Dom

Chapter Sixteen | Playlists.

You can't always have fun.
You can't always have work.

You can't always have leisure.
You can't always have a task.

You can't always have some slack.
You can't always show up.

Yet with either of the extremes, you're bound to be doomed by their consequences.

Lucky for us, Ava was a good girl.

Her consequences were her miserable days.

Nothing a good festival can't fix.

With her bestest friend.

Without thinking about him.

Without a single memory of him.

She had enough of pitying herself.

She wanted to have fun.

And she will.

This is a chance.

And she will take full advantage of it.

Without him being there.

𓂃 ֙

Life is often viewed as a cycle because it is.

The things that have happened might happen again, and that is some curse. Some blessing. Some are pleasant, and some are haunting.

You'd be lucky for the past to repeat itself if you had a golden life.

You'd be dead shit miserable if your past were to repeat itself while having sorrow bucked into it like a wheel.

The past can be a disease. Most of it is. Except for the nostalgic parts of it.

But what if you encounter a past that was never yours? What if you meet someone else's past?

Such as your family's?"

"How many were there?" Dariel asked, walking away from the inflamed blood scene of warehouses, smoked into ashes and toxic residue without any recovery, as smoke engulfed the air at most.

He walked, carrying his baton and riffles in hand, bombs all away, while his phone was in perfect shape, dodging any chances of breaking and cracking despite what he just did.

"Decent numbers," Dominic answered his brother, keeping a clear tone after clearing his throat, lighting a cigarette again, also surrounded by searing, torching fire. 

Plane crashes and their fires are like sunsets. Watching them was ethereal.

It was calming, having death around you.

When you affiliate with it so much, you no longer taboo it. It is something you get to embrace.

Especially because you watched it.

You caused it.

Watching the bodies of all rival mafia piled on top of each other before being struck with a chainsaw aroused a feeling of relief in him. It was like a guilty pleasure, just going to the verge of blatant torture with a sound mind.

It would make sense if an insane person did so much without proper conscience.

But when you have a proper conscience and you do it? Mad people aren't that scary. They aren't that bed-wetting.

His clothes couldn't hold blood for too long. Being covered in flesh is not so appealing. He was used to it, but he had been more accustomed to the wits of that control room.

Of being with the lady.

Dariel rolled his eyes with a huff from that answer. From the monster's silence, he could deduce what he did.