Never Tell Your Feelings

Nighttime

Stars represent the lost. The bright, white color that forms the light which, according to some people, would possess their beautiful souls. To reflect the purity of every life that has ever been lived and still got to an end. He admired the universe in some kind of way. The loyalty that seemed to be around, even after the death of the most precious creatures on earth. The connection that kept on existing between the stars and the still living; the guardian angel that hid itself in the darkness of the sky, but yet was there to make you feel as if you're not alone, whether they are visible or completely concealed. It might have been love. The strongest force by far, that won't die along with the mortal humans themselves, that made the feeling so strong. It could've been the nature itself, trying to make the world a better place. No one had the knowledge, but enough theories where there to make others feel like they weren't useless.

Among the those 'blessed' people, there were also the ones who could forget a perfect purpose of life. The ones who got cursed along the way. The humans with a black hole in their chest instead of a lovely, beating heart. People without the good intentions to be respected by the rest of the civilization. A being like him, to be more clearly.

Why his brother - as the son every parent dreamed of - had always been the angel of the family, had been unexplainable to Zagan. Why they were so different for a couple of twins in the first place, was unexplainable to him. Although Elior couldn't prevent his eyes from being as light and kind from the very day one, he still despised him. See, his own were nothing more but a purple, pitch-black set of pupils. Filled with anger, like his father used to say. A depth to drown in and never return. A sea of fire, locked in the eye of a predator with no escape. 

It wouldn't be a miracle that, if modern literature did wrote the truth about afterlife, there wouldn't be a star shining for Zagan at night.

-

It was the 27th of December. A pretty cold night compared to the rest of the season. He had spotted the icicles everywhere he looked, hanging from the rooftops of various motels and shops. Snowflakes flew through the fog outdoors, sticking onto his skin and clothes with no remorse. The temperature of his body, however, didn't change a bit. His pale color never left the sight of trespassers. He fitted into the area perfectly; his glow as white as the snow in the wind.

Zagan's coat was thrown onto the rack on the wall. Not worried about where it ended up, he turned around to look around the bar. It was a familiar place to him, after all. The old music playing around nicely through the local town. The smell that circled around the room. Harsh and strong, creating a thick but somewhere pleasant kind of air in the small cafe across the street. A couple of older grown-ups were sitting there, smoking their cigarettes, breathing and talking loudly. As if they didn't care who'd listen along with their conversations, with their problems they spoke about once a new sip of liquor was taken from the glass. He could tell they've sat there for over hours now. Just like Zagan, they didn't felt the need to leave. It was nice there. There wasn't anyone who came to hear you out about the failure that's called 'your life'. No one was there to ask you tons of questions about your past and, above all; there was an unlimited stash of booze. Or at least, whenever the bartender saw him coming.

An echo was left behind when he walked in. Wood, cracking underneath his footsteps, sounded across the room in seconds. It wasn't that loud sound that could get some people to have a heart attack though. No, it was just soft enough to hear it when there was silence. Just enough to make the alcoholics turn around to see who dared to step inside. The fear of meeting a familiar face, he noticed, when he let their thoughts into his own mind. Thinking someone would know where they usually spent their time instead of working to get food on the table. Yet, with him in their sight, they soon returned to getting wasted. Fragile faces, one by one, went white once Zagan entered.