Prologue

Prologue

If there's one thing time has taught me, it's that we're nothing more than a bunch of twisted assimilations of the things that happen to us, and that the concept of 'person' doesn't really exist.

When you think about it, after 67 years of life, it doesn't seem that crazy after all.

The air I breathe, I hate it.

The sound I hear, I detest it.

The smell of coffee in the mornings, which should be pleasant, is nauseating to me.

The sun's rays falling on my skin, it's overwhelming.

Breathing, it's tiresome.

Every day of my life, for a few years now, I ask myself the question before going to sleep and after waking up.

Why does someone like me continue to live?

My legs walking, my eyes seeing, my heart beating, my lungs breathing, all the sensations that tell me I'm still alive, they're torturous to me.

Over the years, I've been a faithful witness to what I've become.

My wife, after 17 long years of friendship, 5 years engaged, and 20 years of marriage, only left me a note before she left, with a small box.

I read it every day.

"Dear Wilhem, now I truly don't know if you're still the sweet boy I grew up with, if you're still the thoughtful guy I got engaged to, and if you're still that man with values and morals that I once knew.

I don't want to witness the path of destruction you're walking anymore, nor do I want to pretend I never knew you, I'm in a dilemma, I love you... but I'm afraid you'll one day look at me with the same eyes you look at your enemies.

Tell me... where is that Wilhem who proposed to me under that tree before going off to war?

Here, I leave you one last gift from me, don't open it yet, only open it when you can't bear the guilt weighing on your shoulders, when you find that the blood on your hands, the earth demands it, when you lose your way in life, open this little box.

With love, Elizabeth."

That day, I remember I just stared at my hands.

That moment she spoke of, it had arrived some time ago.

Ironically, though I never hesitated in the moment of eliminating someone, I hesitated and was cowardly when it came to doing it to myself.

There, I knew I was never worthy of the power that had been bestowed upon me.

After all, "He who is not prepared to die should not take the life of another," right?