| | from here on out, the story will be told from the point of view of a narrator, as the book will be nothing but dead, boldened words if i would proceed to deliver the remaining messages in the perspective of our two characters xD | |
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The days of a dream were distant memories, barely alive by clinging to a faint hope for revival.
A kind of revival that brings one the utmost satisfaction.
A kind of revival that has little to zero chances of transpiring, like the resuscitation of a corpse long rotten.
Null.
The entirety of Oliver's dreams lie wasted in the operating room, the metal tools of the doctors doing little to help with the operation. The heart monitor was slowly coming to a stop, and the lead surgeon was sweating profusely.
As they pried the ribcage open, wanting to release the monster that had dwelled inside its grasp, they heard that one sound. It was a beep that everyone was afraid of; the sharp tone of the flatline. The barely-beating heart of hopes stopped short, and the faceless surgeons coiled away in shame, save for their leader, as he hung his head in disappointment and disgust towards himself.
One by one, the others left.
And then he also stopped caring.
As he raised his head, his tears began to flow in reverse. They entered his eyes once more, and his head imploded. It was as if the river he cried for the loss went back to finally finish him. Before he fell to the floor, gazing up at another dream he failed to save, he thanked the parting of the waters, for he could finally part with his guilt.
Oliver sat at his desk, his pen falling to the ground with a click. It was then that he realized he had fallen asleep, once again, at work, and although he wasn't the least bit happy to have been caught by his boss, he was glad he didn't drop anything of higher value. Like a phone, or a headset. The short-tempered man went over to consult him, and he simply smiled apologetically. Luckily for him, he was a person of few words and a whole lot of secrets, including his uncanny fondness for younger men.
He knew he was his boss' "favorite."
It wasn't wrong to take advantage of that in this kind of society, was it?
The boss left, supressing the urge to call him over to his office to have another session of what he liked to call a "private consultation". No matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was evident enough for a few people inside the office, who weren't as dense as the material of their seats. For an adult, it wasn't too unusual to have something fishy going on inside the workplace, but they were all probably thankful that their boss was decent enough to wait until the last person leaves. Although, Oliver didn't really care. Everyone knew he was his main target, and he didn't even try to hide it.
The blonde didn't really talk to anyone else anyways, so there wasn't any difficulty. Nothing unusual when more and more of them began to avoid him, either.
He looked at his sleeping monitor, and before he moved his mouse to get it to start up once again, he managed to catch a glimpse of his yellow irises. He had long since discarded of his bandages, which he kept on due to a desire to conceal an ugly scar below his eye. He didn't even know why he bothered to hide it; it's not as if anyone would have fancied his presence anyways, scar or no scar.
His left eye was slightly duller than the right one, and it served to remind him how unwanted he was. Along with the cut.
How absolutely pathetic.
Scoffing with a disappointed smile, a smile of self-degradation and mock, he proceeded to do his work, his fingers running across the keyboard as fast as he lost the vigor and thirst for life he once thought he found.
No, an avarice for thriving he once did find.
It has been a long time into the past, but he had unearthed a lump of pure gold during the days he spent with Fukase. The boy with the bright red hair, the bright, wide smile, and the power to steal something he had given so sincerely. He was genuinely happy for a second, as he realized, and thought, that not everyone would leave you. Oliver managed to enjoy himself despite the protests of everything around him, due to the warm nature of his "friend". But when Fukase left his life abruptly, he realized he had been naïve, that he simply clung to the fantasy of having a "hero" that would change his life forever.
He was delusory.
It was funny how the redhead's presence could have made him believe he deserved to be loved, that he had the audacity to live in a bright world.
It was even funnier, how his own pride and foolishness transferred the burden of the truth onto the shoulders of his first and last comrade in a world of never-ending war,
where everyone is at each other's throats
where freedom is but a tale untold.
The day passed as slowly as ever, and he finally logged off as the last of his workmates retired to their homes.
Their homes of actual comfort and happiness.
As he felt the overbearing palms of his boss on his shoulders, he sighed internally. It would be another evening of filth and a fake sense of satisfaction. But he just had to suck it up and keep on with his daily routine, or else his sturdy path would crumble. If he dared divert his attention into bettering himself, or anything of the sort, he was sure he would find a crack in his perfectly-constructed footbridge, which was solidly founded as a defense for the sharks that roamed below the surface of the water.
The river that he cried as he tried to fix his life that was broken twice.
As his shirt slipped off, he just couldn't help but wonder where his long-lost "friend" had ended up in. Did he wander into a forest of no return, a place of discovery and peace... Or did he also set foot onto a stage of lies and deception?
If he knew he would be thrust headfirst into a life of misery upon being born, he would have killed himself in the womb of his mother.
But he couldn't, for Pandora's stupidity was the only thing worse than his own.
