The world didn't end in a bang. Or a blow. It was one scream at a time. "Till death do us part", they had sworn, while being aloof from everybody else. Under the gleam of the red full moon, they made love. A glimpse of what heaven looked like. But it all flashed before their eyes for they had their tribes to lead. For they had their wars to fight. And their fight was against each other, for love, was forbidden. Love, if seen, was slashed out, cut, and torn into pieces like a dry rose. They didn't care if that was murder or if it had life. If the flower still had completely bloomed or not. "RULES ARE RULES!" they screamed.
"THEY, THEM, THEIRS!!! TELL ME, WHAT ARE YOU? ONLY A KNIGHT WHO IS MEANT TO SERVE? A FIGHTER WHO IS SUPPOSED TO GET HURT? A GLADIATOR WHO IS SUPPOSED TO TAKE DOWN ENEMIES? Tell me, are you not a human? Are you not a LIVING, BREATHING HUMAN BEING?!" She said, her hands shaking as she placed them on his wide chest, her tender fingers looking frail like a dead leaf about to fall off the tallest branch of a tree on a winter morning.
"For I know you are." And he listened.
"I know you are a human. You feel. You cry like a child in my arms every night when you remember the days as dark as death and nights as cold as frost. You love. You are a wild lover behind the curtains- you don't care- or give a damn about the world. You think. I am acquainted with every drop of sweat that falls from your forehead when you spend your time thinking about the betterment of others." She said. She was right. But he was cold. Ruthless, for that, was what he was known to be. He had probably forgotten that he was a living, breathing being himself. He was only a man of flesh and blood just like everyone else, and hate was not the answer to life. Love was. Love was forever the answer to every problem humankind ever faced, and will ever face.
"You aren't thinking like a warrior. You either fight. Or you die." He said. She wept. Yes. She wasn't thinking like a warrior. She was thinking like a mother. A friend. Love. For she knew what was underneath all his scars, all the bloodshed and battle cries, was a simple human being who wanted to lead a life that he would cherish throughout. He didn't want to be remembered. He just wanted to be loved. But no. He was cursed. Why wouldn't he be cursed? His mother died at birth and his father was a drunkard who got executed at the palace. He grew up eating what people threw at him on the ground, he lived like a dog. But his blood spoke more than he ever could. He lived like a dog but didn't turn into a parasite. He learned how to fight for his survival and he did.
But he lost all he had. Humanity. Heart. Faith. But gradually, he knew he was getting it all back. Even if he didn't want it. Even if it made a quiet, slow fear creep up his spine at night making him sick. The fear of facing the crowd was what it was.
"BUT THEY KNOW ME AS A WARRIOR! NOT, A LOVER!!", he cried. True. They had only heard him shout out battle cries, speak about death, survival, fights. Never about love, for he never got love. He never knew until he met her. Until sparks flew everywhere. The sounds of swords clinking faded away when their eyes met. Time stood still as they looked up at each other. Their eyes bespoke revenge, barbarity, fire- but still somehow managed to hide a peaceful stream of heaven's most sacred and beautiful pool of water, the water which probably quenched the thirst of God. It was as if the Water whispered words of love, kindness, peace. They both noticed. While their hands kept communicating with their brain sending and receiving instructions in milliseconds, managing two swords simultaneously, their eyes never lost sight of each other. Unknowingly, their faces changed expressions as their lips slowly formed a little smile around the corner. More like a mischievous smirk as they kept fighting.
"Pft- I'm gonna win." He said, making a face of extreme pride.
"I know how to shatter that pride." She said, as their swords moved swiftly, hers stopping at his neck, and his stopping at her stomach. Their eyes never lost contact. And that was probably when they swore
"Till death do us part, love."
And probably that was what they swore that night, panting while the fight went on behind them. They smiled at each other again, said, "I'm gonna win this time."
The swords clashed and met the bare skin of the individuals. Hers stopped at his neck, and his stopped at her stomach. But only for a split second. They smirked. And whispered.
"Till death do us part."
And the world went dark as both their tribes fell apart.
"WHO WON, THEN?!"
They won. Forever. They still held hands as they were lowered onto the bed of flowers, their swords were kept by their side. All their fights came to an end there. But the love went on.
And the love went on so deep that even after centuries when he came into being again, he sought love. He searched everywhere but nothing seemed to feel like that love. The love that he felt probably in another life. In a life that was his, but wasn't his. A life that was full of agony, but still as beautiful as the rose kept in a glass vase, waiting for the kiss of love. But he couldn't touch it. Feel it. Nor see it. It was in the world of his dreams which he visited every night while he grew up. He wondered in awe- "what is love?"
