Kanin Walker | District Ten | Fin

Kanin Walker.

A rusty old bench placed here ages ago where people could fall in love and enjoy the garden colors and smells. But that garden was long forgotten, the vibrant colors faded to sad pastels and the metallic bench an array of acidic reds and oranges. No one had sat there for a long time. The chill of the coming winter had vanquished what little green belonged here. Everything except for the pine. No, those green needly leaves would survive the harshest winters.

It wasn't really that hard, was it? People may call it a symbol of perseverance, but Kanin would disagree. A pine tree didn't edge the line of death, or fight to survive. It was just built for it. 

The father even thought he might find it all too hard, his calling. But even a twelve year old Kanin knew that he could survive harsh storms, he was built for it. You either believed or you didn't. You dedicated or you failed. There was no faltering, there was just belief or blasphemy. 

A hunter doesn't kill, he provides. An executioner doesn't murder, he liberates. There were pine trees and there were Summer Oaks. People yearned for the chilly breeze of November during those hot summer months, but once the snow fell they always seemed to change their minds. They feared the obstacles of cold. They shied away from the hard path for the comfort of a cozy fireplace.

If the Church had an enemy, Kanin was happy to protect it. And if the Church of Todd needed cleansed, Kanin wouldn't waste time on things like guilt. He was a pureblooded divine, born to both a priest and priestess. He was born to obey and wait for the deliverance. People always think salvation is cheap.

He sat on the bench that was covered in helicopter seeds and grass burrs. His hand still lay gripped to his revolver that was sheathed in its holster. His eyes locked on the carcass of the Summers boy who laid at his feet. No emotions dare betray his reputation. 

He bent down, outstretching his hand to the boys rapidly chilling face. Kanin's thumb brushed the cheek and moved upward until it smeared across the still wet blood oozing from the bullet wound in the boys left eye. There wasn't even a twitch on his lips. 

He dropped the head and withdrew his hand to his own face, smelling the blood and imagining it coming from the dead daffodils just seen from under the weeds. 

"A Pity," He whispered to the boy who could never again betray his faith. The boy who could never again spout lies of Kanin's faith. The Summers boy was once his friend, but now he is a blasphemer. That made him an enemy and enemies paid.

It wasn't really that hard, was it?