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One
Two
Three
Four
Five
A breath that never quite steadies.
Six
Seven
Eight
As though God Himself might yet open the gates to absolution, if only your heart were worn away by feeling, over and over again, until remorse became the last thing left capable of longing.
Until you become a sheepdog drenched in blood
blood of duty,
blood of protection,
blood from your own hands.
and can no longer tell one from the other.
Until shame settles upon your shoulders with unbearable weight, and you find yourself asking, again and again, whether what you've done has already gone too far.
Nine
Ten
Between the two of them,
no word is ever meaningless.
Between the two of them,
the cleansing of anger sedimented deep within the heart is never enough.
And between the two of us,
I ask only for forgiveness.
“Mr. Ryland.”
“Did you ever expect anything of me?”
Blood-stained gloves gripped the haft of the hammer so tightly that the knuckles beneath had blanched white. His breathing remained ragged, unchanged.
Because you could never imagine the beauty of sunlight on the day it shines its brightest.
Not when you are surrounded by lifeless bodies discarded like refuse.
Not when your clothes, your skin, and both your hands have been dyed crimson by something you cannot bear to admit is part of who you are.
Never.
“First of all, you're a kind person.”
Please.
Forgive me.
Forgive me for what I am.
Take my hand and tell me that everything will be alright.
And please
don't let go.
I only nodded.
To some people, Ryland Grace is a man possessed of far more love than any one person should have to carry alone, so much love that one cannot help but wonder whether they deserve any of it at all.
What am I supposed to do if, one day, he sees something in me
something even I cannot imagine exists?
The clock crept past two in the morning, that hour when the world ought to be asleep.
Yet inside his head, everything continued to roar without end.
At least within his head.
Only within his head.
Would such a thing be acceptable,
in the eyes of Ryland Grace?
He would never know.
As stained hands were scrubbed beneath freezing water, as though he could wash the ugliness of being human from his skin.
Please forgive me.
For I have sinned.
The flower vase shattered against someone's skull.
Then came the thunderous report of a shotgun.
And a crimson rain scattered across the room.
Violence had never been in his nature.
And that was the most painful truth of all.
If that is so,
then why do you still look at me like that?
On a day when sunlight pours across the world,
bright enough to make it seem as though God had forgotten that this earth had ever known bloodshed.
“I did something terrible.”
“Did you mean to?”
I'm not sure I know the answer myself.
“I think... no.”
“Then it's alright.”
His gaze softened,
like a dog that has just realized it will not be punished by its master for the savage instinct it never asked to possess.
“Everything will be alright.”
.
.
—
— 'Hello, you've reached Ryland Grace. I'm sorry I can't answer your call right now. Please leave a message, and I'll call you back as soon as possible.Thank you'
I hope everything will be alright.
And more than anything,
I hope that no matter how much time passes,
you will always forgive me.