I wandered along aimlessly. My eyes were pools of anger. Not the burning rivers but cold reserves of resentment. There I was, with manic urge to empty the barrel and to inhale the smoke and laugh at the bleeding carcass of someone I had known, someone I had gifted petals of rose dipped in the scent of warmth, someone who had thrown burning thorns in to my eyes, someone who had slayed the lover within and left me stranded with nothing. Then it was that I found a sword to love, and its thirst to feed, with my blood or theirs.
There I stood, watching the horizon for silhouettes of those in whose blood, I would bathe myself. I learnt to shoot, and to kill with my gaze. Often, the murders that I would commit with just a stare would pinch me far more than the ones with the edge of my blade.
I clothed myself in black, gauntlets on either hand, mail on my chest. Often I asked myself, why the armory? Why the weapons? Why the gauntlets? What do I cherish within that I would choose life over death? What do I live for? And there I would stand, looking at those dead remains, searching for an answer, ever out of sight, ever eluding. There I stood, with a cowl on my head, there I stood, with the desert wind on my face, there I stood with grains of sand in my lungs, totally oblivious of the sweet flowers and the scents that were once there. There I stood, myself thirstier than the evil blade I wielded and so I stood, with embers as eyes burning more than the sun, blinded in bloodlust, there I stood...
And there she happened to chance by, taking my hand, to an oasis, bathing me in her love, hugging me, beckoning me to smiles. My armory was gone, my gauntlets vanished and there I was, under the shade of a tree, by the brook, playing with her hair, jumping into the pools of her eyes, touching her, saying nothing but knowing everything that she felt, everything that I felt.
And then, before our fates could be sealed, she left, on her path, leaving a trail of flowers behind. I followed it to her abode, to let her know that for me, she was worth living for, worth killing for, worth dying for.
The sun rose, and I saw for the first time in many years, that it was full of warmth and smiles, beckoning myself and every being to the one place that we longed for. And so I walked, armored, gauntleted hands, wielding the sword, but stronger within. My heart, an ocean of calm, no longer the firestorm of earlier days, I marched forth, not with the sense of having nothing to lose but with hope for her embrace. As the days pass, I march on, closer to her, following the trail of flowers, the scent of her warmth, with the thirst of a lover, I prepare to partake of the almighty's blessing to a wounded heart.