The Screaming Hope

Ricken's POV

What is it, now?
Red.
Wait, no. Orange. Fiery orange.
A fire.
Oh, I see. Remembering.
I remember her body crumbling to ashes, dying in the fire. I've watched it fume, darken, inflame and turn into little contorting white ghosts that passed away after a last convulsion.
Enough remembering.

Before any conclusion, expectance, accusation… I want to sort things out.
I need to sort things out.
When I say I’m about to sort things out, I mean to make things clear.
It has always been like this. A part of my brain, and more precisely in the lower left part of the back, always responds to each of my questions. It is due to this day, this event, this man.
No.
This day, this event, this man are responsible for that.
Better said like this.

So I was saying I need to sort things out. Basically, it’s beyond a need.
It is a step. An important, necessary, essential, unavoidable step. I can’t and you can’t proceed to achieve anything if you haven’t taken a bit of a distance, to sum everything up; it is a step that allows you to supervise every mental information your brain has accumulated, in order to prepare yourself, to have things clear. That’s what I’ve always said to Frank: make things clear, between you and people, between you and your enemies, between you and yourself.
So I’m about to sort things out, to make them clear.
And yes.
I’m babbling, waffling, talking for nothing.
Because I have already sorted everything out. I just like to confuse people a little bit while I’m preparing to attack.
And you just had a little taste of it.

So what conclusion, expectance, accusation have I done after sorting everything out?
It’s simple.
I want her, I need her to achieve The Goal.




Tatters of fire mixed with human ashes still replay in my head, encircling it with the bitterness of regret and angriness. And revenge.

Notes

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