For some reason, everything looks prettier when I'm sad.
The bright lights irritate my eyes but I can't help but look away. I compulsively open and close my fist, digging my nails into my palms as I wait for the light to turn green.
Why does everything get worse when I stand still? I can't see any future where things get better, so why do I even bother?
"Despite everything, I'm too much of a pussy to just take my own life." I mutter to myself, digging my nails even further into my palm.
I'm not just waiting for the light, I'm waiting for something else. Though, even if it came to me, I'd still probably be the same.
The sign flashes from red to green. It's just the usual traffic sign, but paired with the rain it's so alluring. I can't take my eyes off it. I don't even feel myself crossing the street. I only see the bright light getting closer.
*Screeeech*
I'm an idiot. I'm only good at hurting someone or disappointing them.
The truck stopped just before it could touch me. However, a gust of wind from its abrupt stop forces me off my balance.My hands caught the brunt of the damage from the fall.
"You fuckin' idiot," A man descends from the truck. "Wearin' all black in the middle of night." He spits on the ground before looking at me for a response.
I could only muster a half-hearted 'sorry' before the man turned back to his truck. Slowly I can feel the warmth of my blood and stinging of my cuts from the fall. "Ouch, ouch, ouch…"
If there is a God, he only takes from me, and I only receive his back hand. I could've died there, but he also took that from me. On my journey home I could only think 'why?'
Pacing through my house to my room, I trip over empty boxes and bags of previous meals or deliveries, finding balance by placing my hand on thin hallway walls, quickly removing it so as to not catch its nicotine odor.
The sole proprietor of this uncleanliness belongs to my father whom I live with.
He is currently sitting on the couch, watching TV.
When isn't he?
I hate him. How much longer will we have this roof over our head? Rent, bills…
Mom earned just enough to keep us alive, but that also means that she left barely any money left when she passed. It would've been fine if I kept my job, but I quit for no good reason.
I'm just fucking tired.
"Fuck this shit!" He shouts, following a sudden and violent sound of clashing pans and plates from the kitchen.
I want to use my hands to cover my ears from the sounds of his complaints, but they hurt too much when I put any pressure on them after the truck accident earlier.
-"Failure!"
-"I should've left when you were a fucking kid!"
-"I HATE YOU!"
Any time he has any minor inconvenience, I have to hear how dissatisfied he is with me.
Just shut up, already. You aren't any better than me…
*knock* *knock* My door rattles with each violent knock.
"Stop!" I cry, but the hinges fall off as the door comes falling forward. There he is. My very own dad.
This is the first time we've been face to face for years…
"You're such a pussy!" I can see foam running from the corners of his mouth. Something isn't right. "You and your mother- pathetic- I should've left that bitch with you."
I know I'm a pussy, I think so too, but when he insulted my mother, it rubbed me the wrong way.
"Fuck you say?!" I close my fist. The bleeding starts again.
"All this time and money… what a waste." He's slurring his words more than usual… He pushes my pile of clothes aside and charges at me. My foul mouth might've been his final straw.
I am not afraid of fighting back against him. I am afraid of hurting him.
But I am gravely wrong…
Amidst the chaos I hear a squelch. Looking down, I can see a knife plunged into my stomach.
Neither of us could find any words.
For once in a long time, we finally met eyes. His eyes look so different now than what I remember…
He looks like a shell of himself.
He closes his eyes and begins a barrage of swings at my body indiscriminately of its destination.
Each 'help' sounded less human, all the way until I couldn't scream anymore.
I begin losing the sight of him assaulting my body with a kitchen knife. The last thing I'd see before everything went black was him crying.
Why are you crying?
I should be the one crying.
**
"Come to us, Maximus." A scratchy voice hisses. Following it is an unsettling harmony of throat singing.
I don't know if I'm dead or alive, but one thing is certain… I'm drowning.
I'm barely able to heave myself upwards, my muscles nearly failing me.
I can't see anything. My eyes burn. Everything is sore.
"MAXIMUS!" The scratchy voice is now in front of me.
"MAXIMUS! MAXIMUS! MAXIMUS!" The voices surrounding me cry.
A calloused hand wipes my face. I can now see.
"Lord Maximus!" The voice says, leaning forwards until our foreheads touch.
The voice was none other than a pimpeled man with a sharp nose.
Candles gave the room a warm light. I could see clearly now. Figures in dark red velvet hoods surround me as I sit in a pool of blood.
"Our sacrifices brought you back to us." The pimpeled man says gleefully as the hooded figures suddenly scream while holding their chest.
There are more red flags in this room than I can humanly register. Sweat forces itself through my cold forehead.
Before I could ask 'what's the meaning of this,' pictures of my father stabbing me return.
I look down, feeling my smooth belly and chest.
There are no wounds?
"Bring us salvation." The pimple man says, cupping his hands on my cheeks before falling on my chest.
"What is happening?!" I say, crawling backward away from the man.
Instead, the man only fell forward into the pool of blood.
Is he dead as well?
There was a dim source of light coming from a staircase at the end of the room.
I try to stand, but my muscles give out too easily. Instead, inch by inch, I crawl forwards, leaving a trail of blood behind me.
The light gets closer as I ascend the staircase. It wasn't a long flight of stairs, but it sure felt like it.
Reaching the top of the stairs, my face basks in the sunlight from the window.
I should've been dead. Why does God keep taking every chance away from me?
I reassess myself, looking for the inflicted wounds, only to find that my body proportions are smaller.
Nothing is making sense.
My body is urging me to keep moving despite the aching, so I begin crawling again.
Light pours from a barely open door in front of me.
A cool gust of wind gently grazes my face as I pull on the door, giving me momentary comfort among the aches and confusion.
Around me are tall trees and clay houses with timber frames and thatched roofs.
I try crawling further but can only make it to the center of the dirt road.
Back then… Did I really die?
In the distance I can hear hooves clapping. The shaking ground grew more intense by the second.
I can't move.
It grew closer, and closer, and then it stopped.
My eyes are locked on the sky, I don't even have enough energy to turn my head.
"Oi!" A shaky voice calls, making me flinch.
A wrinkly older woman with a headscarf creeps into my vision.
"Poor boy!" She cups my cheeks in her hands. "Boys! Help me lift this one into the cart!"
Two similar looking men lift me into the air and heave me into a wagon, the seating cushioned with straw.
Shortly after, the wagon begins its motion. The wheels clash and moan from what I assume to be ruts in the dirt road, though as the houses grew further and my field of vision grew, I came to see the true cause.
There were bodies. Dozens of them were littered across the ground.
I feel like I should feel guilty for thinking this, but I couldn't muster any sorrow for the dead bodies. I can only feel shame and regret for myself.
Despite the scene of amassed corpses, I can only picture my mother's.
A sharp warmth takes over my eyes, my breathing becoming more labored than previously.
Whether it's the pain in my body or the pain of my memories, I just want this day to be over.
I close my eyes, and my consciousness begins to waver…
**
I could've sworn I fell asleep in the wagon, so where am I?
It's dark, but I can see below me.
"I'm standing on an ocean?"
There were no currents, and I couldn't see anything beneath the surface of the water.
A heavenly light descends from above, its shape a star.
Only until it presented itself was I able to discern what it truly was.
I grab its hilt and press the blade against my forehead.
It's as if there were no questions to be had.
This sword is mine.