Pick and Mix

The Villain

His hands touch the smooth glass, allowing his skin to brush pass the cool shards. The scene seems so bitter to him yet something arises from his stomach.

It's not the happiness he craves. Somehow, even after months of forgetting the taste of happiness he still remembers the remains of it. The bubbly happiness doesn't seem to make his skin warm with brightness and his face lacks a smile.

Although his face has been lacking a smile for years now, it's still unexpected. All he wants is to feel the way his lips curl into a smile so badly.

This is what he wants yet nothing seems to be working. All his plans, all the hopes he had pinned drowns easily, submerging completely. His heart feels heavy, set in stone. The world is dimmer again, losing its lights to him along with its appeals.

He leans up, brushing dirt off his knees as he abandons the shards of glass. The shards barely capture the light coming from the moon, just the way he likes it. Darkness. The cold air feels like home to him and he pulls his jacket tightly to catch any warmth left.

His boots let dust fly in the air and he puffs on his fingers to allow some warmth into them. Instead, blood trickles down to his wrist leaving a lake pouring. This angers him, the fury burns and kills any of the sadness left in the pits of his hearts.

Sadness. That was the emotion he felt so strongly. The hollowness, the feeling of cold and regret. The anger, the flames had burned him for so long that he forgot his emotions and how to disguish them.

But now, his heart is replaced with flames. The tall buildings that loom over him don't stop him from looking back at what he had done. The street lamps shine brightly on the area and his heart stops beating.

The pulse that reminds him that he's alive just stops for a moment. Everything does. The breathes he takes just pause and his eyes can't move. Everything is frozen in place and time stops clicking.

All his heart feels like is to kneel on the pavement he stands on, to cry the tears he refuses to and to pick up the pictures that he carelessly got rid of. To fall in the arms of his mother, to feel her warmth as she told him everything will be alright.

But it won't and it'll never be. The idea of a happy place, a place where his lips can curve into a smile and tears of joy is a faraway fantasy for the weakminded, for the people who can't grip the truth, the harsh reality.

He ignore the shards of pain in his stomach, the way his eyes tells a different story from his actions. The way his legs walk, the fast walk he does to pretend the scene behind him isn't of his doing makes him look normal. It's night now and everyone wants to go home.

His eyes however show a different story. The way it glistens over, shining with tears. His hands quickly pull his black hoodie over his jet black hair, allowing it to hide his brown eyes. His brown eyes that can't hold the tears that flow onto his brown cheeks. No matter how hard he bites his lips, the flow carries on.

The weight of his actions fall heavy on him and his heart. With every step he takes to get as far as he can, he tells himself it's okay to cry. The world has been unfair to him. The world has never been easy on someone who has always been kind for his life.

Today, his kindness has burned out. Where are those people who he helped? The ones he comforted on their bad days, the ones who he held the heads of as they cried? Where are they today?

Words are either spoken to hurt, lie or to love and tell the truth. People seem to have find their lips adjust well to the first one well and want to keep it that way. To use your lips to lie, to craft a world in another is a deceiving act that hurts but is useful.

So tonight, he lied. He lied about being okay. About his heart and how he's moved on with his life. How everything his fine.

Even erasing the memories don't work. Nothing does. Therapy, counseling, pretending to be okay and fake smiling. This heart of his seems to always be fallen and bruised. This world hates his smile, they've taken everything that is sweet to him.

Why does the world expect him to be sweet? Tonight, he'll be bitter. He'll be fire, he'll burn down this place with a fuel that burns in his stomach. The world won't remember him for his smile but for his anger.

The fire will only last so long and soon he'll have nothing but the hollowness that haunts him. The hollowness that will always haunt him.

He look around his surroundings, the empty streets and the shops that lack brightness and life. His eyes linger on the shop's black reflection. The mirror image of him seems to look as pathetic as he does. The beat up lip, swelling and pouring hides his structured jawline and cheekbones.

Memories of fists flying at his lips reminds him and he moves his hand to it, holding it softly. The lip of his aches but doesn't allow anymore blood to fall to the ground and for that, he feels glad.

Finally, the world allows him to hold one drop of happiness. That too, from his sorrows. Flashes of fists flying at him isn't exactly appealing and neither is giving pain to others.

To be fair, he started the fight. He has the title of the villian. The jealous one, the one who's heart beats for the wrong person.

And now, she's gone as well. She saw his true colors, the fists, the anger and shouts. The one thing she'll never see is this. The tears that run down his face, the heartbeats that seem to have been buried alomg with his mother or the dead heart he carries.

The memories of her wet cheeks, her shouts to seperate him and her lover haunts him. The feeling of her hands pushing his chest, her words muted as she yells at him. The way her lover looked at him, a smirk engraved on his lips. The moment haunts him but he knows he would do it again. He'll leave his arguing to the fists, he'll leave all the anger he holds into a balled fist. There's no other way he can keep it.

But it's too late now, she'll always just see him as the villian and he'll always love her.

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