The Battle

It is an intricate mirror, a never ending perplex of truth and lies. How does this world come to turn eyes, vibrant and wide into hollow spheres of a soulless void, or replace the largest of smiles with the deepest frowns, an expression of friendship and love into a perpetual scowl of hatred and deceit?

This world, I must believe, is just black and white. They both complement one another in movement, with such precision and grace and can both be regarded as equal, if it were not for that one indisputable repulsion. White represents the virtuous warrior and black epitomizes the stealthy assassin. Both are equal fighters in this world and are not dissimilar in any way, only their principles differ. Their weapons are an integral part of both their selves, and without them, neither one could function. Quite simply, the warrior realizes that his swords should only be unsheathed when needed and all else has failed, to bring conclusions without violence or abuse. In theory he controls his fighting skill and knows that it's not his skills that make him a warrior, not inhabiting the arrogance to know that he can defeat anything that obstructs his path.

The assassin, is quite the opposite, he acknowledges that daggers are an extension of himself and should always be sharpened and drawn, ever alert, ready to strike from the shadows and suck the blood from seemingly unworthy opponents.

Which one you choose to be is entirely up to you, and when and who you want to be is your choice alone. For I am an assassin to some and a warrior for others, but to be an entirety of one of these personas, takes more courage than I could ever muster. Both of them reside within all of us, constantly fighting that internal struggle.

I think about them a lot and there is no doubt that they too, gaze back towards me. I sincerely hope that one will overcome and consume me, telling me the answers as to who I am and what I will become. The warrior's battle is one wrought of curiosity, seeking answers within, to observe my actions and learn who will be the victor in this ensuing war. The assassin's battle is obsessed with pride, to eternally bind his daggers into my everyday self-being.

Do I hate them?

I fear I do not.

Despite all I know to be true within the depths of my heart, I know that the claim to my heart and beliefs will only be chosen by me. There have been times that I have succumbed to the despair of the assassin, to a point where nothing remained of me, except the tiniest shred of compassion and justice, as if I saw a portion of what I could become without fully embracing it. I would have become the assassin, holding strong to my own personal code of ethics, but with that code so horribly warped and distorted that I could no longer understand the truth of my actions, and that I could justify them with the sheerest cynicism.

As for the warrior, there have been times where I have embraced the honest and diplomatic truths he holds dear but the assassin was always there, lurking in the shadows ready to diffuse his honour, knowing that he is the only enemy that virtue has, and perhaps, will never defeat. Fortunately, there were people in my life to help to help steer the course, to help douse the flames of an ensuing battle, not forever, but for a time. There are also those around who created more candles to ignite the war once again. Without these allies I would have found peace as to who I really am, but once that battle has ended what's left to consume me and produce answers?

Enemies, I will strike from the shadows and end everything they represent. The allies, I will protect and hold true to them and everything they symbolize.

Written in 2010

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