Mmmkay, this is my second character sketch, not without influence from Rurouni Kenshin. (I wonder how many of you actually understood that?) Anyway, just smile, read, and nod. ^_^

Written by: Death Fairy
Copyright 2001


Sketch of a Wanderer


He walks the shadows, never straying far from its cold embrace. His eyes, half-hidden under the hood of his well-worn traveling cloak, carries painful secrets and collected truths. He is the wanderer.

As darkness looms upon the sky, he looks for a place to spend the night. Sometimes his search is futile, resulting in merely a warm patch of dried grass for his bedroll to lay upon. Sometimes he is lucky. A sympathetic innkeeper might lower his prices a coin or so for the unfortunate wanderer. But, as those instances only happen once in a fortnight, he has learned to resign himself to a cold dinner and an even colder slumber.

All these years of dining on whatever he happens to catch has taken its toll on his health. Coughs often rack his frail body, and even though he is still quite in his prime, passerbys generally wave him off as a hunchbacked old bum.

A bum. That's all he's considered to be in this intolerant society. Every time those words are thrown carelessly at him on the streets like so much dishwater, his soul delves deeper into that irretrievable place where years of scorn gather into a feeling called Hate. Hate for the rest of mankind, Hate for whatever divine force he believes to have created this cruel fate for him. He is made ugly by this Hate that eats at his remaining soul until nothing is left of him save for his physical shell.

He was beautiful once. Hair the color of the deepest raven's feather has now become streaked with dirt and sweat. His eyes, once a clear, innocent green, has faded to a drab gray that can best be described as "empty". His outer appearance, now a horrid mockery of what he once was, repels all but the kindest of people. Even his family and friends have shelved his existence away in the back drawers of their minds.

It seems that there is no one to save his soul. But...is his soul worth saving, some may ask. Seeing as almost all of humanity as he knows it has turned a blind eye to the crumbling of his foundation, the essence of his existence, the answer to that overbearing question can only come from his own experiences, his own journey. The wisdom of those ancient wanderers, passed on to him grudgingly by the few of his kind he so happens to meet, serves to pad his impending fall into Hell. Because you see, Hell is where he will eventually end up, doomed to bond with the others who, like him, have had the misfortune of a horrible fate.

But there is no use dwelling on that now. Even though he must have guessed his destiny, he still wanders the random route of calm indifference, scorning humanity as it scorns him. Hiding his scarred face in the hood of his well-worn traveling cloak, he will continue to travel by the shadows, walking the never-ending trail of the wanderer...





~~*~~Ack...Amaris, I think you're right. My short ditties start out good--ingenious, even, but always seem to get this macabre glaze as I write on. I think it's self-pity. Oh well, anything in the seemingly inconspicuous box below will help my doomed soul write better. ^_^