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LIFE WITHOUT SIN | page 04

The dark alley we were walking in came to an end. And at the end was simply a wall. A dead end. It was graffitied, text written in unique and bubbly font, the neon blue colour made it seem as if it was glowing, a sheer but noticeable glow.
The words written looked quite out of place, the sentence far too biblical for something like spray-paint.

'If there is no god, then there is no sin' it read.

"Can you imagine life without sin?" he wondered out loud. I wasn't sure if he expected a reply.
Was it a rhetorical question?

He turned his head ever so slightly towards me, an eyebrow raised. I took it as a sign that I was indeed supposed to answer.

"Wouldn't that make the world... pure?" I hesitated, I've never really thought about it. My answer seemed logical, take away the bad and you'll only be left with good, right?

I think quite little, I frowned at the realisation.

"Pure," he repeated lowly, his gaze turning back to the art of vandalism, "sure, that's one way to interpret it."

I was curious: "How do you see it then?"

He was quiet for a moment, eyes empty, staring at the wall. His sudden intake of breath startled me. I hope I hid my flinch well.

"Life without sin would be... life with no meaning. Murder, pleasure-- whatever you all consider sin, or illegal even, would lose its... evilness, its meaning." He spoke at once, finally turning away from the wall, then, away from me. He started walking back into the street we came from.

I wasn't sure where he was headed to, but I followed him silently.

"Nothing would be bad. If there's no bad, there's no good. If there's nothing, there's chaos. Living creatures running wild with no concept of life, no concept of what is wrong or right. No potential for anything greater than the phenomenon of their disappointing existence."

He sounded bitter. Why? I wonder. His thoughts were indeed... something else...
He made me think too much. Did it make me bitter too if I could understand his point, if I thought he was right?

"It would be... pointless, a pity. A waste of space on this Earth," he concluded, halting his steps. He shoved one hand into the pocket of his black pants and turned to me, waiting for my argument.

I didn't give him one.
I had other things I was curious about: "You talk as if you're not human."

"I've chosen to abandon my humanity."

"Why?"

"I don't like feeling vulnerable."

...
Did he feel ashamed of that time...? Did he feel weak in front of me? It's been months since that incident and he claims he's already abandoned his humanity.

"I don't think you, a human, have a choice when it comes to humanity," I argued, staring at his eyes until he finally looked into mine. With a scowl but I was satisfied nonetheless.

"Quit speaking like me."