I've walked this road before, I've forgotten my purpose. I've forgotten who I am and what I am suppose to do. No, I haven't lost my memory, at least not in the physical sense. Though what proceeds protection, love, and kindness, these memories are gone. It's just another day, and I could care less. I couldn't tell you if the sun was shining or if it was cloudy. Nor could I tell you if I had passed several trees as I walked, or it the world was paved. Personally I care not what you think, as opposed to the next person. You could declare me lost, both mentally and morally.

Though don't take it as an admission of guilt. For in order to feel such, I must be attached to such. Why do I seek something, I know not what I look for? What drives me day in and day out to escape outside? Though I suppose asking you is fruitless too. I feel empty inside, this whole nonsense of humanity. What is it in essence? Could you tell me? Wait, why am I asking you, as if I value such an opinion.

Really, to put on the mask and full the world in to thinking nothing at all. Would you mind if there was one less life? I doubt it would even brush your conscious. Blind eyes staring from the masses, seeing nothing. Though you register everything, tell me this then.

Why is it, everyday I got out, raise my weapon and defend you? You don't even care, you don't even notice your life could be in danger. Mine's a roll of the dice, a gamble, and at any instance it could be a forfeit. You wouldn't know that would you? No, I suppose not, safe within your own little bubble. I wonder how much satisfaction I would draw if I popped it...

Hmph, probably be a waste of my time. The whole time I stand watch, ever ready, ever alert, I feel nothing. Not the slightest bit of fear, or the overwhelming warmth of doing something good. Ah, now there's a word, good, that one should be stricken from the dictionary. You don't agree do you? Foolish, each and everyone of us is foolish.

Every time one of us has the chance to prove goodness true, don't we fail as a whole? Murder in the streets, some never even noticed or found. Others get off scot-free, without a mark to show what they are capable of in the cold whispers of the night, or in the daylight twilight. Abuse is another familiar word, that circles like a waiting vulture. Whether it be a physical, mental, or emotional one is beyond such point, the fact that it exists is clear enough. The motives lay deep inside, and behind the vision of goodness you hide.

Funny that you can't admit your own faults. Pity the same thing could be said of me. Though to spare a few precious moments of time to care would be asking too much wouldn't it? Though my face is always schooled in one of two things, disgust, and nothing. Again, disgust is always there, in my dead eyes. For what is the point anymore? I don't remember, and I don't feel to recall such a memory anyway.

I'm lost aren't I? A rhetorical question of course.

As the question hung unanswered to the one that asked it. One lazy red rose petal drifted on the wind toward them. It had fought it's way free of it's clutching bush.

Hmm, a flash of red, perhaps my death has come at last? What would you do without me, a watcher, a protector? No, it's isn't death, merely a symbol of lies. Love, what a foolish notion, what is there to love about this world?

A tight fist on a metal handle, a flash of silver, and two halves of the red petal fall to the earth. There isn't a smirk of satisfaction on the person's face. The eyes don't light in cruelty, no they are merely dead and cold.

This is a fiction challenge from Usagi Asia Maxwell. Short prologue, but I promise it will get better. Hmm, only Asia-chan knows what this is crossed with. I suppose you could phantom a guess to both the character and the show. Anyway, please Review. Much Care, WCB.