Neon Gravestones

What's my problem?

To say that Izuku Midoriya had a nice life would be nothing short of a lie. He didn't ask for his childhood friend to bully and torment him, nor did he ask for his own genetic misfortune. He was just a useless, quirkless nobody, so what could he do?

The answer was to kill someone apparently.

It wasn't like it was Izuku's fault. Really. He was asking for it, hauling Izuku's ass up to the school roof and taking his anger on his human punching bag which conveniently happened to be Izuku. The only difference this time round, being the fact that Izuku decided to try and stand up for himself for once in his miserable life. It was just an accident; an act of self defence gone wrong so he had nothing to worry about.

    He was FINE. All caps, bolded, and underlined, f-i-n-e.

It was when the bully grabbed him by the collar and spewed out insults, a death grip on his collar tightening with every venom filled word. Izuku couldn't breathe, he was suffocating. He yelled and begged for the latter to stop but it only egged him on. He couldn't take it, he had to do something. Falling into adrenaline induced panic, he pushed. As hard as his small and weak body could. It didn't do much but it was enough to make the latter stumble, trip, and finally spiral off the roof.

    He had killed someone.

It all happened so fast Izuku could barely process the information. His eyes widened like a deer in headlights. A second later he found himself sprinting off elsewhere. His mind was frozen, so he did the next best thing he knew how to do. He ran, not knowing exactly where to go but all he knew was that he'd rather be anywhere else but on top of that roof.

Weirdly enough, especially for someone who had just made their first kill, there were no tears. For the time being, his mind and body were numb to both emotion and physical pain.

Even if he had just killed a person.

Izuku was forced to stop to take a breath, chest heaving up and down violently; a few hacking coughs slipping out of his mouth here and there, eyes widened and open with shock. He was lost somewhere the dark alleys, bent over in exhaustion, hiding beneath the shadows. His hand was pressed hard against the wall, so hard that one could see the red prints of brick etched onto his palm.

He was a murderer, and he was not fine.

He had a dream something along the lines of this before. About when he finally stood up for himself or did something with good intentions, only for that something to horribly wrong, bringing ruin to himself and suffering to other people. He didn't know why he just though about that, but there was one part that unnerved him. It was the part that he became a villain. You may wonder why it unnerved him so—Izuku also did but then he realised it. Izuku is and always will be a hero, even if he dies trying. There was no question to it. It was his dream, his life, his goal and his ambition, there was nothing outside it. To be a symbol of hope for the people and protect them was ultimately his life. Without it, he was nothing. He would never become a villain.

His mind started to waver.

But he just killed someone didn't he? Otherwise there wouldn't be a body in a pool of it's own blood at the base of the school building. Bully, or not he had just killed a child.

    No parent should ever deserve outlive their child.

    He was a murderer.

Suddenly, the concept of being a villain didn't seem so far off anymore.

You can't be both a murderer and a hero. It just doesn't work that way; especially for a person as righteous as Izuku. It didn't matter that he didn't do it on purpose or if he only did it for self defence. A life taken was a life taken and he was the one who took it. It was done. There was no way to bring it back or start over.

And it was all because of Izuku

That night Izuku didn't go home. Only dropping by to change and get some essentials from his room. His mum wasn't home; business trip with dad. He didn't stay there for long though. His myriad of All Might posters and figurines didn't feel the same. Once they had instilled a sense of safety in him. But that was before this. Their eyes seemed to follow him around the room drilling holes in the back of his head, staring at him with cold judging eyes. Like they were saying "I know what you did.". Izuku's urge to shrivel up and disappear forever was stronger than it had ever been. He rushed out of the apartment.

That night Izuku didn't sleep either. Not that he was able to anyways. He spent the night wandering the streets. He did try to at least eat something but it didn't go very well. He bought a sandwich from the convenience store but ended up puking it back out elsewhere so he just gave up on it.

The next day he didn't go to school, calling in sick also informing them that he may not be attending for the next few days as well. They didn't question him. Not even when a student had just died less than 12 hours ago. That actually perfectly describes his middle school. In simpler words, they don't give a shit.

Izuku spent his next few days wandering around his neighbourhood, loitering next to convenience stores and hanging out in his makeshift hideout at dagobah beach. He found the hideout on his the second night outside when he was walking around he garbage heap and decided to stay there for a while, eventually falling asleep from the exhaustion.

Tonight was his third night out. He had to go back home to at least clean up and re-stock his supplies. He couldn't go on like this. He fished the keys out of his worn down yellow backpack, opening up the creaky old door and stepping into the dark room. The apartment itself was untouched but the atmosphere was completely different. It was like a whole new apartment. It was cold and dark, lifeless; it felt abandoned, like no one had stepped foot in it for years.

It sent a shiver down Izuku's spine.

Heart beating faster and louder, he stepped into his room. He could feel his breathing hitch and eyes widen. His knees buckled, giving way from underneath him. The intense gaze of his idol beat down on him like a sledgehammer and knocked the air out of his lungs. His felt like he was on fire. He desperate to scream, cry, shout, anything! But the only thing that came out was a strangled cry. He whimpering and heaving pathetically on the cold, hard ground. He was barely breathing and it was painful. Unlike any kind of pain he had felt before. His chest was violently heaving up and down.

He couldn't breathe.

Like that day on the roof.

He couldn't move.

Like the time Izuku just stared, as he tumbled down the side of the building.

He couldn't think.

Like the time he ran down the stairs and kept running.

Izuku struggled to get back up—but couldn't. He was weak—he couldn't even get off the ground. Not even when he's had a lifetime's worth of experiences doing so with Kacchan.

Unfair.

Why did it have to be him?

He didn't even know when the when the warm tears started to stream down his face.

Eventually he did get up; even when his legs ached and his body burned with every movement. He still felt like he was on fucking fire. Step by step, inch by inch, he cleared the room until there was almost nothing of the symbol of peace left. His colourful posters were torn to shreds, off his light blue walls, and piled messily on the floor. Some of his figurines were disfigured, some knocked over, but all of them ended up in the same place though; the trash. He didn't deserve them. He'd have to do something about his blanket and clothes later. Because for now, he was exhausted.

He crashed on his bed in wearily, a few days of missed sleep finally catching up to him. His breathing had slowed a bit. Don't ever think that it stopped hurting though. The fire was still there, scorching, bright, painful; he was just too tired to do anything about it. Curling into himself, he slowly but surely, drifted off into a dreamless sleep.