From man to emptiness

[ P A R T    1 ]

Regina Mills sorry for the spam, tagging you here because this past solo involves you a lot

---

Ｔｈｅ Ｈｕｎｔｓｍａｎ

---

It was not hard admiring her. It was not hard at all.

It was not hard being jealous of her. It was not hard at all.



Her skin was pale, immaculate but – do not get me wrong – more sinful than in any of your worse imaginings. This milky-white tint well-behaved English ladies wore with such pride. Perfectly adjusted skeletal structure, protruding but not too much. All of that, in addition to a slightly upset wild expression painted on pale portals – et voila, Bob’s your uncle.



It was hard resisting her. Very hard.

It was hard refuting any allusions to said lure. Very hard.



Everyone in town felt the same way; but something made them stay away. Not only did she look wild, she was too. Impossible to tame; and hard to grasp. When you did she slipped even farther. A game you could simply not win. Like soap, she could not be held for long. Like fire she burnt everything she touched.



It was not hard seeing how angry she was. It was not hard at all.

It was not hard fearing this anger of hers. It was not hard at all.



She was angry all the time. It was not hard to guess, even he had. And let’s not tell porkies: he was not the best at deciphering people behaviours. Oh god no. Despite his position requirements, he was not. But then again it was not like there were much crimes in Storybrooke. A few robberies at best; youth going up the speed limit. But nothing that required previously mentioned skills. Nope, nothing like that. You see, that was exactly why he had settled here. Unlike its name explicitly suggested, Storybrooke had not that many stories to tell. Ah; Graham how very naïve of you to believe so. You fool; whom own story you have forgotten. This curse driving this already shambolic mind of yours off the cliff; a step and it’s the great escape. A ticket without return straight up to nothingness. I would have preferred using the term ‘emptiness’ here – but our mate Graham, he had been empty for a while already. And since dark forces had made sure he’d forgot about it; I am the one who will tell you this story. His story.

---

I think everything started a long time ago, when neither you, nor I were born. In lands unknown to us, in places undiscovered – in surroundings so unreal we would not even have believed it if seeing it from our own eyes. This the story of people like those you meet in books, of places semblable to those described in books. In fact, this is a book-like story. An underrated one, one that has never been told before – or only partly. And it is about time you find out about the rest of it.





Graham;

He had never truly described himself a good man. He did not believe there was such things as good men. Or women for that matter – oh yes. Women are the evilest of us all; and if you are thinking otherwise, you are in for a rude awakening. Back to the issue at hand though.

He did not think of him as a good man, he sinned like most people. He did not however think of him as a bad person either. Distinguish good from bad was to him something absurd. It worked together; like pieces that should not add up but did anyway, because this world is fucked up and so is everything. Nothing’s normal, nothing will ever be.



But that day, when she asked him to bring Snow’s heart back, he questioned this ability people had to separate evil from light as to take the right decision. But he saw it in her eyes, that if he said no – in all likelihood he would get the chance to say anything else ever again. And he said yes, because men are selfish. All that mattered was his own survival. Nothing else measured up to that; he grasped his bow – he took his arrows. And he went his way. Yes darlings; one thing Graham had learnt about life, one thing I have learnt and one thing you should learn: you hunt, or you’re hunted.



You could not be both the predator and the prey, things did not work that way. And better than merely a prey, he chose to rise as a bird of prey. And then he had come to find Snow White; he was – after all – the best Huntsman there was in the realm. The Queen had not picked him out of randomness. He was not good at reading people, but her eyes were easy to read. She was innocent, and he was her executioner. And for all he knew about justice, innocents should not be executed. And there he was facing this good & bad issue again. Like a balance that must choose, when his own life was at stake. But he chose nonetheless; and he chose kindly. He spared her life, he fooled the Queen. He handed her a heart that was not Snow’s and watched as the blood red evil lips stretched onto forming the evilest smile he had come to see.



He left thinking – you, are a good man Graham.



But there was no such things as a good man.