#;your hatred consumes you through the gallows of misery ( Godchild )

[thetruthinlies]

.03: “Figures, you’re just like me”

( Now that these damned finals are supposedly over, other than worrying about the results.. I am going to write something to get my mind off the finals and humour stories to more.. serious content. The dark stuff that I adore. I’m going to read more into twisted characters, because that’s my forte, but at the moment, I’m just wondering if a soul can really divide itself. That could be an odd way of combatting “loneliness”, no? )

( Word count: 1351 words ) 

It is always the sins of the father that the child has to carry on their tiny shoulders. Brittle little things that have to lift what could devour them if it pleased to. 

It was funny wasn’t it? The same people who interlink their hands with a frown, eyes at the small, hollow framed child claim that infants are in need of PROTECTION.. "underdeveloped, brainless, and cannot make decisions for themselves” are the ones who point their finger at these degenerates, LAUGHING. 

“Underdeveloped, brainless.. pathetic, co-dependent on their elders for holding their fate..”

The child whose innocence, dependency, need of nurture.. stripped away by authorities. They are just brainless, they wouldn’t know what even happens of them, won’t they?

“They won’t feel or think it is bad if we tell them it’s a good thing, now would they?” because conscience doesn’t exist in the mind of the youth, the one who wishes to only hold the hand of the much bigger, experienced one. The little child who hadn’t seen a wink of what the hell reality even means..

An figure of authority could throw them in a field of thorns, waiting to be devoured by hounds and say “It’s just how it goes” and the child wouldn’t be able to defy it.

What would they even know?

It could bring tears in their eyes, skin and bone, but are they in a position to know what hurts?

Not as quite.

.

He believed he’d seen enough of the God-forsaken world to know that even God laughed at them. He’s read enough from man-made material that stated that this Heavenly figure did say something along the lines of man’s misery is by his own hand.

He supposed it was true. 

Nickelback can sing all day about how things would’ve been different if mankind had a HEART, but he knew.. that boarded the same plane as the waste that living beings are so full of. It’s no wonder that mankind is cruel, that much waste residing inside that somehow has to get out, metaphorically and literally.

Having a heart where others would only drag you down.. psssh.

It was no wonder that kindness was such a myth. the possibility of its existence is NIGH.

If he looked with the still ocean-blue eye, he would’ve said otherwise. It wasn’t impossible to lend a hand to someone who is making attempts to reach it. It wasn’t right to leave them forgotten, abandoned when they spent a lifetime trying to stretch out of their secure and safe place. 

Prostating, humiliating themselves, begging as if the individual in front of them is God. The only being that man should bow to.

Man is not stronger than another. What is only gained by being revered is the illusion of power.

“Funny, I am an illusionist.” 

.

Perhaps it was that he kept looking with the crimson of his right eye that he believed that. The one that always just questioned why life is overrated.

And he couldn’t help but make that illusion appear. That one where the others think they have an advantage.. only to crush it all down. Why make them lose with dignity? Give them a little feeling of victory before you crumble it at their feet.

That face of devastation when it all comes down, something he liked seeing, knowing that how many people had made him do that.

Now he was the one who’d be crushing skulls under his feet instead of being the skull.

.

This was the imagery he was pouring into a child who felt that he had an advantage over him. A little inkling of innocence, a rowdy one who IMAGINES being as powerful as their creator.

Now Mukuro was aware that he had no true skill, he wasn’t worth a gaze against the creator of the universe, but he was stronger than a child who’s stuck in the vile world of imagination.

A world he has complete and full control over. Mukuro didn’t need to give a second glance to know how to shatter the small thing, yet a giant piece called thoughts. That was his domain, what illusions were so frightening for. One that can enter the deepest shelter of a being and completely DESTROY it.

It’s as they say, when you’re on the edge and falling off, it’s all over. 

That was the plan in his deep, messed up mind.

Until for a moment he decided to look away from his general philosophy. It does get redundant to keep using the same methods, and if he did keep the element of same tactic, there would be chances of counter-measures.

He wasn’t worried about that.. it was to keep situations from boring him, have it interesting.

.

If he took a closer solemn look at the child who claimed to be ready to destroy everything at his feet, make the strong kneel to him and get rid of eyesores, there was something more to him than just a pushy show of rowdy foolishness.

It may not be a true face of the child, but it appeared to be a lead. It was only a hypothesis in itself, as the eyes do not always tell the truth, and what the windows may show might not always be reflective. People see what they WANT to see, and sometimes, that means pouring a sense of self into what is not understood.

So he thought, but it did seem to hold a strength, its own grounds that told him it may not be just a thought emerging from optical illusions.

