I promise.

I promise that I didn't realize the possibility of such a scenario. Oh, wait, that's a lie, isn't it?

I did realize the scenario, what I did't realize was the possibility of such...things happening. After all, a scenario is but a scenario, and the chances of it happening stay in your mind until it's too late. The human mind, after all, was good at conveniently forgetting horrifying, despair inducing memories. It is a defense mechanism.

But if I had –

I don't know if I would have stopped it.

Because if I did,

All my plans would have withered.

If I had known,

I would not have done anything.

I see them, working in a diligent haze, deadly serious, aged, their eyes a gleam of a reflective sheen sauntering around with purpose fueled by fear. Certainly, they are miniature adults. Some of them don't even accept or realize the situation the world is in. They walk around following orders with a childish shade of rose glasses on, believing that nothing is wrong. They put their trust in me. They always have.

But when they realize, it's too late. They fall to their knees. They curse, they howl. It doesn't matter – it doesn't help them. They know that. They choke on their certain death, on the end of the world. They seek their friend's gazes – and they are lost in a moment of seconds, entrapped in promises and terror. They sink in despair, pulled by their anchors of hope. I want to comfort them. I want to stop.

I promise, I am not cruel.

I wanted to tell them.

But I couldn't.

Because of many things. I would like to say part of it was because of my plans, but –

They look at me. Betrayal. Confusion, brokenbrokenbroken –

They have poured their hearts to me –

And worst of all, they look at me with no hatred; faux attempts that fail, something that is not quiet hatred so much as

Why.

Why?

Ha.

HahahaHAHAHAHA.

Oh, dear God, this is so funny - I can't stop laughing -

Such despair.

I don't want that despair to end.

Have you heard of illusions? I have crafted this all, by lies and illusions and – yes – friendship.

I am a monster.

And that is good; because the world needs a monster.

Ha.

.

The end of the world started with friendship and trust –

Hope –

And it will end with broken friendship and broken trust, and hopefully.

Hopefully.

It will end with a whimper. Death. Despair.

(In despair there is hope.)

(In hope there is despair.)

.

Which came first?

lies

.

m

. . . * . . .

Phi

.chapter 00.

.glass . identity . manmade . hilarious death. surprising birth . look, look, just don' tell me you're actually starting to hope .

. . . * . . .

POV Change

[

?

]

. . .

You wake up with the sound of waves crashing. Strangely, it's in your ears, where water doesn't belong unless you've just finished showering. Your eyes flutter open, like the butterflies you have heard of. The sunset ones with black splatters.

But it's too much. You're overwhelmed. You feel like you're drowning, or maybe suffocating in someone's hug, in heavy blankets, in raw betrayal.

I trusted h – you start to think, and your tongue, it summons saliva to wash down the betrayal, how dare they, you think, and then you stop.

…

There is nothing but the waves crashing. No memories, no pieces of a mind.

No, no, that's impossible! Only moments ago – the hold of a bear hug – showers – butterflies! –

Your mind – whatever is left of it – shatters to pieces and the pieces tumble, sharp, spinning? Information comes unmoored from experience – memories turn into an inhumane language, to be stored away, far far far –. Shards catch and reflect images of small moments – your life, your past, your identity, your future.

There is no sense to them. There is no system of time, but you only expect it, because in this place there is no time

Such human things do not exist in something human made. Ridiculous, isn't it? Hilarious, isn't it? Aren't you unable of comprehending it? Come on, admit it, it's the truth.

Everything humans made was pointless.

(A small motherly moment – hands stuck together with ice-cream, sticky, disgusting, the summer's heat reflects off you, it is so hot – hot chocolate, it tastes like, like, like chocolate -)

What does chocolate taste like?

What does it taste like?

You chase after jagged pieces of yourself – and wonder, how can you chase when you are broken like the glass you are? – and you catch one, just one shard –

and it cuts into your hands like knife, the blood stings at it drips, but not like the dripping droplets of rusted faucet water in your mind that are driving you insane, oh god have mercy, it is more like how a person relieves their selves with a good puke, and it is everywhere, you know, it's colored the little piece of identity you have caught a damp shade and it is not, I repeat, it is not a shade of roses so oblivious, it is not as mercifully numb as that, so don't even, you don't even, think of hoping for mercy.

Oh dear God

What have I told you? Don't, just don't bother, stop cradling the little useless piece, it's goddamn broken, do you hear me, it has no use, don't tell me you're going to use fucking glue, don't be stupid now, you cannot fix a broken thing.

Oh, look, you see, a broken piece – once it's come loose, you can't place it back in, because, you see, you will always remember how it abandoned you, you know, and it has already failed you, and this little piece of you has changed, so don't even bother, you little idiot. The empty place in you can no longer be occupied by a measly little shard of memory. The empty place – it is too big.

No, not yet, you must fight, you're the last little hope in this world, so maybe you don't know what this shard in your grasp is for, maybe you don't know who you are –

Hells, who are you anyway?

