𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 2

Though a part of him felt bad for even THINKING about what he was, he was tired of being trapped. Yet there was also a part of him who didn't feel anything at all, after all these people did try killing him, tried training him like a dog rather than an actual human being, sure there was always her, but a part of him knew that if he were to do this, and she showed up, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from hurting her, sure it was a terrible thought, but if one thing the elders said was true, it was that once he broke, there was no one who could stop him.

Now, he hadn't thought through his plan fully, a part of him just wanted revenge, and the other just wanted to escape, and live life where he was actually accepted, but that most definitely wouldn't be here, plus if anyone found out that he had caused this disaster, they'd surely put a bounty on his head. He took so much abuse, all in the towns hopes of "taming" him, he had the scars to show, his whole life, he played the part of the fool, and obeyed every order, every command. The people he thought were his friends, only became friends with him, in the event that he did snap, maybe he'd spare them, but they didn't actually care about being his friend. Gripping his hair, his eyes wide open, he couldn't tell which voice to listen to, maybe there was a part of him that only wanted to spare them because he'd been around them his whole life, maybe not.

All the ridicule, and the hatred that was thrown at him, came crawling back to haunt him and plague his brain with wrath, bloodlust. He knew he'd regret his decision in the future perhaps, but at this exact point in time he didn't care. And so he began his attack, he was going to cause as much misery as he could. He set fire to the townhall, and the surrounding buildings, the air quickly filled with smoke, ash falling from the sky as if it were snowing. He'd grabbed a red hot sword from the blacksmith, and forced it against his face, he used the hammer to break each and every one of his fingers, and then his arms, moving down to his feet, he didn't deserve to run, no one did, though he was small, the man underestimated him, and it cost him his life. He watched as people tried busting down the doors of the burning buildings to escape, but it was no use, he watched as they choked, gasping for the tiniest bit of air, by the time they died their lungs would be tinted black from the smoke. He pushed a few people he saw running down the well, hearing them wail in agony as their legs broke on impact. By the end of the massacre, the town elders head were on pikes, and the town was in chaos, burning a brilliant orange and red, filled with the intoxicating smell of burnt wood.