If he was right, this was still a child who was trying to PROVE his worthiness to the ones who condemned him. It reminded him of the words of the adults who tried puffing their chests and holding pick-axes saying their little youth need to be GUARDED, shielded from the madness that is OMNIPRESENT.

Those same adults he laughed at, stabbing them with their own weapons and saying “But WHO’S going to guard children if you can’t even lift yourself NOW?”

This child was perhaps an aftermath of personal slaughter. There were no wounds on his body, but deep inside, where the heart was supposed to be, where the gentle air of youth was meant to be preserved was left with unshed tears, disappointment, resentment and overall FAILURE.

Mukuro was sure that if he killed a farmer, he granted the child mercy by either letting them join their father’s fate without pain, or leaving them in shelters to avoid the tilling of the tools further wound their bodies. This child was neither case. 

He was but a child whose father had turned his back to. Left to fall even after begging for relief, a child whose prayers would never be answered and that was the reason for his aggressive behaviour. Like a mechanism that said ‘this is what will keep you here, that would make your father bow to.’

This was nothing but a child who was hurting. A young soul who was thrown into an unending path of misery just for EXISTING. By being born, his life was not his own.

So that’s a case.. how very interesting.

.

“So this is why you are taking it out on a punchable face. It reminds you of the WEAKNESS that you failed to stomp upon?” he asked with a smile, even if it meant getting himself a little hurt, it was not going to stop him from deciding what he wanted to do next.

“So.. you hold those same scars as this fool.” The very same pain that he couldn’t get his hands around reconciliation. Nothing would put him in his place, but for this child.. there would still be time.

The child had nothing more to lose.

“Take my word, you can keep wasting your time here, or finding a way to stand up to your own cowardice. And I’d be willing to help you out” add a bitter laugh.

“I mean, it figures..~ You’re just like me. A disappointment.”

It was about time the father pays for his own sins.

[thetruthinlies]

.What ‘real monsters’ are

( This one is inspired by this post, and this cover. I know you didn’t request for one, but if I am to become an aspiring writer, I shall adhere to Stephen King’s words and write as much as I can. So Ai-chan, this one is for you and your cute Brick and a bit on his relationship with his beautiful Ma. )

Word count: 2561 words.

“Monsters exist, but they are too few in number to be truly dangerous. More dangerous are the common men, the functionaries ready to believe and to act without asking questions.”

One shouldn’t be surprised at reading stories or hearing legends from their fathers, grandfathers or their old relatives of the existence of demonic presences. The things that one would call imaginary, things that don’t exist because all the living creations on earth were simple, practical, and self-driven, or mindless. 

One thing each living being have in common; survival.

Their own survival is all what matters most, as taking that away would end their story, and they would lose their role in this play. Charles Darwin nailed the term himself when studying finches and beetles that had only left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

Living beings strive to survive to keep their legacy going. To keep playing the foolish game they want to “win”, to find end-goals to this long-winded mystery called life. This essence that brings them to this planet, requiring to breathe, move, eat, drink and slumber to maintain. This curious phenomena of existence..

The tale goes on.

Mankind label beings of fur, of scales and claws, fins, and wings to be something different from them, animals due to their lack of capacity to communicate in the many human languages, being unable to think in ways that a human would, instead resorting to their means which in the terms of the sapiens, were unintelligent. Brainless. Strange.

Sometimes when the boy looked at fellow beings in their upright poses, hunched over ones and foolish actions, he begins to question ‘who really are the brainless ones?’ Another question arises within his small little head. “Why?”

Why are humans considered the most intelligent of the race of living, smarter than plants who can create their own food and live without having to endanger the lives of another species similar to them. Why are humans considered one of the more perfect beings, being able to adopt mannerisms of furred animals and be considered smart for that? Weren’t they the ones who called these beings foolish?

Humans couldn’t create their own food without having to take other living beings and derive their nutrition from it. Their own stomachs did not create it and distribute it to the rest of the body unlike the green little leaves that crunch in the dry and beautifully cold season. Plants did not have damage one another to exist. They did not even bother with the other beings that were so close, similar and existing. Breathing the same air as them.

Unlike the species of human.

Cats did not randomly attack a human being until they feel threatened to do so, and the carnivores had only slain enough to maintain their life, but human.. oh humans..

They slain another of their species because they liked it. Human beings did not eat one another, they simply kill one another by a reason of anger. They may not liked the words of another, and they would not only kill that one person, but an entire group because of association, or believing that every kind of person in a certain group deserved it.

Deserved it for breathing alone.

Brick couldn’t comprehend that. It made him wonder why people had treated him as if his glance alone would kill them ( and it would, mind you. ), shying away because he had shown characteristics that were not exactly “human”. So what if he could fly, or shoot heat through his eyes, mankind had never been the lovers of peace, they had only wanted the best for themselves. 

