What makes someone a villain? Or evil? Or bad? Wicked?
If we as humans are defined by our actions, do 'bad' actions equate to a bad being who did those actions? Or does the motivation behind that action mean more? Is it not the intention of a person that truly defines them? Perhaps.
But looking from the outside in, we cannot always make out the true intention of others.
"Cory, don't let go man. Hold on for me. For me, Cory, it's me - Zai...I just need you to trust me..."
Zaire tried her best to communicate with her eyes but Cory wouldn't even look at her. His nostrils flared but his head was still low and his eyes lids too, like he was blacking out.
Her whole body stiffened and she exhaled loudly, wishing Boost would appear any second. Hoping. Praying.
This danger, this life it was so foolish of him to let Zaire into it.
Cory couldn't look at any of them because he was no longer there. He'd told Orion what to do and now he was simply waiting for it to happen.
Sometimes it's lonely, but...I'm so used to being alone. I guess...I've, accepted it. Sometimes, I embrace it.
In truth, Cory viewed the Hell of his mind as someplace only he could go. Something only he truly understood or was aware of.
Words couldn't comprehend. Actions failed to illustrate.
Suffocated. Left to dwell. Rotting. Rotten.
But scenes played ceaselessly up there, Cory being its only audience.
Vulnerable little boy. Instead he would shiver, tremble, shake and weep. Tears such as angels weep; burst forth...mumbling apologies while curled up in a corner. Forever alone. Again. Isolated. Desperate. Void of hope. Feeling lost and abandoned.
This was a place so far from Boost's world. Somewhere which was foreign to him.
What Cory felt to appreciate was that Zaire had always felt the same. The lonely island. Except not just in the confines of her mind; no, this Pandemonium was her reality. And perhaps, still is.
How does one conceive thoughts that he nor anyone else understand?
How does one fight the demons when he is the only one who sees them?
Vulnerable little boy. Who is there to hold his hand?
Forgive me, but first, forgive yourself...
"God I want peace, I want forgiveness." It had never been so hard for him to follow his hard. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; if I die before I wake, I pray for Lord my soul to take..."
"Baby what are you doing?"
Something had changed. The voices. This one was different. The woman who would always scream and cry and beg. She was different. Her tone was soft and calm and motherly. Almost welcoming. Almost comforting. Cory saw himself back there once more, holding that gun up like it belonged between his palms. He winced as she stabbed his mother and felt as well as heard every shot he fired at the female stranger.
Watched her body rattle and vibrate until she was finally still.
And then, they were somewhere else. She sat beside him. She looked fine, happy, like she wasn't dead, like it never happened. She was alive and happy. He barely recognised her, the rage of before was no longer there.
She turned; her face was radiated by her smile. She began to glow as though her presence was heavenly. Then she opened her mouth and spoke.
"Baby, don't give in. You never give up. It's not you."
