They Took Him Away

As I lay, curled in on myself, my eyes staring blankly, my thoughts begin to drift. Why am I here? Why is the world turning? Why does nobody understand?
Nobody.
Not a soul.
How is everyone else still functioning? Do they not understand the heaviness of the situation? Doesn’t the weight of the world rest on their shoulders too?
Or maybe, maybe, the question is why am I not functioning? My eyes narrow at that thought. Of course I’m not! How could I? How could I possibly get up, move on, forget?
But then… maybe to get up doesn’t mean to forget. I frown.
Where did my fire, my passion, my anger go? Where did the drive that I clung to, that propelled me forward through all the nightmares that I have faced disappear to? Was this it? Was some line crossed? I have pushed forward through everything I have faced. I have finally been burnt out. This is a devastation that has hit home harder than anything.
My mind turns to Cato, out there somewhere, hurt but probably acting strong, probably still filled with his unwavering hope. I can see his face battered and beaten, his grace and gentleness broken as he lays in a cell somewhere, fading away…
And then an insurmountable wall of guilt hits me like a tidal wave. While Cato is somewhere no doubt unfathomably tormented, I have laid here in this bed for days, wallowing. I have done nothing, nothing but let my passion and drive fizzle out, nothing but cry and gaze, unseeing while Cato, my best friend, the one who is closer, who understands me like no one else fades away from me. How have I let this happen? How have I just sat by and let my strength fade away, let myself die?
A sudden surge of anger lifts me from my fetal position, lifts me so I’m sitting. I stare out the window at the setting sun. Beautiful, brilliant red, oranges and yellows as the fire of the sun kisses the horizon. The clouds are streaked with purple, the highest point in the sky begins to fade out into a deep indigo. These are the colors that should represent me. These are the colors that I have defined up until this point.
Now, all I am is a dull watery gray.
I gaze into the beauty of the sky beyond and throw my covers from my body, rising shakily to my feet, crossing to the window. I place a sun starved hand against the cool glass, tears stinging my eyes, burning my throat.
I’m going to find you Cato.
I’m coming.