Even if they lacked the fearsome power he had, they were possibly worse than him, a monster that was raised in the depths of hell, son of Satan himself. Looking at these eyesores claiming that his powers were dangerous, when their own minds were defiled, driven mad by power and the need to be wealthy..

Utter garbage.

That was all they were. Complete and utter garbage.

Crushing a lowly skull under the thick sole of his boot, he forgot to count how many times has done the same to the others that were lumping like a useless mound of nothingness.

Watching it fly like specks of dust, his eyes unamused and a lips pursed, he glanced at it as if it would turn into something else. Maybe the little specks could gather together and create butterflies, flying within amidst the air. Fragile to the core, they are, but befitting to see.

The wind was tightened, clenching clouds from the sky unmoved, threatening to cry at the sight. Here was a young boy who was probably as old as an infant who studied in the laps of their mothers, or the ones who fit a huge glove into their little fingers to catch the ball their father would throw in pleasure.

Here this young child stood, clothed in crimson and deep black, with eyes that were as dark as the colour of the bodies spilling on the ground; bloody. Whose skin was still soft, moon-kissed and clear, save for the dust that flew by him, or the red that threatened to stain his beautiful face.

The grounds were dry, thirsting for a liquid to smoothen the surface. Grey as his mood was, it looked less like the beginning of a storm, and more like a sad passing. An emptiness that was similar to the hole where his heart should’ve been. 

Then again, he questioned whether he even had that organ to begin with. There was a flow within his arteries and veins, but it felt cold unlike what the books would say it was. Warm, the key to maintain body temperature, practically the reason why they had said warmth comes from the heart instead of the brain.

Without the heart, the human body could become cold as ice and be unresponsive. The brain couldn’t hold the warmth of the heart, it only served to deliver thought and action into the body, but the food that the body needed, that love that makes the brain move was the heart.

The heart unconditionally pumps blood to keep the body living.

But he never found his heart beating for him. His blood was still, almost non-existent. There was no crimson warmth, but a black emptiness. This could’ve been because he was created, not birthed.

This child who could’ve been a sweet, kind, or someone who could understand the tales of the human race. 

But fate surely laughs upon the souls of the unfortunate.

As every claim had its counter-argument, or sometihng that loved to oppose, there came in his life something that didn’t agree with his viewpoint. Every sentence had something that combatted it, no matter how many times it could be considered correct. There was always that one counter.

Just as there was a returning punch to one that was given. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.

There came someone who didn’t look at him and shriek. She didn’t blink in fear for her life, wondering how bad her choice was to see who this cute little monster was. No, she smiled, hoping that she could mend that hurtful look in his eyes that he couldn’t see.

The pain that was throbbing for so long to the point he didn’t notice, the wounds that had tore through his body.. none of it that he could have a heart to care about, a mind to fear, or a conscience to understand.

Seeing her gentle existence irked him. You see, humans can sometimes play the card of the clever fox, sly and cunning. some of them upon finding out what one may need, pretend to hold that sentiment or item just to lure them to a trap.

That could mean this woman was doing the same, knowing he couldn’t understand feelings of warmth.

With this in mind, he seethed at her. “What do you want from me, woman? I have nothing of your interest and you have nothing for me.”

She only smiled, reponding back lightly. “You looked lonely, and I thought.. it’d be nice to keep you company.”

With this strange woman, he couldn’t find a moment where she was trying to give him away, or find a means to hurt him no matter how many times he had hurt her.

It was surely something new. Something that stupid books didn’t say, or the words of gross beings said. Gross as those people only try to make themselves look good by bragging about their features of good nature but did nothing that was worth being happy about.

Those people who were just wolves in sheep’s clothing, or devils in angel’s robes. True scum that walked on the faces of the planet who deserved nothing but their heads rammed through the ground, forget six feet underground, make it sixty feet. Where their entire bodies can burn in the core of the earth as if it were just another pile of sorry waste.

She was sweet to him, taking his hand within hers as she showed him around places that were graced with colour, with the sun shining, not brightly to burn the eyes, but enough to illuminate even dirty places as something that was not as bad as it looked.

The silver linings that the clouds had been obscuring for so long were finally visible.

She took him home, bathed and clothed him in more comfortable clothing, made sure he was acquiring enough food for his body to regulate movement and function, and moreover, she made the deep inky darkness that ran through his veins feel a bit more.. mellow.

Almost as if that was not what flowed through him. He was not corrosive, not a pain to be breathing next to, or someone who was not worth smiling to. He was not different from others due to his special powers that he was born with.

He was the same as anyone else. Weird, but a living being trying to survive.

