I am called to trial for my life.
Before a jury of Asir and mortals.
How very hilarious.
You mortals convene to loosely decide the fate of a god.
How very righteous of you.
I, however; cannot be called "righteous." I cannot even be thought to be redeemable.
All hope of reconciliation was lost when I let go.
My brother- he who so claims to be my brother- the oaf, of course, would argue otherwise- that I was and am redeemable.
To call one who has already been claimed with such accusations as I redeemable would be the equivalent of believing that, a monstrous creature set free of its cage, would not bring harm to those who gave him freedom.
I have been given such titles as malevolent, cruel, liar, thief, and murderer.
I stand trial before my subjects with such accusations;
And I am guilty of every one.
Some have even gone so far as to "accuse" me of being death himself.
I, however; am simply a cause of death.
I am chaos.
There are those who wish to pity me. There are others who would believe I am unworthy of pity; unworthy of life. But death would be too great an act of mercy.
So I have been locked in my chambers; unable to speak.
Unable to sleep.
The nightmares are too quick to flood my mind and eat away at my rotting soul, tormented by the memory of a past I do not wish to remember.
If you require a confession of me, you have one.
I am a murderer, guilty of crimes I have yet to be accused of.
I am known as a liar.
Have I not been lied to?
I am a thief, and yet I am no more than a stolen relic.
In reality, my current position is no worse than that which I was smuggled into.
I've always been hated and accused of crimes I may or may not have committed.
There is no unique quality to my current situation.
My nature is, by ancient definition, "sinful."
Any action I should choose to take, whether the drive be one of innocence- or even heroism- is immediately translated into some vain, neurotic attempt to unleash unrest upon what these creatures believe to be a completely balanced world.
What I would give to know what rest is.
Voices echo deep within my soul. Voices of an unforgiving past.
He who believes me to be his brother believes that I am losing myself- that I am unable to remember those days in which I called him "brother."
I am not all that far gone.
I still hear those familiar voices calling me. They beckon me to return to a dimension in which I never truly belonged.
They expect me to fall willingly into arms that never truly held me.
They allowed me to fall.
They made me.
Even now, the echoes grow louder and more painful.
They threaten to spill over; to fall as confessions from my lips.
Only I cannot speak.
I cannot even scream.
These phantoms appear as clearly now as they did in that hollow void between life and death.
They are more than memories.
They are reality.
They exist to remind me of what I should long to forget.
Their cold voices tear at my being and feed on my soul.
I am pulled further still into the void- I long for the emptiness that allows me to forfeit such murderous echoes of my sin.
These phantoms have replaced my sanity. Their very words form the poison which I so willingly drink.
I am surely cursed.
Fire and ash.
Buildings fell as mortal souls screamed in my ears.
They never stop.
I recall a child.
Small in size, lying weakly on the pavement.
I ask you to believe me. I beg that you do.
I wanted to stop. To crouch down.
I wanted to whisper: "I'm sorry, child."
But such words never escaped my lips.
They weren't allowed.
I did not crouch down and I did not speak.
I simply watched her for awhile.
I watched her eyes close slowly, her whimpers caught in her throat as she gasped for breath.
She fell asleep, there, in the middle of the chaos.
The calm in the storm.
What right have I to live?
I no longer have the will.
Something continues to pull at me- to beckon me still further into the grasp of these phantom arms.
I so long to be held again. To be innocent.
To be wanted.
No, such things cannot be.
I am unredeemable.
I am damned.