Fragments of Love: A ZaintSee Collection

if the cages break free

A figure stood rigidly, watching the building being devoured in flames. Hands curled into fists, the rage burning inside of him could rival that of the fire oozing hot air and smoke. Men tried with might to calm the raging fire, but he knew it was of pathetic attempts. It was too late. He was too late. He should have been there, but as with everything, there's no turning back time. It was never in his priorities, being part of this side of his family, had washed his hands clean of the tainted blood. But things had changed and with a stoic heart, he turned his back, saying a prayer underneath his tongue. He stared straight at nothing with only one thought in his mind.

He'll burn the very ground of the person that caused this.

He'll take every single life.

––

The bullet went straight through the side of the skull. There was no need to verify whether the man was dead or not. The job was always finished as promised. The gun was put away, a foot stepped over the weightless body, the pool of blood carefully avoided. It was silent and no one would have guessed what went on.

"Dispose of it."

Low and devoid of any emotion. The other two men nodded; eyes just as blank. The man's dead form stared back with the frozen gaze of fear and regret. One should know of promises and loyalties. A flick of a lighter, flashing  in the light, echoed.

That is the way.

––

Fingers tapped on the table, the low hanging lights of the club only providing enough to look mysterious as one sat at a booth looking out into the weaving bodies on the dance floor. It was a Friday night and the place was packed – businessmen and regulars alike. All constraints out the window as soon as one steps foot.

The man looked at the condensation of his drink, the ice-cold beer now warming up as it left a small puddle of water from where it stood. Rolling his eyes, he looked down at his Rolex, the silver watch glinting in the light and he huffed in annoyance. This wasn't his scene, certainly not on a Friday night. As business goes, he'd have to make friends with potential clients and those who wanted a piece of his hierarchy, yet he should not be reduced to waiting for someone who clearly wasn't interested in any business deals with Saint Suppapong if he left him waiting in a dingy establishment. Adjusting his necktie, he sighed roughly and stood, buttoning up his dark green suit and stepping out from his private booth.

Walking down the hallway, glad that even in this kind of place, it was a known fact that it was fancy with the many bouncers and well-organized club. Still, a club is a club. Just as he passed, he almost bumped into a man, roughly the same height, if not just a few centimeters taller, dressed similarly as him.

"I'm sorry!" The man quickly apologized, bowing immediately. Normally Saint would be annoyed but the man just blinked at him so innocently that he can't help but just chuckle. Not to mention, he was quite attractive, eyes that were expressive. Saint had wanted to leave.

"It's alright." Saint tilted his head and smirked. "Why don't you join me for a drink and we can call it even?"

It was only a small stumble and not enough for a huge apology like this, but the other man only grinned shyly and nodded. It was contradicting how tall and nonchalant the other seemed to be but gave such a bashful aura especially when he smiled at Saint like that.

Saint figured; his Friday night didn't end as badly as he thought.

—

Saint stood at his balcony, overlooking the vast garden his mother loved. Loved. He scoffed, fists clenching of her memory. If she were alive as she should be, she'd be smiling up at him as she tended to her roses, that lined almost half of the entire garden. Maybe even called him down to join her. But of course, it was the past. There was none to be in the present nor in the future.