She made him feel as though he can open a new leaf, just like opening a notebook that was brand new, unlike one that was full of cryptic scribbles, he was anew. For a moment there, he had forgotten that his existence was different, his goals were set even before he learnt how to breathe.

He felt.. humanly.

Perhaps it was just a term for lack of a better word. This was to say that monsters were not animals, demons were not innocent creatures who were simply trying to live and co-exist with the rest of the living beings in the world, they are weaker than the cruelty of a human itself.

There is only a fine-centimeter distance between the difference of man and monster. Monsters were ferocious on the outside and perhaps on the inside as well, but their faces were what frightened others to approach, leaving them to be isolated, kept aside or slain.

Human beings however..

Human beings were truly the most dangerous beings on the planet. Their faces were clean and proper, pleasing to the other and enabling them to be accompanied by other species. They looked tender, innocent, and had a voice that ranged from different octaves, nonetheless, convincing to be harmless. They had no claws, no fur on their faces, and no gutteral growls that rip the spines out of the weaker. No, they had none of it.

They were softly created, with smiles on their lips, with nails that unsharpened, and with gentler features. Recall that this is the outside features that lull others into their presence.

Their hearts and minds.. oh if only they were as pure as snow.

They had the power of words, of deceit, manipulation, and sweet nothings that drawn others in, only to face the cruel fate of believing in the falsehood. For being gullible, are monsters punished when associating with a human.

He’s seen fellow human beings that she looked up to, who were only trying to gain something from her. He seen the sweet words they could say to her, making her feel special, wanted and loved.  The very same thing that he was worried that she was trying to do with him was playing like a broken record player right in front of him.

Filthy beings trying to mould her into something they wanted her to be, something they said she was born to be. People who took advantage of her kindness, taking it as something that they were entitled to, seeing as they were ‘good’ to her.  Brick couldn’t stand it. How many more bastards were there that were living, getting away with the horrid actions that they breathe every single day with.

How many more.. he cracked his fingers dangerously, probably breaking a few in the process as he stood up and walked over to them..

Here he was, standing once more, bathed in crimson and volcanic ash that he had created to destroy those ugly faces with. Broken skulls and torn ligaments, their skin peeled like a fruit, and laying down as if it were backdrop.. There were his claws, sharp and fearsome, his eyes glaring down as if that alone brought death riding on his shoulders. There stood in front of the innocent woman.. the face of a monster.

She looked at the mound in fear, seeing it consisted of figures of those she had seen not too long ago. Looking at who stood on top of the mound as if he was looking at waste was her child, beautiful, cute, but with a look that broke her heart.

He was hurting beyond measure.

Her baby boy who she had grown so close to within those short few months, like a child she had birthed from her own womb. A little bud that was to bloom if he was given enough care, a boy who had done no wrong to her.

Nothing intentional, that is.

“Ma..” his tone was silent, piercing. “You took a monster and taught it to be human, but..”

She looked at him.

“That only shown me that.. humans are no different.” with heaviness in his breath, he swore in between his words.

“Not a single. difference.” he repeated, raising his voice as if angered with himself, letting the swear run sharply in the middle once more.

“I’m always going to be the one who hurts you.” even if the primary liquid that ran through his body was churning with warmth, he knew that this was only her love that was transpiring, trying to communicate with him.

Wishing he wouldn’t leave her. Not her child she was proud to know.

“You can’t be proud of me, Ma, and I can’t stay here.. I’m only going to keep doing this.” he kicked a body from the mound near her, meaning to say every person who he would come across would become as destroyed as what supposed to formerly be a human body. 

Completely eradicated.

“I’m only going to hurt you too..” turning his back from her, he ran.

If living ever gave a monster a chance, then he would choose to stay, exist with the woman who took him under her wing, calling him her son and showering him with only care and love that he deserved.

What she believed he deserved.

[thetruthinlies]

( The Adventures of Baben Brick - part 1. At his favourite Godfather’s, and "eye-candy" )

[thetruthinlies]

( Art from a derp~ This regards to the Ducktale AU Ai-chan and Ian spoke of. It was tempting to draw a small something of it, though once more, anatomy is my opponent )

[thetruthinlies]

( Baben Brick is probably just playing video-games. Yes yes.. when the parents are not home, they would need a babysitter, no? I suppose you could open it in a new tab for full-viewing. )

[thetruthinlies]

|| @bludgxoner from here ||

“Kufufu.. How FEARSOME” The grey of the smoke, similar to Mist he’s always shrouded upon, except with an odd odour. Brick had a point about it, without abstract, just cut and clear. Living beings never had to hide the monster that rests in them, not especially when it is raging out.

Unfortunately, he likes to provoke who reacts. “But, I find the CONTRARY. You see.. I’m looking at the face of a CRYING child. A boy who’s SCARED and lonely, a sad monster..~”