A/N: Okay, so I was being a b...h and all by not updating and continuously uploading new stories, but, well, I just had to get this one out because it was what my mind, that is currently super inspired and wanting to write, produced. OTL.
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis will never be mine, hence my otaku-ness. OTL.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He sees the splashes of red.
He sees the glint of silver.
He sees a look of horror.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He smells the disgusting air.
He smells the disgusting humans.
He smells their disgusting scents.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He hears it.
He hears the dull red hit the floor, breaking into smaller pieces of red.
He hears the screams and the shouts, pleasure to his ears.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He tastes the metallic red.
He tastes the red of his own tongue.
He tastes the painfully sharp blade.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He feels the cool liquid running down his face.
He feels the nothingness around him, the nothingness of the world.
He feels the stinging pain shoot throughout his body, only to lessen and numb.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He knows he's become a monster.
He knows he's gone too far into the game.
He knows there is no turning back for him now.
His eyes flash and glisten. What is this he sees? A small, raggedy child hugging her teddy bear in fear.
He laughs at the sympathetic sight.
He laughs at the cruelty of the world.
He laughs at himself.
He's disgusting.
He's a monster.
He's a freak.
He's a psycho.
A psycho who wreaked havoc upon his release from the mental asylum.
But do they know why he's there?
Do they have any idea of his history, his past before dubbing him all those critical names?
No. They know nothing.
But he supposes that is the reason why he has become a monster.
The child shrieks. Her teddy bear is thrown at him, the limp animal lightly smacking him on the leg before falling down pathetically.
He picks it up.
He gingerly caresses its face.
Poor thing. Used as a weapon when it was once a beautiful source of comfort.
Its beady, button eyes filled with memories and experience flashing when hit by the sun.
Its stitched mouth, forever in that position for it had been ripped and cut.
Its tear-soaked body, being hugged and cried on whenever the child was sad.
Just thrown at this monster without a second thought because the child had feared for her life.
Pathetic humans. They deserved to be pitied, but give no reason to.
He laughs again, tossing the teddy bear to the floor without a second thought. The soft toy bounces along the rocky road, tearing and ripping as it streaks through the sharp pebbles and broken glass.
The child cries and begs for her mother.
In a husky, dry voice, he murmurs, "Your mother is gone and dead."
She screams, the tears staining her pretty face and damaging it.
He frowned, walking up to her. He crouched.
She utters a strangled cry, too frightened for any other words.
He reaches for her face.
She flinches and immediately backs away.
He is hurt by this act.
He is hurt by this act of refusal.
He is hurt by this act of rejection.
He supposed this was expected, though.
He was always rejected.
He was always rejected from his family.
His friends.
His love.
The public hated him.
They discriminated him.
They called him a monster.
Because that's what he was.
As Kirihara Akaya walked away, his eyes turning red, he felt someone trail down his cheek.
What was it?
It was wet.
It was salty.
It stained.
It was a tear.
