pastel [3]

thirty five

Third Person point of view

A boy stood within the embers if what was once considered a home, staring down upon the destruction of the place he had spent a decade of his life in. A home filled with all the things that brought him joy and pleasure, now burnt to ashes. He didn't want to cry but the tears soaked his shirt and echoed his deep strangled screams. With each crackled step he searched the remains of his home for anything that had survived the arson destruction. He knelt down to pick up shredded pieces of clothing that were once his. The fabric was still soft, just freshly washed. His bedding was scorched and burnt to ashes. Everything that was once knowingly his could hardly be distinguished from the rubble.

Tears were not enough to make up for what he felt. Instead anger surged through him. Not just any sort of outraged anger. But the psychotic anger that had been built and locked up for so long. Every single ounce of it, spilled from its iron cage, unleashing something, not even Tartarus dared mess with.

"This was my home." He snarled with a frightening whisper, circling the place as he spoke the words. "This was my life." In one swift motion he tipped the remaining litres of fuel left in the remains to the floor, letting the embers spark and set the remaining pieces of a place once used for comfort ablaze. It all burnt to an even thinner ash as he watched it all through glassy rage. It was no use to him now.

The boy's walk began, a fixated prowl towards another house along the quiet street that he once enjoyed visiting. Now, he was going to enjoy this final visit, to make the place feel so warm and cozy. And to make the owner pay for their petty use of violence against his safe space. If he could play with fire, then he could take it given back.

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The boy knocked lightly on the door to a much grander house, a curling smile twisting up as he heard rustling behind the door. In one hand he held the remains of a pendant, the other a tight knot of rope left in the remains. The smell of smoke was still so fresh on his clothes, it only fueled his rage as he cackled out in gleeful impatience, desperate to see the work of art he was ready to paint.

"I'm sorry I don't take -" the owner of this new place spoke as they opened the door, rubbing at their eyes and yawning out of boredom. They didn't take the time to check who was interrupting their evening, expecting an annoying salesman of some kind.

They didnt notice until they were being shoved into the house by a violent grip that closed in around their throat. Heavy breathing echoed down the empty hallway where their body was shoved back with each sudden gasp of their breath only fuelling the boy holding onto their esophagus with the intention to kill. Each breath the boy took filled his lungs with wild energy that surged him forward.

"Fancy meeting you here, Daehyunie." The cracked boy snarled, mercilessly locking Daehyun against the wall with a shove to his throat and dropping to twist his wrists into a tight painful lock. The cruel grip brought an aching cry from Daehyun's lips as he tried to scream, but was left immobilised and silenced by the boy's psychotics. "I've been waiting so long for this." The boy licked his lips as if this was a treat ripe to indulge in. A delicacy of his wildest fantasies coming to life. "I promised mother I'd never hurt anyone, hmm?" He pressed closer, nails digging into his helpless victim who was now whimpering under the pressure. "Too bad you gave me a reason to. Pretty boy thought he could burn down my home, huh?" He didn't receive an answer to his taunting so he shoved a second time against the delicate tendons under Daehyun's skin, drawing out an aching cry.