles.
Did he know that great sacrifices would have to be made in
order to keep the world in tact? Did he understand that there was more to this
battle than just oppression? That it meant life and death to some? The loss of
love and the regainment of strength to others?
I wasn't sure, but as he dropped to his knees, I finally knew
who we was.
He was someone that had kicked death right in the balls and
then spit on him, too. He was someone who really didn't give a shit about what
happened to the people who were doing the fighting. He cared about the people
that were dying. He was the heart and soul of what was really going on around
here.
And he had someone fighting. Maybe more than just one
person. He was the human aspect. He was what made this whole thing hit
home for me.
In the darkness, there were still the neon signs. The people
began to drift from the monitor, having had their daily craving for bloodlust
satisfied. They were weary now, tired and drained.
Not the boy behind me. He was flat on the ground, his face to
the side, looking at everything and having nothing in mind. His heavy breathing
settled down with in moments and his eyes slowly went shut. He too, was tired.
But he deserved the sleep he was about to receive.
Out of respect or some crazy notion, I didn't disturb him as
he lulled himself to sleep on the pavement. His left foot rocked back and forth
to some crazy beat in his head.
I knew then that I should keep moving along.
And I wished then that I had never seen that boy, whom I saw
again when the heroes got their happy welcome. 'Cause I knew how low he had
gotten, street sleeping and trying in vain to not cry. I had known him in his
darkest hour and turned my eyes away to respect his glory.
Because even in the darkness, he stilled glowed like hell.
****
The end.
