Shadows of Self

Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?

We’re all so fragile, when you consider it, Wax thought. One little thing goes wrong, and we break.

“I’m my own man, Bleeder,” Wax said, finally spotting what he thought was her silhouette, crouched at the back of the dusty chamber, beside a rack of shovels. “Perhaps I serve Harmony, but I do so because I wish it.”

Wayne felt a disturbance stir within him, like his stomach discovering he’d just fed it a bunch of rotten apples. Religion worried him. It could ask men to do things they’d otherwise never do.

“She was strong and vulnerable all at once,” TenSoon whispered. “She was my last master, and my greatest. She had a way of pouring everything of herself into what she did. When she fought, she was the blade. When she loved, she was the kiss. In that regard, she was far more … human than any I have known.”

The whole world could be going wrong, but seeing her made him forget. He grinned.

Freedom. Freedom, to Wax, wasn’t the absence of responsibility.

The law is not something holy, son. It’s just a reflection of the ideals of those lucky enough to be in charge.

“We work and die so we can give it all up to the same people. They own the building we live in. Ain’t that the scam? Work for them all day, then give it all back at night for the privilege of bein’ able to survive another day to keep workin’.”

“Same as always. It’s strange. Most days I don’t mind being me. Today I do.”