There is no justifying the murder of someone you love. This is why I fled the country. I wasn’t the wrong doer, yet I knew I couldn’t justify my cause in the court of law as much as the killer couldn’t justify its in front of me.
I boarded the first boat to nowhere. It swept across the seas in the black of night. As the rest of the world stood still, moored to an unmoving and unchanging landscape, my world was careening into the unknown. My thoughts at this point weren’t bound to either past or present. I didn’t waste time looking back to what had happened, and I didn’t worry myself over what the future had in store. I was in my own personal limbo. Nothing really mattered to me.
The boat docked. I made my way to the exit. I was in no rush. After everyone else had pushed through and made it to dry land, I made my move, only to be stopped by a hand placed on my shoulder, and the words,
‘I’ve seen what you can do. I think you can help me. I think it’d be in both our best interests if you agreed.’
I turned my head imperceptibly, resting my eyes on the hand preventing me from leaving. It told me nothing. I then turned towards the owner. The hand belonged to a man of uncertain age. Physically, he was almost certainly young, though on looking into his eyes, I read years beyond measure. And, despite the fact that he was slightly shorter than myself, and from appearances not much stronger, the grip he had on me proved otherwise. I must admit, I was most intrigued.
After gaining these first few impressions, I said,
‘What I do is always in my best interests. I don’t know what you’ve seen, or what you think I’m capable of, but I will gladly help if our interests coincide.’
With a stony yet otherwise unreadable glance, the man motioned for me to move. Without further ado, I made my way off the boat. After all, nothing really mattered to me.