Those who make mistakes blame themselves and close their hearts. It’s impossible to fix the mistake; men can’t return to the past. That’s why they drink. Lushes, drunks, sliding alcohol down their throats to try to dilute the memories that can’t be forgotten. Frank Marlon, the gunsmith, does nothing but drink, and questions the glass after it’s empty. “Am I wrong? Was I wrong?”
I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this. In spite of the profession I’ve chosen, I’ve never actually made a confession before. It’s these times we live in. I did what it took to protect the children at any cost. That’s how I always justified my actions. I took many people’s lives, all that time believing there was no other way. My sins are so heavy. Too heavy. Too heavy to ever atone for. And yet, somehow I feel happy, at peace with myself today. It really can be done. Once you stop to think about it, there are plenty of ways to save everyone. Why didn’t I ever listen to him? Why didn’t I see that before it was too late?
I meditate diligently every morning. The subject is Life and Love. I quit after three seconds.
We’re nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we’re driven to become the devil himself. What’s your answer this time?
Life is an incessant series of problems… all difficult, with brutally limited choices – and a time limit.
The tragedy endlessly repeated in order to fulfill desires, the lust for conquest making people bend to your will, a thrill intense enough to make you shudder. There is a man who is a slave to that ecstasy, the leader of the Badlads. A man who shines: Brilliant Dynamites Neon. The sandsteamer will shake the moment each of the huge dynamos on each of his shoulders start to spark. In the pitch black darkness, the gruesome party begins.
Dangerous toys are fun but you could get hurt.
I picked up my first gun at the age of seven. And I shot. I remember how strangely easy it was to pull the trigger. Ha. I actually laughed. Because that one shot was all that was needed to silence that sickening piece of garbage who had the nerve to call himself my guardian. Ha. It was that simple. And so I was free. Yes, tomorrow would be different. Hm. Tomorrow. As much as I wanted to believe, it only went from bad to worse. A vicious cycle… I didn’t want other kids to grow up like me, so I started my own orphanage. It was gratifying work, I was actually doing something for the good of others. It was my place of peace and happiness… yet sometimes, I still think to myself ‘there’s no place worse than this planet. It’s horrible here.’
Vash the Stampede… every time I observe his actions I can’t help but sense something hidden deep within him, something we can’t being to understand. But this much is certain: everyone one who has become involved with him has somehow regained an emotion which was once lost