Chrisker One-Shots

Brokenhearted

I saw you so despondent. Was it the loss of someone who once mattered to you more than the world ever did that had entrapped you? You were the one who chose to end this, didn't you? Then why are you the one crying rivers of tears whereas I could only watch you from where I was, incapable of flooding the goddamned pipes because I am the one who was shot in the face by you? My god, you're the hypocrite aren't you? I couldn't believe those reddened eyes were a sign of your regret because you had listened to your comrades who believed ridding me off the face of this world is the rightful cause. Please, stop the pretense, you're making me sick.

So what now? Are you going to quit the military and make babies now? Are you going to marry the blonde who has always been by your side since the first time we all met or date the African tribeswoman who is a decade younger than you? Or should I say partner? That very word sickens me right to the core because of their imbecile comprehension of this noun. Mediocre, is what they are. They work with you, keep you out of trouble, take you out for drinks and that's it. I was the one who fit the bill in every aspect of the word—looking out for your ass at work, listening to you jabber about your favorite sport and Holiday, taking your hand at the 1996 New Year's Gala Ball when you were too shy to even tell me you wanted to dance, and last but not least, tucking you in bed and wiping those tears away from every nightmare you had. It was me, and always me. Does removing me from your life make it easier to move on? Move on from this love-hate relationship we have compelled ourselves into? The immoral flesh desires we had conjoined day and night after, losing our need to identify us as an entity. You wanted it, and I wanted it. Until what? Until you had to define us; define what we are having to the whole world? You and your selfish needs. I was harboring a plan for us, and if that had involved me risking my initial work for the organization, doesn't that conclude how much you had mattered and altered my life?

No, you just had to be the stupid buffalo who needed everything in black and white.

And I was the insane lab rat who wanted to give you what you needed.

What am I, a fifty-year-old rambling the setbacks in my life when you appeared? You jeopardized everything! You. It was as good as socking me right in the face with your puppy eyes and mewling pleads. Dammit, do you understand the dilemma you had me in when you watched me died before your eyes for the first time? You caught me in a split second's moment that I maybe, possibly, perhaps, subconsciously, could have been making the worst decision of my life. Thankfully I didn't hesitate and it still went along as planned, or pre-planned, my ascension to being a God while you stood there listening to me uncovering the truth in an event that led to my eventual death. Even then, you had the same red eyes as you are bearing now, so crimson that blood threatens to pour out of your soulless irises. Stop it; stop pretending like you care.

You don't give a shit.

Stop tormenting me with your lies.

If I had the strength I possessed in my breathing days, I would choke the living lights out of you if you don't hold the waterworks. Or I will break your skull into that stale-yellow wall right behind you. Do you know that the soft sobbing whispers you muffled into your pillow every night is echoing and ringing within my walls every second? I cannot sleep, I cannot think because you keep me up, keep me here, and keep me from finding a way to exit this ghastly phase I am encountering alone. Alone. Yes, I have no confidantes and I have no comrades unlike you, I have always been alone and solitary. I was fine the way I was, until you barged in and broke my walls down.

My concrete walls that I have built brick-by-brick, laid piece-by-piece with my bare hands in the midst of my confinement with the other twelve children.

You and your repulsive world of roses and violets.

If you had so wanted a beautiful life, you should have steered full speed out of my way. I gave you the warning. I told you I was no good for you no matter how much I had wanted a taste of you but you, you insolent brat. You had to ruffle my feathers and call my hand a bad game played. You wanted to take some risks in the fire you lit and I was more than willing to burn you. I was your calling. You know it. You and I both knew this union would change something, if not everything, forever. Soon, it was no longer just the blind passion you were indulging as an individual, you were turning parasitic. I should have seen the red light and pulled the brakes. I wasn't going to give up everything I had done the last forty years for you—a loudmouth who can't even keep his mouth shut about our affair.