The Shadow Master (Chapter 1)

I’m scared by the prospect of death. I’m scared to join those I love. I shouldn’t be, I’ve told myself many times I’d be better off dead, but I simply don’t die. I love life; it only comes round once, so why should I give up the only thing I have left? I won’t let him beat me. "Him", the one who took everything away from me, the one I once gave the strongest following. He’s turned me into nothing more than a walking, talking tragedy- a blind, tired old man living in a city of hate. I won’t let him take my life too.

Ha. Look at me. These tears aren’t worthy of me. They’re a sign of morality, a sign of weakness. Or are they? Is a warrior weak because he has emotions? Or is a human weak if he doesn’t listen to them? I know I was weak once, when I thought I could handle everything by myself, when I believed no one could help me. I thought my lifestyle needed it. I might not be here spouting all this to you if I wasn’t an utterly ruthless fighter in my youth. Then again, if I became hampered and strengthened by my heart, I may have become an observer, an innocent, on the outside looking in, and out of harm’s way.

Friends, you say? Once maybe, but no longer. Now my shadow is my best friend.

Anyway, that’s enough of my blathering. I suppose you wish to hear "my story". You’ll need a lot of time and patience; I’m not just any normal tramp. My story is little different from the conventional, if you care to listen? Good.

It all started on a night like tonight, about ten years ago. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin…