My first finished attempt at writing fiction of this sort. Please enjoy. Feedback/constructive-criticism welcome.

PG13: Mild language, questionable sanity

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Have you ever wanted to live forever? To become immortal? Unkillable? Undying?

Well, let me tell you, it's shit. You ever hear about that Wolverine guy? Yeah, he couldn't die, but he had both strength and power. Me? I got nothin'. If you know his story, mine's similar, but it's worse. I've been doing the same thing for as long as there's been living, breathing people. Yeah, I said living and breathing cuz I haven't the faintest idea of where or when we came. We simply were, have been, and will be. That or I simply forgot, whatever.

The passage of time screwed with my head. I'm not entirely sure I'm a person anymore. I guess you could consider me a half a man. For the longest time, there's been this gaping void in my chest. Not the physical meaning, mind you. There's this feeling of a void right above my heart and the only way I know of to fix it is to be fulfilled. In what? I'm still not entirely sure, but whatever, I'll figure it out eventually. Don't ask me how I know that, I simply do. It's like how you know you need to eat, sleep, procreate. It's ingrained into the very fiber of my being. Getting back to filling in that hole in my chest, there are very few things that I have yet to try.

I've tried physically filling it in. Why? How? Don't ask. It was a stupid period of my life and I suspect that a past me may have been insane. Fortunately, or unfortunately, every few centuries, I seem to have a complete mind-wipe. Keep the memories, lose the personality. Guess my head just want's a new outlook on this eternity once in a while.

I've tried love. It ended in tragedy. Your loved ones grow old as you don't even change since the day they met you. You love only to either watch them grow old or fall apart before your eyes. I eventually get over it though, there's only so many decades that you can mope around, especially with the aforementioned personality changes.

I've tried work. It ended in a big screw up in the end. Imagine a worker that never gets sick, gets tired, or even changes one speck of his physical appearance. A perfect worker, admittedly, but they always get freaked out in the end, after a decade or so of this routine. To get out of it, I can usually fake my death.

I've tried the battle. That just ends up with me getting killed over and over and watching as my comrades get massacred along side me. When I say killed, I don't mean that I actually die. I can't die, remember? Well, to be honest, the fighting skills I've learned over the years come in handy once in a while. Hehe, who wouldn't like to know a million ways to kill a person with a wooden pencil? Oh whatever. Getting killed still hurts like hell. After getting blown to bits, cut, stabbed, torn limb from limb, or any other grisly way to die, I simply return back to a pristine body. Trust me, I've tried countless ways of offing myself. Guns, knives, drowning, falling, poison, etc. Poison is particularly interesting though, it's like a drug to me. *brrr* A few of the weirdest hours ever. And that's saying something coming from a guy who's seen just about everything.

I've even tried to be a hero. That really backfired on me. It's glorious at first, until the greedy bastards want you for themselves. Let's see, what do I remember screwing up. The Colossus of Rhodes, Pompeii (gods can really be vindictive, good thing they gave up on the world), Mongols, Vlad the Impaler, Jack the Ripper, WWII, and there are many more on my list. ALL of them screw ups.

In short, I've given up on the world. I can't die, but neither can I live. Thus, I've learned to lurk in the shadows. Nothing fancy. Just a few odd jobs here, assassinate a politician there, save a dame in a dark alley way around the corner on a whim, you get the gist. I'm no vigilante but I'm not a villain either. I guess you could simply call me the shadow of man. Never fully recognized, always there, and always watching.

Despite all the crap life has thrown to me, sometimes it gives me a reason to live.

Purity.

That is the only thing that can sway my will. Honestly, I don't have much of one, but once I decide on a goal, you can bet that I won't be dying until I get it done. Be it pure evil, pure innocence, or anything for that matter. There's something about it that just grabs my non-existent heart and compels me to action.

So here I sit. Alone in the dark, against a wall, watching the sliver of stars between the alley's walls.

Here I lie in wait for the next adventure to come my way.

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The silence is deafening until the sound of light footsteps resound within the small confines of my alleyway. It is accompanied by the ragged breathing of a young child. Not far behind are the yells and curses of its pursuers. They sound large, yet nimble from their footsteps.

*Crash* One of the men begins cursing anew. "Dammit! Gah, leave me! Just catch that little brat!"

Hmm. Scratch that. Not nimble.

Within the next few moments, a young girl garbed in a loose hoodie, well worn jeans, and a pair of abused sneakers rounds the corner and spots me in my corner. Glancing around with wild eyes, she grabs me by my collar.

"Help me! Please!" she says in a desperate whisper before collapsing into my arms. It seems that her only driving force until now was her will. Let's see, disheveled clothes, life surely broken, and a special glint in her eyes before she fainted. There's that spark in life that I've been looking for, I think with a smirk.

Seconds later, the men in pursuit catch up. Slightly out of breath and wielding silenced pistols. They slowly approach. Hahaha. I've already decided. This is going to be fun. They see the girl and a seemingly broken man sitting in the shadows of the alleyway. What they don't notice is the box of No.2 pencils by my side.

I crack a broken grin at them.

And so the adventure begins anew.

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Almost forgot to post this here. Click it to go directly to the continuation of 'Broken'.

Broken, Again (2nd shot)