For all he saw while growing up, there were fights, love falling apart, and betrayals.
Yes, his parents tried to be there for him. But he never felt that presence. Especially whenever he needed them the most. On those nights when he went to bed crying, on those nights when his presence made him want to throw up. On those nights when life felt dark. Even days. When he wanted to run away to the cliff of a mountain he had visited as a child where it echoes when you scream, just to scream out into the darkness and see if there's anybody else who can match his tone, his voice, his loudness and say, "Yes, I feel what you feel. I know what you feel."
He does, yes. He does visit the place every night and screams into the unending spiral of darkness. But it's just him. Every night when he goes to bed, his room mocks him. Every inch of it laughs at him and says "oh poor soul, still couldn't do a thing, could you? Still could save your life that's falling apart? I told you. It's no use! Instead, be one of them. Follow them and be like them. Work nine to five, fight with your wife, and go to bed falling out of love. And find love outside. Outside where it's all about money. Money and power. And fame, if you can. Oh, and lust. If you can be a dirty gambler, you'll probably find tens of thousands trying to get laid." But he resists. He hides his face on his pillow, sobbing up like a toddler. He thinks, would anybody notice? Would anybody care if one day he just vanished? Wouldn't that just be another offline sign against his name? Wouldn't he be just another petal that falls off the dry rose in the glass vase? He shrugs it off. Maybe. Maybe not. He closes his eyes shut and tries to dive into the pool of sadness that he already is drowning in, hoping someone would save him. Someone would hold his hands and pull him out and say, "No, my love. You're Not the villain. You aren't how people misunderstand you to be. You are just different. And different is artsy. You aren't meant to be beautiful to the sore eyes. You are meant to be like art. Free-flowing and natural. It's not meant to be beautiful, it's meant to make you feel something. Probably a spark that could light the world on fire if given the chance. The fire of passion, or the fire of hell, depending upon the situation. Or even pacify the thirsty souls, a bit, if needed."
He drowns every night, bit by bit into the eternal darkness that has been created. Probably a curse from his past life, for he is still seeking. Still seeking those eyes, the mischief, the fire, and the tone that said, "Till death do us part." But he doesn't find them anywhere. He tries hard, till his head hurts and makes him wince in pain every time he tries to move. But he believes in her existence. The one that left him nights ago- he believes she's there. Somewhere around. He knows it's a story which ends with them parting, but that's not what he focuses on. It's the lifetime of love that he seeks. And then, he knows he'll find her again. No matter how many centuries pass, he'll find his love.
The darkness consumes everything. He grows silent. And convinces himself every night, silence isn't bad. They said silence is the best answer to everything. But he fails to understand how and where that is applicable. He fails to understand that for others, him being silent is the best way to move forward while pulling him down, while stomping on top of him, crushing his skull and his pride into a million pieces, and making Mother Earth engulf them and give him a sweet, tender burial.
But he is done with burials. He is done with beautiful rituals of death. He knows darkness a little too much to die in darkness. He can kiss the night and assure her that darkness isn't bitter at all. It's the time when he comes alive. It's the time when his strong fingers pull on the strings of the broken lyre to make it sound like heaven. It's the time when he makes love with the Goddess of Death and fools her into giving him another sweet day of life. The silence continues to grow. But man oh man does he know how it feels to speak. How it feels to bring an entire empire crumbling down at his feet with his words, make the proudest being on the planet drool over his painting, and pray every night that he was theirs. Oh, he knows the power of speech. His words were as strong as the Oracle. It could build someone's life and also destroy it in seconds. His dark attire, the dark aesthetic, all summed up his love for the darkness. For night. But he still loved the moon. For that, indicated his soft spot. The soft spot in his heart that still had light. That still had kept him human. Maybe one day. One day he would not have to hide the light under the veil of darkness?
Maybe one day, he would find the eyes that would look into his eyes, find out the light and say "Till death do us part." And then smirk and say "We'll trick death for an eternity, love." Even if it's somewhere alien. Even if it's along the dim streets in New York, even if it's only a sudden bump. He knows their eyes would find each other. He knows sparks will fly just like last time. And a love story that was buried under the ground on a bed of flowers centuries ago, would come back to life. For another eternity. Till death does them part.
"Vic signifies the determination in humans. He is a symbol of sheer patience and perseverance, which sometimes, can become hectic for humans. Humans, if they become more determined, they can achieve whatever they want. But at the same time, if determination is fueled with hatred, it can only spew more hatred and darkness. So determination paired with love is the way to go."