22nd November, 1923 (I think)

Hey again.

I wanted to save these, so they'd last me for a while. But my sitters took me out for a stroll, yesterday.

And then they put a gun to my head.

It's a weird feeling. I was so sure that they wouldn't pull the trigger. That didn't really help, though. Because even if you're almost 100% certain, there's always a chance you might be wrong. And if you being wrong means that you'll do die, it's enough to put the gears in your mind to work.

I could never stop thinking about the how, where and when I'd die. In my thoughts, I always wanted to leave this world with grace. But when I couldn't even see the person that's holding my life in their hands, it really got to me.

Killing someone can be a very intimate thing. You get to know each other in ways that cannot possibly be described. I saw the fire in little Apo's eyes crackle and flicker, just before it went out, forever. At that moment, there was nothing else in the world that mattered. Just him, and me. The person who died, and the person who killed.

Sometimes when I was walking through the streets, I looked at other people and thought to myself: "What if that person over there was the one to kill me?" Because with one single action, that person could become one of the most important people in my life.

What hurts the most is the sheer audacity of it. Because the least they could do is to know your story, before they put it to a close. But not everyone gets that privilege. People lose their life to the most ridiculous things. My uncle contracted an infection, when I was four. It turned into a sepsis.

And just like that, he was gone.

It's pathetic, isn't it? Dying to something that doesn't even care about you. Then again, does it really matter? If I told you I'm sorry for killing you, would that make it better, or worse? If my guess is true, and there's no life after death, there's no reason to care, right? I always felt leaving was easier than being left. Because in the end, you can always come back. But not from this. It's a one way trip. And the only thing you can do is to find solace that you, at least, won't have to grief over your own remains.

I want to live forever. There are so many things I want to see
I want to go home. To the place where me and Greg grew up.
I want to go back, and burn that entire village to the ground.

Because they had a chance, you see. A chance to make something better. But they didn't. They just carried on with their lives, while I sat in a corner and cried. No one ever cared to see me for what I was. No one, but Greg. I can't let him carry it alone. Not after everything he sacrificed to keep us safe.

We've got to make it worth. Otherwise, we're just another page in a brief history of people who did a lot, but never made something. And if this world won't allow it, we'll just go somewhere else.

Another road, another town, another city. Another world, untouched by fire.

We'll go there, and we'll bring the flame to them.


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