Entry Eleven

This is Rewel.

They put me in a cell, so constantly bright as if to blind me and ban sleep. Or perhaps I was already blind and stuck in an eternal light. I ache as though I have been beaten, but I look and see no wounds or bruises in visible spots. I am dressed the same as before. However, the clothes, my gloves, it’s spattered, stained with red. Fingers with caked blood that still feel the crushing of a nose.

Be gentle? Was I not gentle? Was I not the only one startled when Thief Riode crumpled to the ground?

There are footsteps outside the walls. The door is flesh and seamless, so I do not know where anyone will enter. I sit in the middle, legs crossed, hunched over my hands in my lap. The insides of the gloves are still white; there is no blood on my palms, yet I feel the dried stuff crack on my knuckles at the slightest movement.

Be gentle, he said. Could he have known what I would do? Is there more to this that he knows? I didn’t intend to kill him. I didn’t know that I would hit him that hard. I didn’t know I could hit that hard.

His face pale and bloody as he slid to the ground. Had I been satisfied to watch him fall? No, I was relieved, but not in his death. He stayed on the ground, I didn’t have to fight him any longer. I didn’t have to play these games. But still, he was dead. I didn’t mean to kill him, but I did and I could only pity the thief when he became the victim of circumstance.

Be gentle. The words echo against the walls, in the blinding light. Be gentle, but I still do not understand the words.