I was watching the rain fall from the gray sheet of clouds in the sky. There were no gaps, no details, no distinction between clouds; just a long sheet of gray hanging in the sky as far as I could see.
The mountain was my escape, my release, the place my soul breathed and my heart beat. I scaled it every chance I got, stood on its peak, looked at the world, the trees, the clouds, the sky. It was my home. My secret place. My haven.
“You have 24 hours. We’ll see you when you return.” 24 hours of freedom from the violence, the destruction, the death. A single day of escape, of life, of remembering. For me, that meant a trip to the mountain. That mean a chance to feel the air flow through my fingers and across my palms. To feel myself breathe, my lungs expanding and contracting. To feel the ground beneath my feet. To remember the gift of being alive, and how precious, how priceless that gift was.
I held my hands before me, palms to the sky, closed my eyes, and felt the rain as it fell.
There was no forgiveness for me. No plans, no dreams, no hopes. Tomorrow would bring the truth back to my life. Tomorrow I’d don my armor again, and walk through the darkness of the world. Tomorrow I’d once more be part of the solution to the problems people couldn’t solve by peaceful means.
As the rain fell, buried memories floated to the surface of my mind. It had been a decade since Cynthia had died. All I remembered was searing pain, agony, as if my beating heart got ripped from chest. The day I learned of her death was the day I lost my ability to love. I had not cared for anyone since.
Three years later, I died. I took a katana, razor-sharp, and tracked down the man who took Cynthia from my world. He’d raped her. Violated her. Abused her. And got away with it. He was rich. She was nobody.
I hacked him to bits with the katana. I lost count of how many times the blade sliced into his body. That was the deal. I kill the man who took the only person I ever loved from my life, and instead of jail for murder, I became an Armor.
I left a suicide note and the katana with his remains, took my car, drove too fast on a mountain road, didn’t make that turn, and sailed, car and all, into the abyss. They found some of the car’s remains. They never found any of me.
As the rain fell, I wondered my heart would ever feel anything again. I knew the truth. I was Armor 17. My heart was on its own. I could feel the rain, the breeze. All the things a body feels, physically.
Nothing else mattered.
Except the violence.
This is my entry into #FlashMobWrites 1×26, hosted by Ruth Long and Cara Michaels. Please, go read all the stories in for #FlashMobWrites 1×22. You might find something you like. But if you don’t read them, how will you ever know?