Whenever something huge changed in books, movies, and television shows, nobody ever expected it. In dystopian settings or natural disasters, nobody knows that their lives are going to change drastically.
Following the Netflix series 'The Society'...
Yet each man kills the thing he loves By each let this be heard Some do it with a bitter look Some with a flattering word The coward does it with a kiss.
Oscar Wilde, The Ballad Of Reading Gaol.
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Chronic remorse. It wasn't shame, or guilt, but something rarer and stronger than both: remorse. A feeling which is more complicated, curdled, and primeval. Whose chief characteristic is that nothing can be done about it: too much time has passed, too much damage has been done, for amends to be made; these were the detrimental thoughts running through Grizz's mind the further he stepped away from her. He had left her, standing alone in the middle of the church, after he had kissed her and confessed the feelings, which he had hid for so long. Following behind Clark's figure, he was passive, silent, full of heightened self-consciousness, apartness, physical shame and self-loathing. After everything that had been revealed to him over the past few days, he had done that to her; he wanted to pull at his hair, inflict pain towards himself, because he was sure it would not compare to the pain that he had inflicted on her. Before everything, despite everything that she had been through, he had always envied her confidence, to stay strong in the face of adversity...no. That was wrong. She didn't have confidence at all. What she had was the courage, the drive, or perhaps it was compulsion, to go forward despite the lack of it. He was the one that had destroyed it. There she was, reciprocating his underlying adoration and he had abandoned her. How could he have hurt her? What if he had hurt her so badly that she would never recover? Had he been the one to have damaged her beyond repair? With clenched teeth, gritting together painfully, the self infliction of pain, to prevent the guilt tears from salting his cheeks, Grizz's feet shuffled forward, following Clark's shadow further outside, round the side of the bricked building. His feet were dragging into the ground, weighing him down guiltily, trying to get him to turn around, to find her. He wanted nothing more than to return back into the confines of the church building, to run back to her and to take her into his arms, to console her and cherish her. But, he couldn't bare to see the damage that he had caused. Couldn't bare seeing the look upon her face; a tear, forlorn lips. He was a coward.
"You alright there Grizz?" Clark bellowed, staggering with every step that he took into the shadows, hidden from view. Scrunching his nose, sniffling remorsefully in grief, Grizz shrugged his shoulders, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket to numb the cold. Quizzically, Clark turned, raising a lone brow at his friend's silence, his eyes narrowing at the absent expression on his face.
"Why are we out here?" Grizz muttered, his neck turning in every direction, distracting himself. One of his hand rose upward, pulling his hair back from his forehead, brunette locks cascaded from atop his head, trapping themselves behind his ears. Chuckling at his friend's demeanor and typical stance, Clarke clapped him on the back.
"Chill out man, I needed a piss,", at these words, he moved to the darkened brick wall, unzipping the front of his jeans and braced his body against the wall with the palm of his hand. Shaking his head in disbelief, Grizz extravagantly threw his arms upward, bringing them down swiftly to slam into his sides. In truth, his entire being was tense, fidgety; he felt guilt coursing through his veins, consuming him, filling every crevice of his body. He was standing in her brother's presence, acting nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. If he knew, knew that he had harmed his sister, caused her pain, he wouldn't be standing her laughing with him. No. Clark would have him against the wall and he would be leaving here battered and bruised. But, Grizz didn't know whether he should just confess everything; he deserved all the pain that one could inflict on him. Awkwardly however, he just kicked the dirt beneath his feet with his boots, his nose twitched from side to side, in perfect synchronization with his pursed lips. The flickering light overhead drew his gaze and his sight soared upward, scanning the illuminating brick. In realization, his eyes narrowed, pupils widened, seeking out the absence. Confusingly, his body spun round, recognizing the surroundings, before latching his eyes back to the wall.
"It's gone," he whispered hoarsely, throat drying constrictingly. Looking over his shoulder, Clark narrowed his eyes at his friend, seeing Grizz's gaze focused skyward, he craned his neck.
"What?" Clark exclaimed, squinting his eyes, in an attempt to focus his blurred, misted eyes. Finishing his micturation, Clark shrugged his shoulders.
"Yeah, of course it is. They cleaned it up. This is West Ham," passing his friend, he palmed his shoulder in his hand, "if it's ugly, it's gone. Now," he clapped his hands together excitedly, "let's go get fucked up".
With that, he sprinted into the church, hollering loudly at everyone he passed. Taking another wary glance at the brick wall, as if it were an illusion playing tricks on his eyes, Grizz exhaled deeply, before wandering back into the pounding music, his eyes downcast, as he found the strongest drink he could find and took a hold of the neck of the bottle. Letting the liqueur burn the back of this throat, although it wasn't physical pain, he wanted the self infliction of pain, and he would numb it all.
