Even now, a man frozen by the cold no matter the season sits in solitude, hugging his knees.
He has never felt what they call ‘warmth’. His small shivers don’t stop even as he sleeps.
“Everything is monochrome, but it can’t be helped,” he admonished. They won’t give an abandoned one like me that which I lack most…
Due to a small disagreement, a slight misunderstanding, he took another person’s life.
He felt the blood flowing from the body he held in his arms. It was the first time he felt something so warm.
“So this is warmth.” In his ecstasy his trembling stopped. Is the feeling that comes with this warmth what they call “emotion”?
He lived on, taking an immeasurable amount of blood. Before he knew it he was killing to confirm his own existence.
His crazed emotions numbed him, and he wandered seeking only that scarlet warmth.
“Those emotions coexisted with the voice of despair. Was it him that was broken? Or was it the world? He didn’t care either way. All he wanted was the kindness that would stop his shivers…”