July 4th: Hey guys, T.K. here!
I'm going through the story now, making a few edits (a majority of them will probably be major edits) to make it more consistent, make more sense, and make it sound less rushed since most of the chapters, I wrote half asleep and with little to no inspiration. So yeah c: Just a little update. Those with a: (U) are the updated chapters.
The rain came down steadily over the head of a rather emotionless figure, one whose eyes had darkened with murder and whose mind spun restlessly with words he had recited time and time again but had never spoken. Half of these words had been told to him. The other half he figured out himself, but as expected, he realized them far too late.
As his feet carried him down the path of crumbling headstones, listing name after name, recalling memories he wished to both remember and forget, he gradually realized just how defeated he felt. He had known it for a long time, of course, but never before had it hit him so hard.
Though young, he felt old, withered, and long since dead.
With a sigh, he stopped walking and settled himself down before one of the stones, watching as it practically gleamed with its newness. It had only been five months. Five dreadful months since it'd been put there. Since then, he felt like everything had changed and he could do nothing about it.
He laughed weakly and ran both hands through his hair, choosing to glare down at his feet instead of the stone. The name hurt to read. There had been a promise within the name, a renewal of sorts - but all that came with it now was betrayal. He felt so utterly lied to, so kicked down, beaten, and torn apart. He had thought he had gotten rid of that sort of burdening feeling when he was fourteen. Now he supposed he was wrong.
Gryffon tilted his head to the side and eyed the other stones that were scattered about on the broken soil and concrete. He hadn't been readied for his life, he knew. He had thought this over before. Had said it time and time again, though only to himself. He had been born and just thrown out there in the hopes of survival. No one had ever taken his hand to walk him down the path of his life. He knew there was no such thing as fate, for if there were fate, there would be people there to guide him, to make sure he was well, to give him choices and nudge him toward the right decisions.
But everything that had either gone right or wrong for him . . . He had decided to do. He was left alone to figure everything out on his own, and when it really came down to it, he realized that no one was ever really there for him. For anything. Ever.
Things were left to fall and die around him, and though all those 'things' changed him, how they belittled, worsened, and bettered him, they also made him want to just choke up and die.
Except he was never given the liberty to choose whether or not he wanted to die, to just give it all up, to hold his breath and finally be able to let go. He was given responsibilities he didn't want, obligations he didn't ask for, and for the sake of so many others, he was now forced to keep moving, to keep trying everyday.
He felt - feels - bad. Or maybe it's the guilt that keeps him up and running. Maybe it's those two emotions that makes him understand that he can't try harder to kill himself. One attempt was enough. One attempt warned him it wasn't time.
So now, now because of a vow, because he knows he has to keep another goddamned heart beating, he has no choice but to keep breathing and simply wonder: "Why?"