Villain Or Not

7; splintered hope

• i just want someone to love me - sundial •

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i got, king size bed covers but i sleep alone

i got, all of these lovers but no one to hold

i just want someone to love me

someone to love me

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Throughout all these years, Axa has always had a lot of questions. 

And one of the biggest ones, are why he runs. Why he runs from every policemen round the corner street, from prying eyes a little too close to his hood. 

Why run when he's been responsible for so many deaths? He has a ridiculously active survival instinct, one that keeps him from walking straight of roads and rooftops even he's not paying attention. Or even when he is. 

He remembers running, feet hitting the dusty cracked sidewalk again and again until he's lost count deep in the thousands. He's the park, the local park halfway across town, and it's just the time when everyone is busy, leaving him alone amongst the bushes. 

Flowery thoughts push their way into his mind, overflowing his vision. Petals of doubt sprout one after another, bright distressing  colors. He backs into the scratchy bark of a tree trunk, burying his head in his hands, and sobs. 

They come for him, eventually. They come with savage guard dogs, furiously shouting his names into a megaphone turned up so loud it makes him want to rip out his eardrums, if that is what it takes to stop the painfully loud sound. 

They come with more guards and guns than is needed for a high schooler, because it isn't just any drug addict or dropout they're used to. 

It's a boy who's eyes glow a little brighter than they are supposed to, and whose abilities outweigh everyone else's. It's a boy who controls the power than runs through the whole world, and so he is a danger, mere suspect or not. 

And Axa doesn't want to run from the, not with the black barrels of guns staring him down, but he can't seem to make his legs move either. And when the bullet grazes across his shoulder, the damn finally breaks, and Axa feels the world tremble and explode under the weight of his sorrow. 

The world goes very, very still, and Axa holds his bleeding shoulder and runs. 

And just like that, he's a wanted serial killer.

Maybe the instinct of running is a little more deeply instilled in him, though, because he's seen the way people look at him. He's seen the look of shock and unbelief and more often than not, contempt, because he's part of a race that could rip a human apart with a snap of their fingers. 

It's fear, and well deserved fear, because some like him do go too far. And Axa supposes he's one of them now. 

So when he ducks his head low, sweeping his hood over his flickering eyes, it's more out of instinct that protection.  He's past protecting himself.

 And Axa thinks he'd like to say sorry sometime, sorry to Salera for ruining her life, to the innocent police he brutally murdered, sorry to anyone else like him whose he's cast a shadow of hate on. 

The smallest rustle of wings shake him from his thoughts, back awake to deadly focus, and he watches a ladybug lands unsteadily on his palm.

 Axa lifts it up, studying the raven bright spots that decorate its crimson shell. It's wings flutter down, tucked back into it's outer covering, and it explores around his fingers, buzzing curiously. 

So, so, small, and so easily shattered but so full of bright colors and hope. 

Axa stands there, in the middle of a desolate street, and smiles for what feels like the firs time in years. His mind distantly remembers pieces of a child's tale, whispered ear to ear whenever someone had the luck for a ladybug to fly onto their welcoming hands. 

It's old myths and legends, a small one that managed to accompany the bringing of spring, but Axa figures enough strange things have happened, and a ladybug granting a wish would not be the craziest thing he's heard of. 

He leans down, blowing it off gently onto a leaf shining with sunlight, and wishes he can stop running one day. 

He closes his eyes and wishes it, hopes for it so hard, and doesn't see a dark curtain flick open in the house across the street. 

He doesn't see the man reach for his phone, shaky fingers barely able to press in the numbers for a police station. 

And he doesn't see the carefully put together fragments of his life falling apart, all over again. 

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