If only I had
listened to him. Or gotten there sooner. We didn't all escape.
My teammate, someone I had never quite gotten along with. He was too free, too irresponsible, didn't follow the rules. I believed that the rules were all that held importance, and to break them was unforgivable. To be late was an ultimate offence.
He was dying. He'd gotten me to break the rules in order to save our teammate, and now he was dying because of it. We never got along, but as he lay dying, he gave me the gift of his eye.
Mine had been slashed useless earlier as we battled, and while I was made to lie beside him as our teammate used her abilities to transfer his left eye to replace mine - I realised that friendship, that my Team was more important than the rules.
...And then he died.
And the anniversary of this is coming closer every day, and I find myself snapping more at people who, probably, mean well. I'm angrier every day getting closer to that gorey anniversary and, as every year, I can do nothing to stop it.
It also disturbs me
how well people outside my reality
know me. To know that my life is just a story to them. I'd love to hunt down whoever wrote it, and make them fix things - give me back my friends and teammates from my youth - give them a chance.
screwdrivrsonic had an interesting question earlier today - about what's worth living for vs. what's worth dying for.
nakedratings had an excellent response - that living is a lot harder than dying.
It's true. It is - and it gets harder every year to be the one that was left behind as the names on the memorial stone grow greater in number.
I have no idea why I just wrote all this down - but I'll post it to my journal anyhow. Everyone else has the freedom to write what they think and not be criticised - no reason why I can't as well.
mood:  depressed music: Banka |