One Word | H.S.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Pretty Boy's POV

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Spontaneous.

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I'm looking in the mirror right now, but the only thing reflected is a fucking idiot.

It's been three days since I decided to 'take the risk' that my brain wouldn't stop instructing me to do so, expressing that a life of monotony is the life of a fool.

To experience the unknown, to tread whilst unaware is to live.

Kill me, leave me for dead then.

I've been walking a shortened path, every journey embarked coming to a splintering stop as my feet can only reverse back.

An anguished feeling of reality, the haunting past reminding me that a gleam is nothing but a figment of the imagination.

I'm an endless tunnel, though a tunnel with only one opening.

Few enter, a consistent sense of apprehension radiating from their bodies along with the uneasy perspiration. An array of echoing cement, a sewer filled with sadness.

Flashlights continue to shine, searching for the treasured joy that was once present, but they all give up.

Not all.

Before I drown myself in the puddles of pity, a fire sets ablaze within the trench, snapping me to the brightened light.

She's searching for the end of the tunnel, for the desired opening so desperately. Pest-like words continue to tatter along her mind, every attempt of veering her out failing.

But with every hint of hope, she, too, recognizes that there is no end, no accomplished fate. Just one opening, a single way to both enter and exit.

There's no light at the end because she is the light.

I push from the sink, angrily huffing as my brain is the optimist's playground.
My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose, the consistency of my thoughts never failing as they have only been growing louder.

I would very much enjoy slicing my brain like an apple. Cut it into small, bite-size pieces and throw them to the nearest pack of wolves.

'Here are some apple slices, wolves. Please demolish them. Bye.'

That night, the one where I singlehandedly shattered every built wall, has been replaying in my mind.

An endless cassette, hued by a slight purple, constantly winding the unraveled events from the evening. A film, lacking individual color, but vibrant with one.

Not sure what the fuck came over me, but I turned into an emotional pussy.

Really, the last time I even brought up the name was when I was severely drunk, trashing the apartment as Mia would.

Oh God, Mia.

When I walked into the apartment after the slight drizzled jog, no words were spoken. She was sat on the couch, beer in hand, as we just stared at one another.

The whole exchange went on for a solid five minutes, neither of us breaking eye contact as she mentally thought of all the different ways to exterminate me.

Never had I been so frightened in my fucking life, Elijah seeming like a walk-in-the-park compared to the goddess of the underworld.

I like Mia, sounds like a nice gal.

I walk to the kitchen, my mind already thanking me for the whiskey spell that is about to be casted. Though, my mood drastically switches when I see the blonde bitch attempting to cook.