...to prove I'll try again, try to die again, try to live through this night, try to die again...



Day in, day out - the sounds of lives living, lives lost. He knew them already, knew them well. He had seen the years go by, dissolve like sugar in water - sweet for only so long.

It was a terrible way to live, that - to watch everything he'd known, possibly cared about, get old and wither. Not even the flowers mattered much. Soon, they too would fade into insignificance.

It's not that he was without fight. There were days when it was all he did - fight with others, fight with himself. Those were the worst fights - you can't win against your own worst enemy, the one that mocks you in your mind.

He was terribly tired. Atlas had nothing on him - fuck the world, when you had problems like his.

And now? Now he couldn't even watch the world pass him by, sight stolen so suddenly. Now everything was dark, if not silent. He could still hear the sounds of life around him, the screams of children in delight and horror. Both things were so easily found here.

Not everything was peaceful in this world - he knew that well enough.

But he never quit - it wouldn't've been too hard to, to be fair. It would not have been impossible to end it with the suddenness of a mausoleum's door slamming shut, a candle snuffed out. Not his style, though - not that he really had any style.

No, dying wasn't the answer he'd spent all his life looking for.

The answer he was still looking for. So he closed his useless eyes and listened to the world.

The world that kept passing him by, living and loving, lost and alone.

Life as lost and alone as he was, never knowing where it was going, but so, so ready for the trip to be over.