Pierced Skin

Kalopsia

Kalopsia: the delusion of things being mor beautiful than they really are

In a world where normal superstars have long since been replaced by heroes. Where talk shows and advertises were stuffed to the brink with flashy individuals. Where new heroes bloom from the already dry earth and wilt as fast as they came. It was like a small box where everyone fought to be on top and trampled over the others. Only the ones that were at the bottom could see how a red puddle formed on the ground. It was this world Hawks called his own.
He knew it since he was a child, that not all men were born equal. There were heroes and there were villains, the scum of society. The world had long since forgotten its gray tones because of their bright, bright sun.
She was way too bright.
The shadows grow darker every day and the sun tries to drown them im her light. But it only paints them in a deeper black until they swallow every little piece of it. Sometimes he asked himself what he was made of, light or shadow? He already knew the answer. God knew he had really tried. Tried to be a part of the sun, always higher and higher

"Did you really" Ahh there was it again, the always nagging voice at the back of in his head.
Had he really tried his best? Had he really tried to reach that light, or was he too scared of burning his own feathers? He was scared of the answer

He knew his smile was as real as plastic, even though it always felt like glass to him. Cutting his cheeks open, and it burned, burned, burned. He never really left the shadows, did he? Too scared, his own wings would finally give up on him. He was always scared of the impact, when his body shatters on the ground and his blood would form a deep red puddle. He wanted to die in the sky, so his blood could stain this blue, blue sky with his red. Maybe it was a selfish wish, but birds don't belong to the ground. They have always been chained to the sky in a way, right? Chained to the wish of flying higher, higher and higher until the air was too thin to breath and their rotten flesh falls down from their wings.
Besides, true heroes don't fall down, only up.

He never left this old wooden house, where the air was filled with smoke from the cigarettes.
In a way, he already painted the sky with his red, red wings. He would stain it until his own feathers would begin to bloom in his lungs, so he could choke on them. Until the unforgiving sun would burn him down, and he would get swallowed by the darkness. Leaving no hint that he was even there in the first place. He knew that this day would come, he just didn't expect it to be so soon.
His apartment was on the highest floor in his agency. There were no walls, only glass, so he could always feel close to the heaven, but now he wished for the solid ground under his feet. For the crushing gravity pushing him down. In the silence of heaven were those screams almost deafening.
His feet had grown numb and his wings wrapped around his trembling body. He waited for the impact and static filled his ears. It screeched and made his skin crawl. He thought that maybe it would loosen its tight grasp over time, but it always comes back stronger than the last time.
He tried to control his breathing.

One, two, three, four, five, One two three, four, five

He couldn't recall how many times he had counted as the static slowly grew silent. He felt his skin tickle as his phone vibrated in his hand. Not even bothering to look who called, he knew it anyway.
He had nobody to call him besides them. Keigo didn't want to pick up, his whole body refused the idea of answering the call. So instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to drown in the darkness.
But not even this wish was granted to him.
Instead of pitch black, he saw twisted and broken wings that sprouted from the small body. He saw how its little head was ripped in half, so only his mouth was kept intact. Saw how a shadow emerged from the head with as many bright yellow eyes to count. Its mouth hung wide open and a stream of feathers shot out of it. With its greedy little hands it grabbed a yellow nearly withe ball. It wasn't the sun. It wasn't. It wasn't Endeavor