Honest
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and yet, it was right in front of my weary brown eyes. It was like peering into a looking glass, save for my reflection lay bleeding on the ground and I stood precariously on the edge of the balcony, about to teeter into the cheap-seats below.
I have always hated the crowds.
The unwashed masses.
I am not who they think I am.
I can see my killer out of the corner of my eye, and I pinwheel, about to lose balance. He has leapt from the balcony, his chosen perch for my murder. He slides down the curtain, and lands on the stage with a thud, like a sack full of dirt. There's a distinct snapping noise, as if the bag of dirt had a large branch inside, and I knew immediately that his leg was shattered.
I'm no doctor, but when the sound is that loud, you don't really need to be.
But aren't we all doctors?
Who is to say.
Who am I, really?
I used to know... Before. Before all of this happened.
My killer cried something out, but I could not hear him. He looked up to me, as if he was staring into a ghost. To him, I was. I was the man he just killed, and yet, I was standing, staring, accusing.
He cried out again, this time, “It's the ghost!”
I smiled.
I'm no ghost.
I am vengeance.
And I will kill you.
He fled, and like the darkness in his soul, I followed. Mary Todd looked up at me, and down at the body, and then looked at me again.
This is all a dream, I assured her.
Except when you wake up your husband will still be dead.
“Aren't you my husband?”
No.
No ma'am.
I'm something more.
Mary Todd lost the feeling in her legs and collapsed. But I was in no position to help her. I'm not a doctor.
I'm not even a vet.
I tried to think back, to my last memory before the balcony, before I saw myself get shot, before I saw the back of my head detach like a broken jar.
No cookies inside.
Only brain.
I was on a train. Writing something on a napkin. A speech.
Four score.
Seven years.
No, that's not right.
There was a bright light – a bright, bright light, and then, nothing. Darkness. No voices.
I could hear again, first. The sound of the gunshot. The cries.
And then I was on the balcony.
Perched like a hawk.
Staring at my corpse.
I ran past Mary Todd, my coat flapping behind me. The audience was still shocked. They had not seen me. Nor would they ever.
How can you see a shadow when there's a light on it?
Is it still a shadow?
No. It's not a shadow. It's some kind of not-shadow.
The murderer ran, and I followed. Out the door.
Into the alley.
Stop, I yelled.
He did not.
I think he knew I was not some kind of adoring fan. I did not want to shake his hand – I wanted to rip it off and slap him with it until he cried bitter tears. Then I would make him drink them.
A bitter brew.
I could hear the foot steps behind me. The crowd wasted no time gathering to chase my murderer. But they could not see me. Silently, like some sort of cat-man, I followed.
But I'm not a cat-man.
I'm not even a doctor.
He kept running. He climbed onto a horse.
I, too, mounted a horse.
The horse looked like it had seen some kind of horse-ghost.
As if the horse knew I was an anomaly.
Let's play a game, horsie.
What does not belong?
Me. I should be dead.
But I am not. God has chosen me for a reason. To bring to justice those who have done wrong. Namely, those who have shot me in the head.
I followed him for what seemed like days, but I lost track of the time.
Who has time anymore? Not me. I'm living on a loan.
He stayed in a few houses. I spared them. Most had kids. Most didn't know what he had done.
I waited until he was holed up in a barn before confronting him.
He looked up, as if he knew I would follow him.
“I knew you would follow me.”
I nodded.
“I shot you in the head.”
I nodded again.
“Every time a civilization becomes too indulgent, there is a man like me. To stop the spread, to stop the disease.”
I am your cure, I spat.
He looked terrified. He backed up into his oil lantern, which tumbled onto the ground.
Suddenly, his fearful gaze turned into a steely glare.
“You won't kill me. We've been doing this for ages.”
Johnny boy, I said, I'm not going to kill you. But I don't have to save you.
I uppercutted him into the wall, which he fell through. A burning beam collapsed, blocking my pursuit.
I paused, marveling at how unnaturally fast the fire had spread to the ceiling.
I stepped out of the smoky barn. It was surrounded by a few people who had followed.
He's not in there, I said.
A man walked up to me.
“You're a hero,” he said. “Killing that bastard.”
I paused. How did he not recognize me? I reached up. My beard had been burned off in the fiery inferno.
I'm no hero. I'm just a guy who doesn't belong.
I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket and lit it on a piece of rubble.
I'm just an ordinary union citizen.
“Why, sir, the war's been over nigh on 12 days! Where have you been?”
Not where, friend. When.
Knowing that I did not belong, I retreated to the sand dunes of Virginia. I stared into the ocean.
How will I ever belong?
The war has been over and I didn't even know it.
The world had changed too much.
They say when you get life in prison, that's what they take away. Life. I can't adjust anymore. It's all too radical.
Can you hear the waves, Tommy?
They call to me.
They whisper my name.
The enchantress.
The blue beyond.
I begin my slow descent, the waves crashing around my feet.
It'll take a good long walk before I'm submerged. I'm abnormally tall.
On the beach, I've left nothing but my stove-pipe hat and a half-finished speech.
I'm coming home real soon, honey.
Don't you wait up.
But leave the light on for me, so I'll know the way.
FIN.
tl;dr
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Originally Posted by Hippocrass
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