Everyday... Everyday is the same. I wake up all thrashed at some catchpenny motel, reeking alcohol, wearing a smudged tee. Some times it seems like a twister happened to cross the room and I won't even remember why I am nauseous. Other times, I'll awake from my slumber at the ceiling, hanging upside down, sweating and tense as if I had just saw a ghost. But this pain that haunts me... It ain't no ghost. I can remember it every time I look at a mirror and see the shadow of the man who used to swing around in spandex. So much happened since then... To wipe that kid's smile and replace it with an eerie frown and more war scars than a veteran would have.
I was better off killed by that nuke...
Now here I am again, fiddling with a needle. Eyes devoid of meaning staring a bottle... Envisioning it as the universal answer, grasping it as the uttermost salvation. In truth, all it does is benumb me from the outer world. It's better to be locked in my own reality rather than be peeved by the mistakes outside. Sometimes I attempt to leave my shell, eavesdrop some random citizen passing by, try and feel something for once.
Adventure.
By the end of the day, though, I realize my shell is much more comfortable. This bubble enveloping me, safeguarding me against the enemies presented to me. I don't know when, but at some point I stopped caring. Nat was turned to stone, Dark Vengeance is dead, Allegiance vanished, my legs won't be growing back anytime soon, my red-and-blue suit is probably at some second-hand museum. Life goes on, it doesn't really account for something anymore.
I just allow the protruding black blotches to do their work. Bring me the whole bottle, which I sip vehemently. My life has come down to an endless bottom of a bottle. It's still there, waiting to finish, not as good as when the bottle was full, but, well, not over yet. I'm endeavoring to enjoy the best I can. My job as mercenary is done with skepticism nowadays, seems like I'm losing my touch. People are distancing from this empty carcass ceaselessly wading through the nocturnal streets. Can't say I didn't expect it.
Not that it matters, though. I have my payrolls at the right time.
Use to drop by old friends' tombstones. Drop a few flowers and regret not seeing any of them again, they moved on better than I did. I somewhat envy them. I clean up Nat's statue every now and then too, perhaps she will return to me some day... Who knows?
I wonder what she'd think when she saw me like I do.
A disgusting reflection in the mirror, heavy eyes always looking downward, as if my head could't raise. A barely shaved beard, five or six needle-holes at my right arm... Legless bastard that stinks worse than puke. I don't even remember when I last bathed. Even the beggars keep their distance, I'd say.
And my luck never ends, does it?
I've started having nightmares again.
They are all there, lined up. Allegiance, Vengeance, Natasha and Kenshin. They look as sympathetic as they were, almost like embracing me again... Those fraternal eyes... I'm wearing my antique costume, and the Sun shines strongly behind their back. They all extend their hands toward me, saying in unison "Are you with us, Luke?". I wanna answer. I wanna say... No, scream with all the strength I've left "YES! TAKE ME THERE WITH YOU!" ,but I simply turn my back. My costume moistened in carmine, drying up in black sluggishly. "Go away, I'm better on my own.". That's what comes out of my mouth instead.
The sun vanishes, the brightness morphs into an obscure nightfall, the moon is clouded by gray. And there I am. Standing above an edifice, looking down. The raindrops pour rhythmically and the atmosphere is as gloomy as it gets. Only one more step and it'll all be over. Just go forth... My feet move and it seems it will be over soon, but every time I'm near to hitting the ground, I'm back at the top of the building.
Standing and crying.
One step forward...
One step...
Have I lost the ability to move forward?
The kid turned hero, roughened into a soldier... Now was nothing but a man lost at the bottom of a bottle.
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