How They Died (Black Butler Backstories)

He Despised Tedium

Blame. People love to blame each other. People love to blame themselves. There has never been a time in the span of humanity where humans have not blamed someone or something. It wasn't Adam's fault that people sinned, it was Eve's. It wasn't Eve's fault that she took the apple, it was the serpent's. It wasn't the serpent's fault that he tempted Eve, it was God's. The trail of never-ending blame. He hated it. He despised it. Most importantly, he understood it the best.

It wasn't his fault that he excelled in every subject. It wasn't his fault that he understood people less and less. There was only one thing he knew how to do: schoolwork. He wanted friends, of course he wanted friends, but talking to people was outside his realm of expertise. So, he blamed others for his misfortune. He knew that it wasn't their fault, but he blamed them ever still.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't make friends. It was their fault for not reaching out at him. It wasn't his fault he was socially awkward. It was society's for having unrealistic standards. The more and more he pushed the blame towards others, the more and more he felt guilty for not being able to change. He couldn't cope with the torture of it all. What was living, honestly? What is living? But a series of events from Point A to Point B?

The longer he lived the longer he realized, he hated it. This endless practice of trial and error. What was the point in playing this game? This was the worst game in existence. There rules that made no sense. Why couldn't he just be himself? Smart and educated, with no reason to please others. He frowned, constantly, wishing everyone would wither away so he could be at peace.

"You're despicable," someone told him once. Well, why not? Sure, he could be despicable. That was fine.

"You're a crime against humanity," someone else told him. Well, if he was really that bad, why hadn't he died yet? He was just going day by day with endless tedium. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that dying was the point. Dying was the answer he'd been searching for. There was no reason to being alive. There was no grand scheme at the end. Everyone just died. That was it.

"Put your hands up, give me all you've got," a scumbag of some sort told him.

"Alright," he said. "Shoot me then, I don't mind," he smiled for the first time in his life. The scumbag was terrified. Someone wanting to die? That was unnatural. In his fear he left the gun behind. He ran off, tripping over his feet.

"Didn't you want your money?" he called. He shook his head with frustration. Humans never made an ounce of sense. He picked up the gun and placed it against his head. No, that wasn't right, people would still be able to see his face. He wanted to be flashy, at least for once, he wanted to be covered in a color no one could erase.

He put the gun inside his mouth, grinning all the while. He pulled the trigger, no one looked his way, not once in his life or in his death. He was finally free. The color he longed for pooled around him, soaking into his white dress shirt. He was dead. Finally. Finally dead. The goal of life completed.

The light at the end of the tunnel never came, just a shadow shrouded in black. "Welcome to your new home," the shadow spoke. It reached out for him. He was thrilled. He was at peace. This was what he'd been longing for, a permanent sleep. "You shall leave your life behind you and take another step forward as a reaper. Welcome, William T. Spears," it said before leading him into the light that he hadn't noticed existed. So, there was an afterlife. He hated it, but there was something about this place that didn't bother him nearly as much as living did. Being an observer was always better than being the one observed.