Silent night (Mituna x Kurloz)

A Not So Happy Birthday

Your name is Mituna Captor and you, are done with this whole thing people like to call "life".

Day in and day out, your day begins just as every single day does. The vexatious beeping of your electronic alarm clock startles and awakens you from your less-than-pleasant slumber.  That same beeping has become a sound of absolute annoyance in your life.  Rubbing the sleep from your restless eyes begrudgingly, you roll out of your pleasantly warm bed. As you Ease yourself up onto your feet, the painfully icy floor stings at your soles as you stumble clumsily to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

You gaze at yourself in the dirty mirror- you cannot be bothered to clean it. Your unmanageable, dish water-blonde hair resting on top of your eyes, obscuring your view. Parting the mess of knots for just a moment, you find yourself staring into your tired, mismatched eyes. You scowl at them, one, a strange auburn,the other, a steely grey. To say the very least, you are not too fond of your eyes. They are just one of your many sources of your ever constant bullying. Even if to most, the genetic fault in your eye color seems beautiful, to you, it is just another hindrance. Sighing, you bend down and splash water onto your pasty, white skin, freckles covering the vast majority of your pallid canvas. After washing your face, you grab a soft, honey-colored towel and dry your dripping face then shaking you hair back in front of your view; the way you like it. Taking one final glance at yourself you exit the small room, flipping off the singular light from above.

You slump down the dull hallway, it lined with pictures of your brother and yourself.  You ignore them as usual. Kicking open your door lazily, re-enter your disorganized room. You pick out a casual garb, not putting much care into what it is you are wearing, it's not like you care what you are wearing. You quickly toss it on, flashing a glimpse of your appearance in a nearby mirror. Black skinny jeans, black converse, and a pale yellow sweater that hangs off of your tall, lanky figure. Grabbing your black book bag, and clambering out of your alcove of a bedroom you walk down the length of your stairs. Dread overcomes your entire existence, making a simple realization....Today just happens to be your eighteenth year of life...Your birthday.

Most enjoy their birthday, it being a joyous celebration of another year of life. However, unfortunately for you, your birthday is not jubilant and exciting. It is the somber realization of another high school year; another year of perpetual torment from your peers, higher expectations from your demanding father, more ecstatic schools sending acceptance letters, another year of nothing you want. Just, another year gone past; another year wasted on your pitiful existence.

 Upon arriving downstairs, you are greeted by nothing special. Birthdays are not a big deal in your family, they never have been. You have been drilled into thinking since primary school that only school matters, nothing but school. Your sixteen year old brother, Sollux is camped out on the sitting room couch, entranced by his computer screen; probably having coded throughout the night. He was a prime example of what was expected in this household. You on the other hand were the deviant child. Taking up skateboarding as a past-time against your father's wishes. You didn't have to put in any effort into anything you did, but the fact that you didn't take up coding or another document-able skill is what labeled you the 'lesser' child.  Not that you minded, your brother is popular, you are a dweeb who gets beat up. There are many attributes to why Sollux was better.

You pass by him, your attention turning towards the kitchen. You Glance at the clock you find out that you have just enough time to grab something to eat. Shoving some bread into the toaster you impatiently wait around. Moments later, jumping at the seemingly startling sound of the toast springing from the toaster. Quickly look around, just to be sure no one had seen your embarrassing freight. Deeming the coast to be clear, you proceed with your morning as usual. You quickly slather on a rather copious amount of honey onto the toast. After drowning the poor, crisp bread in sweetness you quickly devour it. A familiar voice and the honk of a car horn emanate throughout the front of the house, signalling that it is time to go.