Why was he coming back to the place that he despise so much? What on earth could probably be there that he wanted to see again? Like a salmon reaching it’s maturity and swimming back to the place it was born knowing only of that said place, once it has reach the destination. That is what he was feeling, the limbs that connected every living thing to the ground carried him towards this unknown place. The orange sphere in the sky that nourished the life nourished the planet, licked at tan skin on his neck that peaked from the security of the red kimono that covers his built frame.
As his legs carrying him closer to their destination, a cool spring breeze kissed his cheek. It was a welcome invite for he, himself was getting slightly warm. Only the minuscule of sweat drops had form on the canvas that was called his faced. Dark brown circles with an intense white outlining, stood out the most from his scratched chisel face. His nose, mouth, and ears looked like they where chisel by a famous sculpturer that was defaced by those who dislike it. Did it bother him that his face checkered with scars? No, it didn’t for it’s a constant reminder of the hell he was put through.
Everyday they remind him of the one who cause him these scars and those who could have prevented if they cared, but sadly their self-preservation was more important to them. Could he blame those who had forsaken him, so that they can live without worry? Yes, he can for if he knew of any that was captured he would do whatever it took to say them, even at the cause of his own life. Those were idiotic ideas that he had when he was growing up with his parents. They taught him to value all life and no matter who it is one should always try to help them. What foolishness... After the capture his whole idea of protecting others had died a long time ago.
And what came from it you ask? A man who cares for nothing, but his own life. What is a team? A partnership? It’s nothing just another person who one has to look out for. Because they might end up turning against you in the long run. This was what had come from his years of be captured, theses where his ideas of life today. Could they be changed? Only one who knows the answer to this open-ended question is this man. Who is this man you ask? His name was Richter, a former quincy. Former meaning to most of the quincies population he was dead, and thus no longer holds the quincy title.
Oh but how wrong are they, for he is alive and well. No, thanks to them though. Finally his limbs halted the rest of his body coming to it’s destination. His eyes fell upon the objects that were on the ground and read what they said.
Here lies the remains of Richter and Alexander Lushian. May your souls rest in peace
How cute they even buried us together, he thought to him self. At least they got one part of it right, Alexander his wife was dead, but Richter not so much. Kneeling down on one knee he will just blankly stare at the tombstone. Even though he was at his and Alexander’s tombstone, one would think he would show some type of feelings but there wasn’t none. He doubt he could feel anything anymore, he was like the Sierra desert void of rain, which in his case rain representing emotions. So there he stared blank-less at his finally resting place..
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