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Receiving an injury is nothing knew. Gunshots, beatings, stabbings; a list could be made. But amidst all the injuries he has received, this one seems to hurt the most, despite the fact that the knife clumsily dodged any vital organs.
Maybe it hurt most because he had the audacity to think he deserves a better life— a second chance, just for that moment. The letter, so temptingly calling his name with a plane ticket enveloped within. He had stood up, letting the wind carry him and everything of a cliché happy ending.
But now he resides in the place to his liking, the library, resting his tired face atop the letter he so foolishly fell for. He thinks he should close his eyes. But not yet, taking in his surroundings despite being present there an abundance of times before, doesn’t sound all that bad.
He feels so dizzy, nausea overcoming him as if he could vomit up his hastily beating heart. His sinuses burn, and tears prickle in his eyes from both the pain and the emotions he’s feeling. But he deserves it, that’s what he always says to himself, for his hands are the cause of the murders of so, so many people.
He glances upward, and a sight has never been so beautiful— tinted windows allowing sun rays to pool in through them, dust particles dancing and so easy to see. How has he never noticed this before? The beauty of it all. It doesn’t matter, because he can admire it now with the time he has left.
He glances back at the letter. My soul will always be with you , he reads. He tries to imagine Eiji’s face as he wrote that— how did he feel while writing that? What was the message he was trying to get across— to convey? Ash thinks he succeeds at whatever it is he was trying to convey, for these tears of his melt into the letter with his blood. He feels bad that he smudged such a heartfelt letter with the red that still flows out of him, minute by minute. But the words still mean so much, no matter how distorted or messy the letter could get.
He’s unsure if time can register as a concept in his brain anymore. His body was panicking, for the blood his heart is pumping is going nowhere but to wet the clothes on him. All he knew now was that the word is cruel— but so is he, right? Nonetheless, he’ll be gone soon, and all those that died from his hands can finally rest.
His eyelids gain more weight on them, and sleeping seems more and more tempting for every drop of blood that hits the floor. Guilt hits him once again. These poor people, he thinks, how long will it take to clean this chair? To get the red stains out of this carpet? He wonders how many people will question this, how is body got here. He wonders who the lucky employee will be, who’ll discover him after he had taken his final breath.
Eiji comes into mind again, and his face alone can soothe any worries. He misses him already, a rush of content flowing through his heaving chest when he remembers that Eiji will no longer have to face danger, and that he will never be endangered by the Lynx’s actions ever again. Nonetheless, he is thankful for all he has done, the hugs, the words of affirmation, the hope he gave him. Ash thinks that maybe this is what love is. He was ashamed at the few moments where kissing this boy felt tempting, with the exception of the pill transaction. Alas, meeting those lips now is impossible, Eiji was in Japan and Ash would soon be greeted into the arms of death.
He goes to reminisce on the fun memories he had with his gang. How they always obeyed him and roughhoused with each other, their little bonds they had within the group. The loyalty and respect they had— no, have, for him was immensely insane. Ash is a gang leader, yes, so respect is expected, but he cares for them no matter, and he hopes they know that.
Time adjusts just a bit more before Max and Jessica now come into mind, and his eyelids flutter as he remembers first meeting Max, and how there was almost this hatred he felt for him because Max had defensively shot Ash’s dear brother. But, he understands now, after his unfortunate situation with Shorter, bullet through the chest. In the end, Max had earned his trust, so did Jessica, and he hopes that happiness finds them well.
His life is flashing before his eyes, and he gives in to temptation to close his eyes as his vision blurs. He brushes off the warning from the librarian until she finally, and unknowingly wishes him a nice dream. A nice dream indeed, he agrees, and smiles. His hair is pooled all over the desk, protectively covering that letter, as if those words belonged to his eyes only.
Everything was black, with the exception of the sunlight seeping through his eyelids. But he manages to drift off, awaiting whatever comes next after death. He expects Skipper, his brother, even. He was scared to face eye-to-eye with Shorter, though, for Shorter had been betrayed by those hands with a gun.
Silence.
But life is cruel to Ash Lynx, and it knows death is the easy way out. Second by second, he seems to regain his senses up until he can hear again— the sound of repetitive beeping and concerned, saddened voices quietly exchanging conversations.
He doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he can feel a hand on his, recognizably soft.
The world may seem to have picked a choice that is cruel to Ash right now, but maybe in the long run, will that be the better option.