Prolog

Screams of pain, despair and sadness filled the night. It was a rainy night and the blood of the ones, laying around him mixed with the mud of the earth, which his foot whirled up, as he was running through it. His clothes where soaked with blood, it was no longer possible to see from where it came, since it had filled his upper as well als lower body. His clothes fit that very picture, they had completely taken a black color and were nearly fully destroyed. He seemed exhausted, tired and distorted from pain. Every step he took, needed more that the previous.

A picture of a broken man wich reflected the screams of the surrounding. A picture of a man desperately seeking, to find sense again in his existents and it appeared that his wish is to be be fulfilled. The question was not if, but how.

The name of the lost one was screamed out through the torn heard of the man, as he saw the remains of a lost one. It was nothing but lost and the last beats were beating. Even so the broken man could not let go, of something that was no longer to save, since his view has already blurred and his mind fallen into confusion. He was someone that had lost touch with reality and was now seeking a miracle, a miracle to free him from all this pain in his heart.

But there were no miracles. Miracles were a lie, a phantasy made up for the mad, which could no longer face reality. At least that was what he originally thought. Was he truly such a man?

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

 The knees sank to the ground, as he bowed himself, for the one who was already lost. His back bending to save and his hands extend, for he wanted to retrieve and save, what blasphemy

It was a picture, showing how the world truly was like. Had it become time for him to rest too the man wondered. But the man hat wished for a miracle, ans so a miracle shall occur.

Lungs filled with air, one last time.

Eyes filled with light, one last time.

An heard filled with blood, one last time.

And a mind, filled with thoughts, for last words.

"Johnson?“

The first thought the light had brought him, and which he had uttered, through the air and power given to him, to speak his last words, since he was him.

The man desperate to stop the lost one, using his last bit of strength. The lost one knew better. What was lost could not be saved.

„You are becoming what I am, what I had become, what I should never have become. That’s why you have to stop following the lost ones, you have to let go and live on. Your live has yet to end and can still be saved, so hear me out. Revenge will bring nothing, it will not fill your heart, nor will It fill the ones that have already died. It will but only end you and everything you have left.“ Spoke the lost one, with a weak but clear voice.

Even so, the Man had stopped hearing long ago, his eyes no longer saw, as the blood running down his face filled and crusted. It was not that, which had stopped him hearing his voice, it was that his mind had stopped perceiving reality once and for all, completely. |He was not the one to receive a miracle| The man used his last breaths, to kill the one who was to blame, what a senseless dead, since he could not fulfill his duty.