A/N: Edgar and Nny slash, should listen to First Date by Blink 182 while reading this. It feels right. It's been a long time since I wrote a proper fic. This is just a dry run; god my head is drained… Leave a word or two okay? Word of the day: Random!!
Pianissimo Butterfly
What they can tell is the anemic figure of a man off killing people with the slashing of his knife and blade.
What they see are eyes of dark colors, of death and chaos splashing the irises taking them over like ghosts.
What they hear is his panicked anger rampaging across the air like a riot's cry of freedom- though his screams speaks nothing of.
They don't see him the same way I do. I would love to say ignorance is the prime reason most of humanity has left him in the pits of loathing to said species. But there is the factor of his insanity giving nasty trails of blood frequently here and there when it kicks up into high gear.
Most people don't see Nny the way I do- either he doesn't give them a chance, or they were just plain assholes (excuse me for that one) from the very start.
There's more to lust for blood that lies in those frantic round circles that look and see.
I can see the sadness in his eyes. The melancholic symphony which is in his voice takes my ears like a hypnotizing tune. There were times when I wanted to hold him in my arms and tender to his bleeding wounds. I wanted to kiss his tears, the ones that never left his eyes, and tell him it all be okay. Somehow, someway; who knows the future right?
But in reality, nary such a thing would occur between me and him. It's so hard, very hard to keep such feeling intact knowing full well that the one you love is just right beside you. Cultural- not the right word, but that is all I can think of right now- difference refuses to bind us together. There is also religion and belief that strikes down the bridges that could have bind us together. Trivial matters like conviction to what is normal and gender contribute to this gap that keeps us from getting close.
After all, would you find it rather distasteful to see to guys holding hands walking down the streets?
A horde of behemoth like demons that goes by the name of the Holy Bible and normal standards are ripping us.
Should I say forbidden love?
Maybe this thing we call as such is not the result of others at all; it could be my cowardice, keeping me from talking at all.
Maybe it's been in me that I refuse to acknowledge the sudden trepidation I feel when I am by his side- the one that is not born of fear for dear life.
I do think he loves me, though I have crack of doubt plastered here and there in my mind.
Or maybe it was the fact that such racing of the heart in the presence of another is all too new to him and me.
The procedure of letting those eight letters, those three words cascade my mouth is a very torturous process. I never ever heard myself say those things before, and I very well could guess that Nny has never even felt that way.
Shifting my fear of confrontation to others, I am such a sad confused man.
"Hey, Edgar…" Johnny called out to me from the other side of the couch.
The television was on to some show we both had our eyes glued on. I don't know what everyone is saying, they seem to repeating sentences, phrases again and again. They almost sound like static to my deafening ears.
"Yeah, Johnny?" just a simple reply, almost empty in a sense but the tone of being there to listen to whatever he to say was in that drawl.
The pictures look more like paint spread across the screen into varying degrees. There are no people or forms seem to be placed in my head as I stared on.
I take off my glasses and rubbed away the none existing dirt, hoping this will fix my sudden take on the moving entities flashing across the idiot box. My eyes squint at the lack of much needed lenses.
"I'm going to kill you"
"Yes, Nny, I know"
"I want a Cherry Fizz-Whiz right now, can we get one?"
Forever, let's make this last forever.