VENDETTA || ɴ.ᴄ.ᴍ.

14. the sound of my vendetta

song; House of cards by BTS
[ word count: 1501 ]

|| O serpent heart hid with a flowering face ||

*

The early morning was still; tranquil in the way the gentle breeze swayed the trees the slightest bit. Oddly tranquil, too. No sounds from the outside, instead the birds chirped to the heavens as dawn peeked through the dark of the night. As the golden glow of the sun tore her way into many homes, awakening many people. Calmly, as they feel that unusual September warmth that occurs every so often on certain mornings. And it's the type that convinces you that maybe, just maybe, it will be alright. That right now, there wasn't anything wrong. There was only stillness, tranquillity and peace.

Birds sung, and the trees danced. The sun sparkled, and the plants basked in it's awesome glory. On a simple September morning, where to Nick, the sun looked as if it were melting into the sky like butter. He admired it whilst he quietly tied his shoelaces together, sitting on the side of the bed. Slowly, Nick stands and grabs his phone. His eyes glance towards Cierra and he instantly reaches for the duvet to cover her more. She rolls over towards the side he slept on and buried her head in his pillow. Nick leans down to press his lips to her temple before leaving silently.

As he sits in his car, tossing his phone between his hands, Nick waits. He waits for about two minutes, then five, then ten. And he stares at the little digital clock in his car. The colon flashing with each second that passed by. Zion called, and texted. He told him to come to some warehouse. He told Nick to go home and grab the gun first. He said Chris was waiting. So Nick thought if he stayed in the car for a while, he'd gain sanity before the chaos controlled his mind.

Starting the car, he drove off toward his house - the frown never fading. Going into the basement, he rummaged through the safe; Nick took out two guns and stared at them. The inanimate, cold objects made his stomach churn. He felt his insides twist and wrench under the hands of disgust, mindlessly, he grabs them and shoves them into gun straps he had put on a few minutes prior. He puts on a jacket to cover them, and heads back to the car.

Mind racing, sprinting, he speeds to wherever it was he needed to go. Nick drives past the sunrise, and by the time he's arrived to where he was told to go, it was close to ten in the morning.

The heavy hues of the scorching ball now resting above his mind. It was a cold sun though, as November moved in, with all her red and yellow glory — the epitome of Autumn weather. He wondered how it could look so warm, how he could believe it to be so warm. Only to be slapped with the lies that it was really cold, freezing. That it was deception.

The car stops, his knuckles whitening due to the tight grip he held the leather wheel with. The white almost as blinding at the cloudy sky would be just before the sun made her debut.

In Nick's view was a tall warehouse. A familiar warehouse. One that he found bitter to refer to as familiar. It stood tall over the boy, who only looked exceedingly small in comparison to the bully of a building. Still, he took confident steps into said warehouse—expecting to see chaos.

And so, with hands clutched to fists, head throbbing out of time to the beat of his heart, so loud it deafens him, Nick finds himself in front of a sight he would much rather prefer t never see again.

A boy, not much younger than him - nor older, he muses - but that's beyond importance. Crimson at the mouth, white at the face, black at the hair, purple at the eyes; pained at the expression. Still, he lifts his head, and gives Nick a look so unscrupulous it makes the latter wonder how exactly he managed to get here. Bound to an undoubtedly uncomfortable wooden chair by the ankles and wrists - and Nicholas knows there will be painful cuts left on the weak skin.