Names, you know, right, of course you know, tie memories together, people will remember you as your name, the one you share with a hundred others, because in the end you're not really that special, your name is the cover of your identity, like that utterly nice, amazingly unique, beautifully toned girl who won awards and medals for her amazing sportsmanship, she goes by a name, too, and when people hear that name, they think of a Muslim girl who will eventually become a terrorist, because obviously an Arab name – well, that's all it will allude to, a bomb – bam – and death. Right? Right. Obviously, if you are Arab - anything that is not the perfect American, the drab Japanese, it will never be right. You will always be the 'other' in the career sheet.

Names sew flying strings of lives, names are what they utter, your name, when they are happysaddespairstrikenhappyhopefuldying.

But…really...

Why does it matter now?

After all, you are you, I am I, isn't that all that matters? It's not like you have one set name after all, what are names for, anyways, so you know, it doesn't matter, names are manmade and as you know, hilariously, all manmade things are fallible, rotten, the path to hell is paved in good intentions.

Hell, humans die. Isn't that proof enough for you? Manmade, womanmade, and these little added letters – it doesn't matter.

All things come to an end.

And you know, the funny thing about you is -

PleASE, just teLL MEe –

Oh, no need to panic, stop it now, calm down, come on, get off that high horse you bitch –

AM I DYING?

Yes, isn't it funny? You're dying, that's all there is to it, but you know –

- am I going to hell? -

Your voice has gone small, dear, and come now, don't tell me you don't know who you are but you know what hell is –

Oh, were was I? –

- am I a good person?! -

You see, your type of dying, it isn't like the people in the movies, you're not projected on some fifteen meter screen, you are not being cried on by millions of people, there is no music alluding to your final moments, no final moments to speak of, in fact, I'm confident enough to say that nobody is even mildly sorrowful of your death –

Your dying is special, like you are. It is the death of – of –

I am fucking speechless.

I would say, you're not dying. In fact, I would say, you're being born.

Now, don't think that means you have an identity or, hilariously, really, any humanity.

It is no longer there.

. . .

an.

I hope you stuck through the insanity that is the pov change. It's meant to be confusing. And no, the first pov is not the same as the second. They're different people.

I need characters, since this is a SYOC. And I want awesome, unique characters. I want funny ones, insane ones, like the DR characters. This SYOC, gentle(wo)men, has a plot and I need good characters for them.

Okay, so I realized that I accepted almost every character I got. I've decided to change this. So, readers who have sent me characters in the first version of this story, you're on hold (except for one amazing character I really loved).

Name: (last/first or first/last, please specify)

Age: (13 to 15)

Gender:

Non - gender:

Super Middle School Level: (I don't accept Doll Makers. It's used too commonly. Also, please be specific. Don't say: SMSL Doctor. Say: SMSL Cardiologist.)

Appearance: (yes, this includes clothes. I want flaws, and I want two sets of clothing - normal everyday ones, and pajamas. Also, I'd like to know your character's style of clothing and how willing they are to wear revealing clothes so I can efficiently choose their other costumes.)

* really important * Personality: (the less you put, the higher the chances of the character being OOC, because I'll have to interpret more. I don't want too many stoics one. Nor do I want a lot of shy, short, little chibi girls. I'd be really happy if you wrote some sort of analysis, and if you told me some of the character's defense mechanisms. Just type defense mechanism in Google and choose the one that is most compatible with your character.)

Weird stuff: (such as speech patterns, behavioral mannerisms, etc. EX, look at L – he sits strangely and he eats sweets only. Also, he tends to say stuff he doesn't mean and uses taunts and nicknames a lot.)

Backstory: (I'd like average backstories with drips of sad sauce. This will make your character more likely to survive.)

Family:

Additional skills: (maximum two. EX: Has a good intuition and is good at changing xir voice.)

Likes:

Dislikes:

Role in trials/investigations: (Let me make this clear - not everyone is gonna be a Hinata or a Chiaki – Komaedas are encouraged, and so are Mahirus and Akanes...)

Are they bigots?

What endearment do they use with people? (-kun, -chan, -sama, -chi, -senpai-san.)

Described in two words:

How do they learn? (hands on, reading, visual, hearing)

Upper body strength: Average, fit, above average, high.

Lower body strength: (Same as above. Everything under this is the same as above.)

Core strength:

Balance:

Speed:

Agility:

Jumping height:

Body weight strength:

Stamina:

Long distance running:

Fighting style: (if they have any, describe it. Although I'd prefer them to be meh at fighting.)

Height: (please, please, please no 140 cm and shorter girls! Boys, no prob, girls, hell no!)

Weight:

Body shape:

Keep in mind that this shall be submitted through PM. I'll also work with you on developing your character, so just focus on personality and write the basics for the rest. As for your character's criminal psychology, I'll also work with you on it. I'll inform you at the end of the developing process if your character will be accepted. There will be some characters I will decline at the beginning. But look at it this way – you'll gain a developed character if I decide not to write your character!

The character profile is on my author profile.

(Fan art of your character or others is AMAZINGLY encouraged. If you can't draw them yourself, find a close comparison on the internet!)

Have a nice day. I'll have an amazing time developing your characters with you, especially since I found plenty of spectacular people through this way. Please send me your characters soon!

Keep in mind I won't be able to focus a lot with you since I have exams for the next three weeks, but I will definitely communicate with you occasionally through these three weeks. I promise.

Sincerely,

Hopeless Desires.