C h a n g e
This was just not his day.
Michelangelo paced his room, his steps fitfully.
Damn foot!
His day had been fine, great even. It had started normal; he'd woken up and had breakfast. Then Leo had insisted that they practice longer than usual…it was fine…he could deal with that. He'd watched TV with Raph, irritated him... been chased…he could deal with that too. Then he'd read comics, relaxed, played video games and - of course- won. The usual. Then he'd played a couple of pranks on his brothers in a way that they couldn't blame him… he could definitely deal with that. Later on that evening they'd gone on there nightly training run and it had all gone to hell.
I mean, who expects the foot to attack at a pizza hut? Mikey hadn't and that had been his first mistake.
Mikey clenched his fists, angry and tight. He had been inside when it'd happened….He had been so busy talking to the counter girl that he hadn't even noticed.
When he came to the roof, his brother's weapons lay scattered there, covered in blood.
In that moment, Mikey's world had stopped.
Dropping the pizzas he'd staggered forward.
He dropped to his knees, in utter despair. Looking for someone to turn to for help. That's when he'd realized. Hehadno one to turn to. Gathering their bloodstained weapons, he headed home…
His room…it looked like nothing had changed…like he hadn't screwed up.…like his brothers were still with him.
Suddenly Michelangelo stopped pacing. He lashed out at his figurines lining the shelves, consumed by a growing rage. He ran his hands over the shelved, roughly. They shattered as they hit the floor, breaking into a hundred pieces.
He grabbed his comics, tearing off the covers and ripping out the pages. The precious comics that he had been collecting all of his life, destroyed at his hand. His rage blinding him…Not seeing as the papers fell to the ground. His mattress slit up the middle from a powerful hit. All the bedding was discarded over the cold, concrete floor.
He growled in anger, destroying his sketch book, the drawings that he had poured his very soul into, torn to pieces and turning into a pile of irreparable rubbish. He started ripping the draws out of his desk and scattering the content. Spinning he saw himself in the mirror, saw his failure, his guilt and hurt. He rammed his fist into it, blood dripping as shards pierced his skin. They stung his hand as he pulled it away.
Breathing hard, he turned coldly from the place that was once his safe haven, now littered with his trashed belongings that he had once help dear.
Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but getting his brother's back.
A one-shot character development. I know there isn't much point, but hey.
What did you think?