Of Nights

Wide-Eyed

I ain't stupid just cause I'm not like him, you know.

So what if he has the impeccable manners and can talk all high-minded and deep. So what if he follows his samurai bushido shit. So what if people don't automatically distrust him like they do me.

All those things… they only make him weak. People know what to expect from him. It's like you know what cards he'll play when, how, and where. A samurai, a ronin…meh. He walks a road laid down for him by his ancestors, one that he won't leave no matter how much the world passes him by. He's a dying breed, girl, too lost in the past to see beyond the tip of his nose.

You think I survived the hell of Ryukyu cause of 'manners'? You think the men there ask you politely if you are ready to get cut up? Do the guards mind if the fight is between twenty fuckers against one kid? Would they give a shit if that's your mother they're raping?

That's why I am still alive. I am unexpected. I'm a fuckin' slap to the face. People don't know whether I like 'em or if I'm about to stab them in the back and rob their corpses. They can't read me. They don't know how.

My path is my own and has nothing to do with shit-speeches about 'honor' or 'duty'.

So how does that measure up to your standards, little girl? You ready to open your eyes and really see me now?


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