I sat there on the balcony staring over at the idiot who refuses to listen. I just sat there, drinking my cola and waiting for this guy to slip up so that maybe he will see reason. Or die... Which regardless of what he may think, I do NOT what to happen. It's not like a care about him. I care about myself... and the outcome his death with have.
ok and maybe I care a little about it...
I'm just not the caring type. I'm emotional and unforgiving. I am creative and destructive. He is loving and frightful. He is nurturing and violent. I am trusting and vengeful. He is daring and anxious. I am an artist. He is a fighter.
He pisses me off so much. He acts like he's all that matters. I MATTER TOO. Did I mention I am also bitchy and insecure? Yet he gets the confident sarcastic self-centered nature that just makes you want to kick him in the...
Nevermind the point is... I am not used to this feely crap. I'm not even used to being an actual entity. It's frustrating me so much.
I kick and scream and run and hide and go out of my fucking mind, but that doesn't help. Instead, I try to help. I go and talk, offer my opinion. He just shoves it away like I'm some kind of demon. Yes, I'm a nightmare, but I'm still fare. I care. If I'm a demon then I'm a god damn devil of poetry, art, music. What else do you want from me? I can only do so much from the outside. Your running out of time. You're pushing yourself past your limit, knowing your dying, but you still go on fighting, refusing my help...
You're a fucking asshole...
"A, Do you think they got the message?" Oh looks like we have some activity.
"If they didn't then all that paint and fire was for nothing." Like. I. Said. Destructive. Doesn't he see the craftsmanship in anything! Can't he appreciate anything artistic besides COOKING!? I put my headphones on and blasted my music, drowning out to the stupidity of the people below me.
"I watched you let yourself die, and now it's too late to save you this time." Funny how those lyrics fit the situation to a tee. I watched as the redhead grabbed a box, lit it on fire and threw it at some random direction. It wasn't random of course, his fighter's instinct is on point. SO naturally someone popped up behind an illusion firing a damn gun.
What the hell? Like, I'm sorry but when did this become a damn sci-fi post-apocalyptic novel. I thought this was supposed to be fantasy.
Dis the tragedy. Add romantic comedy. Add more chapters about how we even came to be. What's with the liers and the fires that burn whole empires to the floor before anyone could even blink and we'd think oh its nothing new but that isn't true. It is new. In fact, the whole stories changed. Laced with feel like depression on wheels, cry me a river and sail on in it to the next chapter, hoping it'd happier but it's not. It's loss and commotion, death and destruction. A gun to the head of your inner emotions. But does it stop there? no, the future holds more than bold choices and sad sacrifices while I'm sitting here the authors is baffling the readers. The sick psychopaths probably laughing.
And At A's pain, she'd be smiling...