The pain was static in his mind, and his legs felt twice their weight, but he pushed forward.
He wasn't thinking. He had no plan.
He didn't even know what he'd do once he reached the creep.
But he knew it had to be him.
He was done being idle. Done sitting on the sidelines while everyone acted like he was nothing — like he wasn't worth the dirt under their shoes.
For once, he wanted to matter.
He needed to be someone.
So when he got close enough, he swung.
He threw his fist with years of rage, humiliation, silence and pain behind it. He had never hit anyone in his life — but this time, his body didn't hesitate.
The punch connected with a sickening crack.
The impact sent the hooded figure spinning backward into the streetlight's reach, the glow finally revealing the stalker's face.
And instantly, white-hot agony shot up his arm.
He'd punched with his dominant hand — and by some cruel twist of fate, it was the same hand with the broken pinkie.
The moment his fist made contact, agony detonated through him.
He recoiled, a raw howl tearing out from between his teeth. Tears burned his eyes, blurring his already crippled vision. The shock of pain blew away the last of the static and adrenaline that held him upright. His knees buckled. He dropped to the ground, clutching his mangled hand against his chest.
With the adrenaline gone, fear and regret greedily rushed in… hungry and merciless.
the stalker slowly rose.
One of his hands desperately clutched his face — not to soothe it, but to hide it. He held his palm over his features like a morbid mask, as if trying to protect what was left of his exposed identity.
It was too late.
The kid had seen enough.
By his build, his gait and presence,
the stalker was clearly a man.
The woman realized it too. She backed away, pulling her child tightly behind her. Her breath hitched, but she didn't scream. She didn't run. She just watched, terrified and helpless.
But the man didn't pay her any mind.
He had his back turned to them, he stood towering over his new prey.
The kid lifted his head, locking eyes with the cold ones that stared back at him.
Every ounce of confidence he had was gone.
His body was broken and
exhausted.
He had nothing left.
But still…
He pushed a foot under himself.
Then the other.
Shaking, swaying, teeth clenched—
Despite It all He rose.
"Allen Crackston," the kid breathed.
The night was so quiet, so painfully still, one could have heard a leaf fall.
A spark of recognition and justice flickered in the woman's eyes.
Allen's body hitched. He froze mid-movement, as if he'd forgotten how to breathe. For a moment he stood motionless like a statue.
The kid stared back without blinking.
He was still afraid… but now he knew his enemy.
A cool wave of acceptance rolled over him, washing away the last traces of hesitation.
Silence swelled around them, so dense it felt like the night itself held its breath.
Then unhinged laughter cracked through it.
Splitting the air like broken glass.
Allen reeled backward, his spine bending at an impossible angle, his head dangling behind him like a Christmas ornament. His hand clamped over his mouth, as if trying and failing to smooth the manic crackle spilling out of him.
"No way— the freak from school catches me?" he barked, his whole body shuddering.
"Out of all people… it's you."
"It's my lucky day."
"God must be smiling upon me."
He murmured the last line while staring blankly at the sky, detached from reality.
Then everything stopped.
His body jerked upright — too fast, too stiff — like the world had unpaused at the wrong frame. His eyes locked back onto the kid.
"I'm going to fucking kill you, bastard."
Silence returned.
This time stained with dread.
The kid flinched, but didn't run. He swallowed hard— the gulp echoing louder than it should, as if the whole town heard it.
Footsteps.
Fast and Fleeing disrupted the moment.
He looked past Allen and saw the woman running, her child clinging to her back like a frightened koala.
And suddenly… something bloomed in his chest.
Not bitterness.
Not abandonment.
But pride and Accomplishment .
He saved them.
He done something that actually mattered.
A smile tugged at his lips — but he forced it down. Now wasn't the time.
He was still knee-deep in shit.
The desperate footsteps in the distance—
and the strange spark in the kid's eyes—
were enough to make Allen turn.
Time thickened.
The world felt submerged, as if the entire street had sunk beneath deep ocean water.
Allen rotated slowly.
The cold night breeze combed through his dirty-blond hair. Sweat flicked from the tip of his nose, droplets hanging in the air like suspended shards of glass.
