Our Symphonies | satosere

20 ;

「 twenty 」

"We can talk it out"

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I did quick a inspection of the spot for any traces of the criminal, for determining who dropped it – and for the slightest evidence of who was smoking it – But icy droplets of sweat trickled down my neck when I couldn't find anything in a four feet radius.

Ash was perhaps too engrossed in spotting the stone lantern, he hadn't caught the signal yet; but I didn't want to leave this illegal poison here for someone else to consume.

This wasn't what I had seen coming. This wasn't something that anyone would see coming. What should be done?

Piling every bit and piece of my courage, I bended in order to pick the bag as the last resort – but a manly hand grabbed it before me: a hand that had pinned me in the kitchen today morning.

"Alain." I rapsed out, paying narrow focus at how he shoved the small bag in the back pocket of his trousers, shakiness in his movements. This isn't helping. "Is that yours?"

"That isn't your -" He coughed, observably under drug influence. His eyes were a watery, burning red. "Fucking business. So stop -"

I took my chance and whipped the white powder from his pocket, respiration fastening as a wild bat fluttered in a distance, awake from the commotion. An ill-mannered person or not, no one possessed the right to smoke illegal packs like that, and I couldn't stand this guy's illegitimateness anymore.

I've had enough.

I gripped the bag tighter when a dangerous expression crossed his face. "Do whatever businesses you want to. Except this," I waved the half-empty bag in my right hand. He had definitely inhaled some before I even discovered it. "This addiction isn't excusable, or justified by any legal entities, So -"

He snatched the bag from my hold again, interrupting my words. But this time when I tried clawing it back, he pushed me barbarcially by the shoulders.

I fell on my bum, a throbbing pain spreading across my thighbone as I scrunched my eyes shut. Alain wasn't in his right mind, but even if he was, it couldn't induce much of a difference in his behaviour. He was still an asshole.

"Alain, you need to stop," I whispered when a drunk, lopsided grin folded out on his drenched face. "Physical violence isn't a vengeance for everything, and harming someone would only make you less of a person. Even lesser than what you already -"

He didn't listen.

Alain's intoxicated chuckle quadrupled my fear, and chills ran down my spine when he stepped nearer, nearer - until I decided to save my life by crawling backwards with my knees and elbows as supporters.

I didn't know where this chase would lead, but as far as I was away from his presence, I couldn't care less about the consequences.

I fixed upon walking on two feet after a while; but as I was about to rise, he kicked my shin and I landed in the soil stomach first - this time more brutally - there was this muddy flavour in my mouth, my knees were undeniably scraped, both of them. I had to blink away the tears that gradually blurred my vision.

I saw as circumstances slipped from the loose clutch of my fingers. It hurted, and not only due to the bodily damage - but the helplessness - which sunk down my windpipe like a sharp chicken bone. It kills to feel helpless, it hurts so bad.