My mum was like me, this I'd noticed.
Empty.
But good lord, she was so happy, all the time.
I often wondered how she did it.
Every time I asked her, she changed the subject or told me she just suddenly was happy, but I'm not that dumb, I know better.
Happiness is such a funny thing.
People do anything for it, although it always leaves right after.
Does it really feel that good?
I wouldn't know, I didn't even smile when I was a child.
I've tried therapy and to be diagnosed with anything.
Nothing.
I've tried everything in the book and everything else out of it as well, I just cannot feel much emotion, yet its one of the only things I want to do.
I want to be human for once.
Something odd happened last night. I'm still not quite sure what to make of it.
I was on my way to get into trouble, it was around 3 that morning and a figure in a hood was passing me by.
Now usually, when someone sees this, they run and scream, terrified. I simply did not care. I kept walking along, boots making loud sounds while I continued down the road.
His hand reached out and snatched my wrist, turning me on my heels.
"May I help you." I said flatly.
"Got a smoke?" His voice was deep and friendly, I noted that.
I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my back pocket and a lighter from my shoe, lighting one up for myself and letting him have his share.
Unlike a regular person, he just simply sat.
Right there.
In the middle of the road.
Since I had nothing better to do, I sat with him.
We were too far from a street light to see his face under the hood but I didn't mind.
"What are you doing out here at 3 in the morning anyways, Morris?"
So he knew my name.
I didn't mind nor make much of it.
"Whatever I damn well please." I replied, glancing down his body. I noticed tattoos on his hands, the only part left uncovered. He was built, but not overly-built.
"So, whats up with the hood. Like, is your face fucked up of something?" I asked bluntly, flicking ashes to the ground.
"I hope not." He laughed. His laugh was dark and scratchy, I noted that as well. He had very distinct vocals.
Then he took down his hood.
He had tattoos and piercings for days. The man looked considerably older than me, around 25 or 26, give or take.
His eyes were a striking electric ice-blue. Unhuman.
And as for his face, it was framed by jet-black hair pushed up onto his head.
He was an extremely beautiful man.
Too beautiful.
His features were laid out perfectly, his skin tone fair.
Not one damn flaw was on his face.
Not a single flaw.
It seemed unreal, supernatural.
So what was such an unhumanly beautiful man doing sitting on a road smoking with me at 3 in the morning?
I wish I'd known sooner.
We stayed silent for a few moments, other than the sound of breaths taken to blacken our lungs.
"You're an unhappy girl, Morris."
Smoke followed his words, billowing from his nose as well.
I nodded, uninterested in the context.
"You want to be happy, don't you?" He asked, a gleam in his gorgeous eyes.
"I've tried." I replied, monotone.
Most people would have gotten bored trying to converse with me and left by now.
"Only one thing can guarantee your happiness. At a cost, of course, a minor one. You're looking in all the wrong places, babygirl."
With that, he stood, put out the cigarette, pulled up his hood and continued down the road.
I haven't seen him since.