His eyes never left the kid—
tracking him even as his neck twisted to its limit, his head turning farther than seemed humanly comfortable, his jaw tightening as he strained to keep his prey in sight—
And then he finished his turn.
His body stiffened as he stared at the silhouettes of his original victims, shrinking with every second.
He knew he was caught.
The kid realized the deviation—this moment of distraction—as his chance.
Sweat beaded down his brow as he searched for what to do.
He dropped his gaze to the fractured sidewalk, as if the cracks in the concrete held the answers he needed. He began to count them—
anything to think, anything to plan, anything to focus.
But his mind scattered like loose papers in a storm.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—why can't I focus?
His hand trembled.
His breath hovered in his chest.
The world faded into a hollow stillness.
"Damn it all." He cursed
his thoughts went blank and his body moved.
Rigid with pain and uncertainty,
aching so deep he felt it buzzing in his bones—
he took his first step.
Every muscle strained, pulling him forward like a puppet dragged by invisible strings. A cry clawed up his throat, but he forced it down.
The sidewalk stretched ahead of him, impossibly long, as if it inhaled all the air in the town.
There has to be an end to this… right?
Suddenly—time snapped back to normal.
Everything slammed into him at once.
Rain began to fall. Hard.
Cold sheets hammered the pavement, exploding into mist as his breath came fast and shallow, as if he'd sprinted miles instead of taking a few tortured steps. The sidewalk snapped back to its normal length beneath his feet.
The orange streetlights flared brighter through the downpour, stabbing his vision and sending a snarling pressure through his skull—until the icy rain cut through it, dulling the pain just enough to keep him moving.
He stumbled—
Water slicked the ground, splashing up his legs as he pushed forward, and somehow, before he could fully process it, he closed the distance between them.
Allen reacted instantly—faster than he'd ever seemed before.
His fist whipped back, rain trailing from his knuckles, ready to cave in the kid's face—
But fate twisted.
The kid's legs finally gave out at that exact moment.
He dropped beneath the swing—not on purpose, but perfectly timed—and hurled his collapsing body into Allen's abdomen.
They went down hard.
Allen hit first.
The impact ripped the air from his chest, and his head snapped back with a sickening crack, bouncing off the rain-slick concrete like a dropped basketball. For a split second his body went slack, eyes glassy and unfocused as rain streaked across his face, the world ringing hollow inside his skull.
Blood poured from his nose, mixing with the water and spiraling across the pavement.
The kid collapsed on top of him—
their bodies tangled awkwardly.
His injured hand was pinned between Allen's armpit.
Pain detonated through him.
White-hot and Blinding.
He bit down hard, his teeth slicing into his tongue in a desperate attempt to dull the pain.
Warm crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth, mingling with the rain.
This was the least pain he'd felt tonight.
A shattered hand was nothing.
Scraped knees were nothing.
A sprained ankle was nothing.
Cuts and bruises—nothing.
"I know pain," he murmured.
"this feels nothing like it."
Slowly, he lifted his head from Allen's chest.
Below him, Allen stared up in a daze, confusion swimming behind his eyes as they struggled to lock onto anything at all—his expression deranged, yet innocent, like a deer caught in headlights.
The kid clenched his jaw and drew his head back.
Time paused.
He looked up at the star-filled sky—so beautiful it almost convinced him his suffering wasn't real. Rain fell across his face, gentle now, each droplet caressing him like a quiet kiss of approval.
If not for the savagery of it all, it might have been a night worth remembering.
Then time came crashing back.
The rain turned cruel, slamming into him like hail.
The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.
Pain and exhaustion surged through his limbs all at once.
He exhaled—
and drove his forehead down into Allen's face
Allen's scream tore through the rain.
Raw and Animalistic—
Tears streamed down his face, blending with the downpour until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. his features twisted into something unrecognizable, his nose sat crooked—collapsed inward, blood spilling freely. Several teeth lay scattered across the concrete, slick and white like spilled dice.
A few never made it that far.
They were embedded in the kid's forehead.
"You fucking bastard!" Allen howled.
The words barely left his mouth.
Before the kid slammed his head down again.
The crack echoed.
Blood erupted from Allen's nose in a grotesque arc, spraying upward before the rain dragged it back down. A strangled screech burst from his lips— cut short by the sound of bone and cartilage giving way completely.
