DEAR
DANIEL HOWELL,
WILL YOU BE SAVED? DOES GOD EXIST? WILL YOU BE REPENTED FOR YOUR SINS? THE ANGELS ARE SCREAMING, THEIR WINGS BEING TORN, FLESH RIPPED FROM SHOULDER BLADES.
THE GOD YOU KNOW IS LONG GONE, BURIED IN DERAILED SUFFERING, AND DIRT. THE ANGELS CAN'T SAVE YOU NOW, THEY HAVE FALLEN FROM THE SKY, NO WINGS TO GUIDE THEM, AND THEY HAVE BURNED AFLAME LIKE APOLLO, FALLING FROM THE SUN, BURNING FAST AND HARD INTO THE SEA.
//
dan howell was simply, a strange boy. ever since childhood, he struggled with his overabundance and lack of emotions.
dan howell was either the ocean or he was nothing but an atom of the sea, a speck of water so small it is nothing in comparison to the roaring waves standing seven feet tall.
he became so engrossed with euphoria, rage, and love that he lashed out in terrible, brutal, violent ways. he become maniacal. he was a deranged psychopath and little daniel knew from the very start.
at sixteen years old, him and his mortal enemy from the dreadful high school he went to got into a physical altercation. a fight. and dan couldn't help but see red as he watched the way this absolutely revolting kid talked, frank, and when the sentence 'yeah, your mother liked to have me last night,' left this assholes mouth, he flung himself desperately at the other male and crushed his face in with his fists, over and over. rage overcame him; so as frank tumbled backwards, obviously caught of guard, and fell, daniel continued to smash his bruising knuckles into the kid's face hysterically.
he watched as the boy turn into a bruised skeleton of what he once was. dan admired all of the red as his bully was stuck suffocating on the blood dripping down the back of his burning throat. the whole while, there was gore dripping from his nose, pooling into the crevice before his lips, spilling over his wide mouth.
"DO YOU WANT TO SAY THAT TO ME AGAIN? I SUGGEST YOU STOP TALKING BEFORE I FUCKING RUIN YOU."
other times he felt nothing at all, nothing but desolation and grief. guilt.
guilt was dan's least favorite emotion. sometimes at night, before he slept, he remembered all of the horrible things he's been cursed with seeing. his memory haunts him, with the way her crimson blood stained the black asphalt. he can't forgot what her face looked like that night, monotone expression with pale skin, so lifeless and dull it make hot liquid bile raise to the base of his throat. empty eyes full of despair. he remembers the smell of the rain as it fell that night, and he can still feel the way the bleak wind ate at his brittle bones.
dan hated guilt the most. it devoured him, crawling its way in between his bones, eating away at his nerves. he thought about all of the people he's hurt, and no matter how bad he wishes he could cry and take away his own hurt, no salty tears flowed onto his cheeks; the horrible misery stayed, and his dark resentment only grew larger. life was punishment for being so deranged, he couldn't escape this evil if he wanted to.
the biggest of dan's worries, although, was his obsessiveness. dan had certain routines he needed to stick to, numbers he needed to see, and people he had to have. he fell in love too easily, and it damaged his already impaired soul. dan often found that love leads to complete and utter heartbreak. he tormented himself with loving people that never returned the feeling, and it drove him to insanity. although, these feelings never seemed to die down, and over time, only became more intense. he wanted love and he would find it, no matter what the costs were.
