Old Soul


It was dark. Too dark.

It wasn't as if dark was something I feared. In fact, I enjoyed the dark. I thrived on the cover of darkness, of the possibility of mystery that lay behind the veil of shadow. It's just that this dark wasn't what I'd been expecting.

I was taught that there was nothing I had to fear, that fear was that of the weak. Growing up in a world where discrimination ran amok did that to one. Sanity and civilization was beginning to crumble and break down into a chaos that I hadn't seen coming. Nor had anyone else.

My father advised me not to get involved. It wasn't my fight, or any of ours. All we could do was save ourselves. Save ourselves and hope. I'd forgotten the meaning of hope a long time ago, but I at least did a good job of heeding his first advice; I didn't get involved. Instead, I drew into myself, seperating my smiles, my joys, from those around me. The world was a dangerous place. I couldn't afford to let it have me.

At least, that's what I thought I'd been doing. Either way, somehow I was here. "Here" certainly wasn't a safe place. Here, I was going under, and there was no way back up to the surface.

He was supposed to come for me. Somehow, he was supposed to be with me. Right here. Right now.

Only he wasn't. This was his fight, and I was fighting it for him. I'd seen him as a lost cause, someone who had been doomed from the start. Only instead, he was out of harm's way, and I was the martyr.

At least I'd finally found someone to die for.