His mouth split open, lip torn and hanging loose, more teeth shattering free—some skidding across the pavement, others vanishing beneath pooling red.
His face—
meat, pain and ruin. Masquerading as a man.
Allen convulsed beneath him.
When he finally looked up, one eye already swollen shut, purple and bloated. The other struggled to focus through rain and blood, vision warped and trembling.
And above him—
Something stared back.
The kid loomed there, breathing slow. Steady.
His eyes gone cold and distant.
Unblinking.
Unforgivable
Blood streamed down his face, tracing the bridge of his nose, slipping around the teeth lodged in his skin like macabre ornaments.
Rain washed over him, but it didn't soften him.
It sharpened him.
In the flickering streetlight, his shadow stretched long, giving him the appearance of someone bigger.
Allen's remaining eye widened.
Not with rage.
But with understanding
For the first time in his life
Allen Crackston was afraid.
He thrashed beneath him, using every ounce of strength he had left, trying to throw him off.
But the kid stayed put.
Allen didn't have nearly enough strength.
Not nearly enough resolve.
The kid watched him struggle, his face emptied of emotion—blank, stiff, like a papier-mâché mask molded into the shape of a boy.
Then he drew his head back once more.
Blood, rain, and broken teeth flicked from his forehead, scattering through the air.
Time slowed.
Raindrops hovered, stretched thin and trembling, each one catching the glow of the streetlight. In one droplet—just close enough—he saw his reflection.
For the first time that night,
he saw himself.
Curly hair plastered to his forehead, soaked and frizzed.
Cuts scored his face like a butcher's board.
Purple bruises ringed his eyes, swollen and dark—almost comical.
His breath hitched.
Tears burned behind his eyes.
That's me, he admitted.
In the reflection, he saw Allen's hand slip into his hoodie pocket.
A silver blur.
drifted closer… closer—
Then it was inside him.
A white-hot flare tore through his chest, ripping the air from his lungs as the world snapped from silence into a screaming hurricane of sound.
He looked down.
The hilt jutted from his chest.
Then the pain arrived fully.
Blinding.
Burning.
So hot it felt unreal.
The cold rain struck next, dulling it—
Then the fire returned.
Again.
And again.
He tried to lift his arms.
They didn't respond.
His strength finally gave out.
His gaze drifted down to Allen, foolishly—desperately—hoping.
Allen stared back up at him, eyes wide with fascination, like an artist admiring his finished work.
That's when the kid knew.
He was doomed.
His vision blurred, black bleeding in and out at the edges.
You picked the wrong one,
he whispered, his voice rough and shredded—like it belonged to someone twice his age, already worn down by a life he never got the chance to live.
His eyes stared in the distance.
I'm not brave.
I'm not strong.
His breath hitched.
I am not chosen…
He exhaled weakly
I was just sick of being nothing.
Rain slipped into his mouth as he tried to breathe.
And when I finally stood up…
his lips trembled,
I won.
A broken laugh escaped him as blood followed.
But it cost me everything.
He swallowed, the effort too much.
I didn't even get to be someone.
The thought echoed faintly as his head tipped back.
Above him, the starry sky stretched
wide, beautiful enough to deepen his dread, cruel enough to make him forget, just for a moment,
that he was dying.
He sat there atop the man who had already passed out.
Allen—who would wake again.
Who would see the sun rise.
Even if it rose behind bars.
The kid stared at the sky.
His arms dangled uselessly at his sides.
Eventually, he could no longer tell the blackness of the night apart from his closed eyes.
"…Damn it."
The rain softened to a distant hum.
His last breath slipped free, unnoticed.
Darkness creeped in— erasing sensation first, the cold, the wet, the ache that had defined his final moments. Then it took shape from thought. Words unraveled. Memories faded,
Regret tried to linger and couldn't find anything to cling to.
He did not feel alone.
He did not feel afraid.
He did not feel at all.
The world continued without him— The rain still striking concrete, Allen still breathing faintly , the night turning toward morning— There was no body left to anchor him, no name left to answer to.
Just a quiet so complete it felt eternal.
And in that endless dark, the boy who had wanted to be someone disappeared into nothing
And only stillness remained.