Black Swan

Prologue

A secret word slipped from docile lips as a trail of insignificant thoughts splattered against proverbial pavement.

Moments like these dashed through his head in succession on a daily basis.

Was he good enough?

Fast enough?

Strong enough to survive this world, despite the overly un-inviting desperation that filled his chest, dangerously close to his maximum breaking point?

Pulling at strands of straw coloured hair that hid behind small pierced ears, he began gnawing on the institutional number two pencil that had been twirled between long pianist fingers; scratching at a thin, patched beard that attempted to declare his unassuming manhood to the world.

A threat-less predator adrift in an endless sea of bigots.

A thin smile broke a terror induced coma-like expression.

Toxic stuttering spilled from trembling lips as skeletal hands quivered and shook before him.

The very last pieces of sanity he possessed shattered against the acid-insanity that had hailed upon the impressionable mind before it. 

Life was void.

What purpose did a small, fragile boy possess?

So easily replaced and yet with a thousand different sources saying he was one of a kind, he questioned the implications of the thought.

If everyone was unique, no one was.

Nothing made him special.

He had never done anything to warrant greatness, nor did he possess any divine-like skill.

He was invisible.

In a crowded room, he had the unique and satisfying ability to slip away undetected.

Though transparency couldn't hold him over for much longer.

His quest for purpose made every cell in his being quake with an unquenchable desire.

A thirst that needed to be fulfilled before it completely consumed him entirely.

A darkness would blossom in his chest, flourish under his need to be remembered and pulsate under scrutiny.

Terror would fill the void that sanity and normalcy could not, and he would regret nothing.

Setting down the yellow pencil, he grinned boyishly.

Satisfaction echoing through his system as understanding bloomed in his chest.

The world would not wait for sanity and order to reel it in with unabashed grace and charm.

This world craved chaos and whomever could provide the drug would receive the riches.

Running a spindly hand through straw-coloured hair, he picked up his pencil and began etching his plans into a piece of withered binder paper.