Why...
When did I start feeling this way?
Rivulets of the precipitation outside became visible to the naked eye. Every droplet seen as clear as daylight washing away the filth produced by the humankind. Weeks had gone by, rain still fell from the sky and hours were spent all exactly the same.
Constant.
Unchanging.
Mundane.
Just like an endless cycle that never ceased to break.
Day after day, he'd situate himself behind the glass window of his spacious room. Gaze distant, staring down to the numerous people below with a vacant expression. Oblivious to the mirror image shown in front.
Ideals are forsaken
There wasn't a single ounce of purpose remaining. No spark to make this life worth continue going. No excitement to keep his veins pumping. No love for humanity stronger than what he is longing. Still, it persists to be empty. No matter how much he may weigh the certainties.
Years ago, he only acknowledged one unilateral goal.
Now, such resolve has finally taken its toll.
Brows furrowed, Izaya breathed out a scoff. His hands winding up to the curtains and roughly hauled it close. He took a step backwards, almost stumbling onto the floor but quickly held a palm to the wall for support. As his legs began to shake, he pondered for a moment and reminisce the last time he ate.
The informant had only himself to blame.
Balance regained, his body maintained to hunch over the nearest surface. A pair of bloodshot orbs steadied on the ground, silently contemplating the things he did and why it went wrong.
Where was he mistaken?
Because whatever had driven him to this point, has certainly done the damage.
Therefore, he sees no further point in wallowing in resentment.
Dismissing unnecessary reveries, he pushed himself off and walked towards an unused desk. Despite his limbs being wobbly, he used what's left of his strength to approach it. Mulling over something that won't change would be insignificant, Izaya asserted. To dive into another wave of misery is beneath him. Not much has happen. In fact, nothing did. Simply time wasted watching others live their everyday life to the fullest.
Ignorant of the danger that lurks in the city; committed to their pathetic desires, their own lives to how they'll survive continuously. For centuries, it is unvaried; a never-ending repetition that diverges merely in setting. Again and again, history repeats itself. Nevertheless, humans tend to strive for something else, something different and at times, they seem to be content; satisfied to their heart's delight then the next it was as if all hope had faded into the light. After that, they now wish to die. A pandemonium with so many patterns, a linkage that connects one person to another; for one cannot survive in this world alone. What's fun in a kingdom with no disciples? To be the last one standing amidst it all? To be the sole player in a chessboard shunned by tons of people? One whom you call pawns? Reset. The table is turned. It's time to regain what was relinquished. It must be returned–
While he was stuck in a pitiful condition that seemed like eternity.
Izaya stood at the side of his computer table, somehow a bit nostalgic, before pulling one of its drawers which revealed multiple scattered documents; a bunch of useless, neglected information sat untouched and left forgotten. Once, those things meant the world to him. Nowadays, he didn't even paid them any heed, like it lost all its substantial means. Giving enough assurance in his decision. The informant scanned the storage compartment drearily, seeking a very important file that'll serve as his ticket to redemption.
A ticket out of Japan.
People crowded within the station; the air felt wonderful around him, passing by the space they're inclined in. He could feel eyes bore through his clothing, yet he couldn't care less about it. Humans were humans. It's their nature to be inquisitive. Izaya shuddered underneath his signature jacket, making him wonder how long was he confined in his apartment.
Redundancy.
Is the question appropriate? Should he reconsider again? Not likely. That was then, he knew it.
This was for the best.
No more turning back
Although the informant's renewed tenacity were evident, it did not change the emotion on his face the slightest.
Whistles screeched midair.
He focused no more other than the approaching vehicle. His goal had been simple: get in the train, arrive at Tokyo and fly to... wherever it takes him. Preparatory measures placed second. He wasn't even aware of the gasps and screams resounding till a sudden rush of wind elapsed sideways. Tilting his head, it took a few seconds to realize something was flying toward him though he remained impassive as it collided harshly on his body and sent him soaring onto the pavement.
Hurt.
His vision blurred, vague shadowy outlines dawdling against his line of sight. He regarded it to be his humans, gathering around like ants that scampered for treats.
Voices are vanishing, light waning as he closed his eyesight; allowing the darkness to fully consume him.