Solitude

We had been 'But Children', when our Bishop cracked, and from then on, our Kings and Queens became strangers we never knew we had.
Our story started at an awkward angle. No longer were we innocent lil' teenagers, running a raze happily. Our plates had lost the 'squeak' and they started to fall apart.
Just ready to be thrown away.
You could call almost call us 'shadows'-- shadows with Death chasing after them. I don't suppose you would know what I am saying, for those fan-fictions I once adored, now seems so far away. It was only right though, since I, myself, once treated my story like a silly story.
Perhaps we should be stories then.
Stories fraying at the hems, stories with dirt stains, and stories with the stench of tomato sauce and rotten pear.

Occasionally, I would feel the forbidden nostalgia, that would nip and nap at my heels, forcing me in a direction long forgotten.
I would never get that far, sadly. An odd monster of a sort, would soon jump out and out was that familiar feeling within my weary hand again.
A katana.
Soon, that forbidden nostalgia would disappear, without so much as a goodbye. I don't believe nostalgia hangs around killers.
Or perhaps we are murderers, for I still remember plenty of times when we would not look the dying in the eye, as they lay weeping.

This is our story. Our silly, stupid fan-fiction.
RE-WRITTING.