Disclaimer: I do not own "Fairy Tail"; they belong to Hiro Mashima.
Wrath
.
.
.
He was a handful alright.
Always making things difficult for himself,
And for those around him.
A hardy fellow no doubt.
Carefree, reckless and greatly fierce,
With a burning soul that shone as bright as the Sun itself,
And a temper, that rivalled an erupting Volcano.
Heh
Oh he has a temper alright,
A BIG one,
Helped get him out of a few tights spots now and then,
Including the dire situations here and there . . .
But that temper would surely be the death of him some day,
If not, someone else first.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He'd done it . . .
Man, had he done it alright.
He was treading on thin ice enough as it was,
But he had to go and lose it.
Time and time again,
He was warned,
To keep it under wraps;
The Anger,
The Hate . . .
The Wrath.
. . .
But in his defence he was already in a foul mood.
You could practically feel the negativity emanating from him.
All he wanted to do was to just clear his mind,
Was that too much to ask for?
Clearly so,
Not to mention he picked the wrong place to carry out said activity.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
So fuelled with anger that would prevent him from thinking straight . . .
Guess what they say is true after all,
"An angry mind, is a narrow mind"
. . .
He was always seen as dense . . .
More of child, than a young-man,
More of a Beast, than an actual Human . . .
Always looked down upon,
Never truly taken seriously . . .
Classed as the under-dog,
Given empty support.
Mocked, and shamed, never acknowledged for his efforts,
Overlooking all his good, with his bad . . .
But he endured . . .
Or, at least tried to
. . .
He endured, and endured and endured, until he could endure no more.
Whenever the time came,
Whenever the filter leaked,
Overflowing with the putrid stench of negativism,
Seeping out with his pent-up aggression,
His scalding temper, his . . .
Colossal Wrath
. . .
Whenever he would get to such a point, he would go off and find a place to vent,
To let out his frustrations,
To unleash the dormant Beast from its chains and steel cage,
To wreak as much havoc as it was deemed,
Till it would eventually run itself dry,
And lay to rest once again,
That is... until the end, of the next cycle.
. . .
Once he was spent,
Withered and torn and could go no more,
He would return, and again,
Wear The Mask . . .
The Mask that made others depict him as childish,
As Rash,
As Idiotic,
As, Innocent
As Obnoxious,
And many more,
A Mask, that hid away his true self,
But,
He could only endure so much,
For so long,
And The Mask, that held together for so long,
Was slowly, crumbling away.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He wasn't sure how long . . .
Better yet, when, it started . . .
But his dark-self,
No, My mistake,
It wasn't so much as 'Dark',
More rather,
A 'Bestial' self,
A 'self' that was best,
Well hidden,
Should it happen to be released,
It would unquestionably instil fear,
Into the Hearts, and Minds,
Of anything,
And anyone.
. . .
What may have once appeared as somewhat, entertaining,
Rough,
And seemingly violent,
Became increasingly unstable as time drew on,
And it had come to this very day,
That shook the very foundation,
Of his entire,
Life
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
He could only stand there, and marvel with oppression, at the destruction he caused.
All around him,
Looks of Fear,
Looks of Anger,
Looks of Dread,
He paid them no mind however,
Just continued to stare with stoned eyes . . .
In fact, you wouldn't be able to tell whether he was conscious or not.
. . .
Who would've thought,
That something portrayed as, mediocre,
Would inflict a critical blow,
That'd send him over the edge.
The answer . . .
No-one
. . .
He suddenly felt different to how he was before.
Palms, that moments ago were callus, now felt rougher, much rougher than earlier.
Finger-tips and toes, twitched in new-found curiosity, feeling an added weight upon them.
Flesh, felt denser, layered with a foreign texture, and bones seemed to have a new density to them.
Muscles, were tense and much bolder,
And his once limber frame, felt unnaturally heavier.
His mind empty, as if renewed.
Even his hair attained a new thickness.
But lastly, his eyes,
Eyes that once saw the world as he knew in various colours,
Was now viewed,
In Sepia tone
. . . . . .
"No More"
... ...
"Time and time again, I have told you to keep a levelled head boy. And time and time again, you still, refuse to listen"
... ...
"Look! at you. Look! at what you've become"
... ...
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK TO YOU BOY!"
A deep, and harsh voice, bellowed at him, and a large, looming shadow cast itself over his presence.
"I can no longer continue to tolerate this, this, Foolishness any longer"
...
"Are you so Blinded by your Own Atrocity, that you would even fail discern, and even disregard everything, and every-ONE around you . . .
For GOD SAKES BOY, You nearly, Nearly, Killed someone"
... ... ...
...
"I see . . . so it appears I cannot reach you"
...
"No matter . . . perhaps, if you cannot recognize my voice, then . . . you will recognize this"
. . .
Nothing . . .
He heard nothing . . .
For him, the outside was a void, engulfing all sounds, and left everything in mute.
The inside, was open,
Loud and clear,
There were no thoughts,
But the sounds of everything internal,
Played out for him,
In a rapid,
Contradicting,
Rhythmic,
Sound
. . .
In the corner of his sight,
He saw a light.
. . .
Tiny specs, of light, that flickered their way into the rising air.
. . .
With eyes only,
He glanced to the source.
. . .
The specs of red light dissolved,
Glistening with a red hue,
Shimmering off the appendage
. . .
Even as he looked away it became more apparent that the number of red specs were growing smaller and smaller with every passing second.
. . .
A single spec,
Traversed its ways within his line of sight,
Glowing like a firefly in a never ending sea darkness.
. . .
And just like that,
It dispersed,
Fragments of red,
Swept away by the shifting Winds
. . .
It was only then,
That a single thought had breached his mind,
And he knew . . .
. . .
His time
. . .
Was done
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Who knows what became of him . . .?
Who knows what he would do with life from now on . . .?
Not even he had the answers
. . .
He would continue to wander,
Far and wide,
In the abyss,
Till his time, came to an end.
. . .
And somewhere,
Deep inside,
He could only hope,
And pray,
That nothing,
Would incur
. . .
His Wrath
First FanFiction and a "Fairy Tail" one at that. Just a - looong - one-shot (It's interesting what ideas & thoughts one has when they're suffering from a killer headache that rivals hangover. Not that I would know that, never had one in my life. But yeah, it was surprising that my brain could even function at all in the early hours of the morning with the pain and all)
Anyway, hope this was decent, please review and hope to hear what you all think.