Scene 3 – The Spiral
After Rosa's burial, I couldn't stay home. It was too much. Too many faces, too many voices, too many people expecting me to smile when they smiled, laugh when they laughed. Disgusting.
That's when I understood: my emotions were buried with Rosa.
So I left. If the world insisted on dragging me back into its circus, I would find my own stage far away. My new home would be the isolated heart of the Amazon. Just me and Mother Nature. No stupid jokes. No fake smiles. No disgusting humans. And no, I wouldn't be sending postcards.
When I arrived, it was exactly what I needed. Silence. Stillness. The kind of emptiness you can breathe in. Everything in its place, everything under my control. My weapons guns, knives, ropes, gas, masks, even bombs were stored with precision. No accidents, not with the gas. That would be a bad way to die.
The solitude was familiar, almost comforting. It reminded me of training. Back then, it was an Atlantic winter instead of a jungle, wild instructors instead of wild animals. Thirty of us began. Four survived. Not because of the cold, but because death lurked in every lesson.
So I slipped easily into the rhythm. Hunting for my meals. Training every day. Living like a ghost in the trees. Hunting gives you food. Mercenary work gives you money. Assassination gives you closure. All the same skill set, different outcomes.
For a thousand days, it was peaceful. Almost perfect.
But trouble… trouble is like an ex who never understands the breakup. She keeps showing up, knocking on your door, clawing at your windows. And no matter how long you hide, you know one day you'll have to kill her.
This way, it keeps John's voice bitter, cold, and darkly ironic, while showing how his military discipline translates into isolation.