blurred red [Kousei/Rook]

last night i fell in love without you
i waved goodbye to that heart of mine beating solo on your lawn
and every aching wound will cauterize and bruise
in memory of what we used to call in love

The crack of the whip slices clean through the thick summer humidity. Lines dance red across the back of the man, his eyes are drooped and empty. I can't see much in the usual sea of gray, but the red bleeds through to me, and the man's screams are hard to ignore. I fold my arms uncomfortably, standing some hundred yards away with everyone else in the square. The heat is unbearable, and the mass of bodies only adds to the discomfort. I feel a little claustrophobic, with tall men either side of me and kids shouting and shoving at my back, all trying to see what's going on. I turn around furiously and tell them to shut up. They'll get us all into trouble.

We're made to watch the whippings. The Peacekeepers always make sure that it's a show. They're sending us a message about discipline... The only problem about that is that it's a message that's been stuck on repeat for the past two months. It always gets worse in the summer - Something about the hot air that makes folk more rebellious (or the Peacekeepers less tolerant). By the third week of whippings most of us had become accustomed to it, even me with my somewhat squeamish nature. By now most of us have got the message. So why does it keep happening?

My sunglasses keep the brightness from my eyes, but sends the world into a dark smudge, where only bright, stabbing colors seep through to me. Others stand around me with their hands over their foreheads to block the sun, their dark silhouettes make them all so identical. I feel like I stand out, which is the last thing I want to do at a public whipping, but then I'd stand out even more if people saw my bad eye. Plus I'd be blind without the shades, everything would just be a searing hot white. Maybe I should just stay inside all day. I wear what was a white collared shirt, but in such hot weather sweat and dust has turned it into a milky brown. Bright blue denim with torn edges are all the shorts I have, handmade of course, and my ever-present black boots are laced tightly to my feet. Usually I make more of an effort, but today I'm beyond caring - A man who has probably done nothing wrong is in pain.

The Peacekeeper raises his whip again and harshly slices down across the man's back, bringing up a weak scream. His motion is sharp and his black figure is large and menacing. The Peacekeeper seems to enjoy it too. He laughs darkly, and I make out a horseshoe mustache that bounces on his upper lip as he does so. He is sleek, with pale and tired skin. Something has aged him beyond his years. He is probably in his twenties, but looks forty. I'm not good at judging age - I can barely see the guy. But I have seen him before, at past whippings. He always finds a way to enjoy himself.

There will come a day when this twisted individual will find himself in the wrong part of town, with three large farmhands cornering him in an alleyway and beating him bloody. No one will bat an eyelid either, because the awkward looks on the faces of some of the other Peacekeepers tell me that they are either afraid of him, or hate what he's doing. We'd all be punished though. He's invincible.

There's something else though, something familiar. I know this Peacekeeper. I don't forget faces, because even when your vision is handicapped, there is always a distinct feature. That mustache. I have seen his face somewhere else, I just don't know where. A photo? A newspaper? I can't figure it out, whatever it is. It nags at me though, as I stand silently watching him. Something at the back of my head screams danger.

last night i fell in love without you
the coup-de-grace that set me off would've made for decent fiction
and every aching wound will cauterize and bruise
in memory of what we used to call in love

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narrative
thoughts
questions
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theme~ "Fell in love without you" by Motion City Soundtrack.