Michael

Chapter 3

Shall pain grant Michael what he longed for and forsake? Michael was an artist, he drew on his skin, as silver turned to red, his demons would scream. So lonely and sad, a distorted human figure running away from his shadows, hoping they would forever disappear.

He lies down on his bed, trying to sleep and forget everything around him, everything that broke down to pieces, but how can you destroy something that was never there?

"Who am I?"- he asked himself as he looked at the dark blue ceiling of his bedroom. It was late, Michael didn't know the time, but he knew it was late, because his friends were awake, well at least, more awake then before.

It burned, the drawing burned deep in his skin, reminding him that he was alive, reminding him that this is what he deserved. He couldn't stop, in fact, he wanted more, such a greedy boy, such a clown. Michael wanted to run, run away, run until he was out of breath into that cold night breeze, looking at the dark sky, he wanted to feel alive, but he had forgotten how that felt. How can you feel something you don't know? Something you may, actually, never experience again?

So he buried his pain in his skin, locked himself inside the circuses cage and joined the happy parade, where he laughed and smiled to fool everyone else, to fool them into thinking that nothing agitating was demolishing him deep inside.

"Do I really deserve this?"- he asked with his voice trembling, trembling from the fear, the fear that things would never change, the fear that he was stuck and life would never get better.

"Well yes, of course you do boy, so bury your secrets in your wrist and paint that foolish smile on your face, loath the world, because they loath you, smile, because that's what everyone expects of you. You're no longer human, now, you're just a body, with no personality or face."

That was, in fact, true. Michael didn't have a memorable face.

He turned his head on the left to see his family picture, he saw his mom, his dad, his sister and a boy. A faceless boy, a stranger. Who was that ugly creature with the most awkward smile? His eyes widened open, because, this is nothing deep, this is purely what Michael saw and believed, what he wrote down when he couldn't speak.

It's weird writing this, because who the hell is Michael?

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