Scömìche One-Shots

Cold

Third Person POV
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Cold. The night was cold.

Sheets of rain poured down, out of the grey, ominous sky.

He ran. Ran away from his problems. No one knew exactly who this boy is, or was. Everyone assumed that he liked mysteries so much he became one.

That wasn't exactly the case. He was lost. Lost in what, you ask? His thoughts, feelings, his life.

Now, you can't exactly escape life. You could, oh, trust me you could. There was only one way out, and he hadn't found it yet. He'd only passed it.

Everyone in the whole town knew who he used to be. He was one that loved bright, hot, sunny days. The days where he would splash around in puddles from last night's storm.

He loved rain. Cold rain, that is. He loved when it would fall upon his face and roll down, onto the hard, earthy ground. That way, no one could tell if he was crying or not as he ran past them, heading to the same exact place each night that it rained.

He would never run if it was clear that night. Why? Well, surely, someone would stop him. Ask what's wrong. He could not let that happen.

People guessed he was only running, exercising. Although he was exercising, he was only exercising his mind. To rid those horrid thoughts.

He ran almost every night, and, still, could not run from his evil mind.

Past the park, one that always had open swings, swinging in the breeze. Past the bakery, one of which always smelled of fresh bread. Past a bench, one that he could sit on for hours, watching numerous colored cars pass by. His favorite cars were the black ones.

Now, all of these locations were placed he'd pass by to get to his favorite stop.

He ran for approximately an hour.

He stopped, staring in front of him. Staring with his lifeless, emotionless eyes. Eyes that used to be so, so bright.

There was a bridge. He sat, watching the water below him move slowly. He couldn't bring himself to leave. So, he sat. Watching.

Breathing.

In sync with the wind.

The next morning came, still raining.

Pouring.

He looked below him, almost shocked he hadn't fallen off, into the dark water.

His mind was empty. He couldn't think. The wind had slowed down, just like his breathing. The water had stopped moving, just like his thoughts.

He took a step over the edge.

Falling.

Falling.

No longer breathing.