The Pain Behind my Smirk (short story)

The Pain Behind the Smirk

Hey guys! So this is a short story I wrote, and the character of Izaya is loosely based off of the character Izaya from drrr. Also, all creds go to the artist for the cover page (yeah I couldn't draw that for shit). 

Without further ado, here you are!

Enjoy :)

"May 18th, 2007, Tokyo News

Nobody knew it.

The reasons for his sudden disappearance.

Some say he ended up dying of his insanity, and some say he was murdered in cold blood. Anyways, his disappearance had been for the best of many, and was rejoiced all over the world

To state it fairly, he was always curious. Curious of the unknown, of the reason things acted the way they did, and what his purpose was on this world. From a young age, he had always seemed as more of an observant, quiet child, always watching the crowd rather than being apart of it. Quite like as if he were some sort of a 'God', watching over his kingdom from the balcony of his penthouse suite. As years had passed, his curiosity remained and grew with every emotion, movement, action that the beings around him had made. It had led him down a tedious path, to a point in where he couldn't stop seeing the possibilities, the potential of the human race. Day by day, his childish curiosity had slowly evolved into a hobby, a messed-up passion, and then an obsession, a craving until a point where he was a slave to his mania. With that he had almost lost touch with reality, holding on to the shards of sanity he had left."

<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Tokyo News<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>

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I gazed at the shimmering lights of Tokyo from a glassy surface containing me from the outside world, my ice like hands pressed against the huge window of my contemporary suite. Mischief danced across my features as thousands of people were scurrying amongst the city like ants in an anthill, polluting the city with corruption and mishap. The corners of my lips turned up slightly, as I eagerly watched all of my humans go about their day, completely oblivious to the fact that the I, the notorious devil-like being, was watching them all with gleaming crimson eyes, boring into their souls. Eyes with the color that rivaled that of blood. I internally rejoiced over the newfound troubles and emotions etched within every one of the scattered beings I had seen beneath me. I pranced around my living room like some sort of psychopath, merrily kicking everything that crossed my path while laughing a psychotic laugh that could only be produced by someone as mentally unstable as none other than yours truly.

And I love it.

The ability to let out any emotions from anyone, to make someone depressed jump with joy, or make someone so mentally strong, collapse on themselves.

I suppose I succumb to the illusion that I am stronger with this ability, that it makes me more human, as I had always been called inhumane by the people I cared about the most.

One would think that someone as psychotic as me doesn't have a chance at redemption, and well, I suppose they are right.

The only thing is that they've only heard one side of the story, they all shut out the pain, the anguish, and the fear hidden behind the signature smirk bestowed upon my face. What it is like to be ostracized by your own family, while the only thing keeping you together is the fear of your past biting at you, threatening to tear you apart, waiting for the right moment to strike. To have been destroyed by the fire in your own heart, unleashing the anger out, but not knowing that whatever comes from the ashes of the flames is your own broken reality. Thoughts of worry started to catch in my mind's web, spinning till no end.