Colorant

Pt. 2

There was no God, and in his self-imposed martyrdom he was suffering for nothing.

Sometimes it would be enough to break Farfarello down to a sobbing wreck, abandoned by all, loved by no one, ultimately and endlessly alone, and entirely without any hope of that ever changing.

Sometimes it would be enough to send him into a raging fit, lashing out at anyone and everyone around, because regardless of how cynic such a notion might appear; inflicting pain on others really does help in easing one's own pain.

Other times, like now, he wouldn't mind much.

It wasn't that he had any overwhelmingly tangible reasons to be happy, but it just isn't possible for a human being to be angry all the time. The strain would be too much to handle even for a body immune to physical pain. Maybe it would have been easier if he really had been able to be constantly angry though. There are few things like adrenalin to make you feel alive.

Either way, he was currently not feeling all that miserable. It is after all kind of hard to feel too sorry for oneself while sitting in the front seat of a shiny red sports car going 95 mph on a Japanese coastal highway on a sunny afternoon.

Not that Farfarello cared for such things, mind you. High speed and fancy cars and stunning views swishing by in aforementioned 95 mph, or 150 km/h as Schuldig might have said, were not in any way things to rank highly on his

list of small pleasures that make life worth living. Not that he had a list of small pleasures that make life worth living. One is not quite allowed to have such lists when on personal crusades against religion.

But, be as it may with the lists, Farfarello was still a twenty-year-old Western male, and as such couldn't quite avoid feeling a faint surge of excitement as Schuldig once again stepped down on the accelerator, and those 95 mph turned into 100 as they overtook yet another one of those small Japanese cars that probably go too fast for their own good.

And Schuldig didn't seem to have any reservations when it came to showing appreciation of high speeds. With the driver's side window rolled down just half an inch or so, all that reddish orange hair fluttered around him, reflecting the light in such a way that Farfarello just had to reach out and steal Schuldig's sunglasses from where they were sitting on top of that brightly yellow headband. It was after all a very sunny day, and besides, Schuldig never really used them anyway. And yes, that red hair was just as soft as it looked. Not that Farfarello intended to even touch it, mind you.

While the sunglasses weren't really his style, he still put them on, leaning back in his seat, wishing for Schuldig to speed up just a little bit more.

Not that he cared for such things, but still.