the reality of brutality TOKYO GHOUL FANFICTION Amon x akira

ratchet wisdom

I refused tenaciously to eat, at this point I was completely emaciated. I was so starved I no longer even felt the pain of hunger. Starving myself gave meaning to my life when I had none. I deserved it for fucking up my life and throwing away everything. To be completely honest I hoped I was dying. There was no point in life anymore. I was curled up against the wall - Isabel still hurling horrible mockery and insults - when all of a sudden I started bawling. I hadn't cried like this since I was a child - when I lost my mother. Even when I lost my father I refused to cry. Only my drunken vulnerability allowed me to cry in front of Amon that one time. I thought crying was pathetic and only for the weak minded, forcing me to bury my grief into the recesses of my mind I swore never to see again. At this moment they surfaced with all of their significance. My despair, agony and hopelessness came in thick sobs that wracked my body. I had nothing anymore - absolutely nothing. Even the clothes I was wearing didn't belong to me. At my sobbing Isabel stopped talking. She seemed rather shocked actually. She walked over to me and put my head on her lap and started stroking my hair.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "I've lost everything," I sobbed. "I wish I was dead. I just want to die, please kill me, please." She began stroking my hair more soothingly in soft, delicate glides.

  "We all feel like that here in this prison at one point," she said. "And I know what you mean - is there truly meaning in life and incentive to be alive when you're stripped to the most basic foundations of life? When refused even the most basic rights? When disregarded as anything but an inhuman object?

  "I felt like you did at one point - in fact for 2 years in the beginning of my incarceration. Because of my isolation and despair I was forced to reflect on myself and my life and explore its contents and organize them into specification and coherency. I listed off everything I had lost and every thought and feeling I conjured throughout the endless days. I don't blame you for being suicidal. Finally after many months of self reflection I fabricated my own ideology. There is no purpose for my life and there never will be, but despite this I began to feel deeply enamored and awed by life. My life is at its end but my story is not. My story will never be shown to the world, but it exists in my head and always will be. It's like reading a fairytale or story to yourself. You cling to the hope and wonder you've experienced, the beauty of life and vibrancy you did feel at one point. I live to revel in them and remember that at one point life had meaning. I don't want to die despite this because I don't want my story to be lost. I suppose that's strange because I would never tell it to anyone, but its significance is the only precious thing in my life anymore.

  "I live to dedicate my existence to the tribute of those I care about and always will. Those I've left behind and will never see again. Despite that reality I am with them. The idea of them and what I remember of them gives me company, it's like they're actually there in some weird way. I remember all the experiences I've had of them and relive the most wonderful parts of my life, I do this everyday and so everyday is wonderful - even if it's the most insignificant fleeting moment. Everyday my life has meaning and it has beauty in it. I've experienced the beauty in life and for the rest of my life I still will, everyday! That's what keeps me alive, that's my purpose."

  I stopped bawling and was suddenly and strangely comforted by what she said. Perhaps she was right, perhaps I hadn't truly lost everything. I still had my memories of my work, my past, Maris Stella, Takizawa, Amon... as long as I remembered them I would never be alone.