a zed

you wanted to be an icon, like the old master, an unmoving figure in the face of balance.

i saw right through you.

if i made you

angry enough,

tense enough,

happy enough,

you were no better than i was. i, who was selfish, cruel and vengeful.

you were no better than a man who gave nothing to anyone

anyone

(like light in darkness. a small instance of god and the all-knowing in the body of a mortal.)

disgusting.

(when shen opens his eyes and takes on the glow of twilight, he sees the planes between existences. he sees the delicacy of balance, how brittle it truly is in the hands of man. he sees a fabricated truth, the harsh reality of his purpose. he sees little else.)

he does not need prophecy. he does not need balance.

(it is when shen finally closes his eyes that he can rest. he takes a deep breath in those moments, holds it in for far too long. his chest flutters when he finally lets go.)

if he cannot see me with those eyes—

(he tries to.)

—then what good are they?

yes. lay the body down

the sun hasn’t come up yet

what are you waiting for?

he could not even save you

i never needed saving

where he watched you step out?

from the doors, holding the old master’s head

how did he look?

beautiful

was what you saw real?

i couldn’t touch him; how can i say for sure

find him again

find him?

and take him

and then i’ll know