"Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter…"
He hummed slightly to himself in the dimmed darkness of the remains of the log cabin, placed just a few feet away from the small pond that was frozen in place due to the cold. He always loved the cold - loved the way it made his skin tingle and his spine shiver. The way it made his fingertips go numb with the freezing temperatures and made him feel as if he couldn't move away from it, how it drew him in even more than what it had captured him in - him, the boy with snow - white hair and icy blue eyes. He ran his fingertips over the remnants of the wooden wall, the remains of his past snow storm that he'd conjured up because it was fun for him, the way he could easily bring down what seemed to be the most impenetrable things with mere ice storms and hail. Just a flick of his wrist and he'd have a whole town covered in a thick, icy blanket of snow, cars completely frozen solid with the slippery substance and roads slick with the delicate work of his.
"Repair, destroy, repair, destroy…"
Why had he done this to his old home? Not that he could do anything about it, all of his old relatives were dead. Simple as that, no use in trying to sound light hearted and weak, they were gone, dead, not here anymore, including his younger sister. While he'd give anything to see her face again, he knew he could never do so, so why even try? Why even spare the place where he grew up in, the town, the state? Being one of the first colonies to come over to the Americas, even he could remember that, things have obviously changed through the course of three hundred years. People die, others get replaced by their children, and their children after them, then theirs after them - it's the same routine every decade, every century, and makes him sick. Sick to his stomach, sick and nauseated like he could just take back ever coming here to the Americas. He was a care-free child before becoming who he was now, and now, stepping into the light and seeing just how fucked up the world was made him scared, scared and angry and plain disgusted with how the world worked. The world can't do anything about it, he can't do anything about it, and neither could the moon. Hence the reason he never became to attached to his younger sister, even after he became a spirit. Sure, he gave up his life for her, but who wouldn't? People would say, she's got her whole life ahead of her, risk your unimportant life for hers, like you haven't gone to hell and back and survived things. So, he died, and from then on he neglected to actually care for people. Like Jamie. The kid was fun to be around, liked to do things and get active and not just sit around, but he was a kid and nothing more - just a tool for him, to use over and over when he got bored.
"Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…"
But even so, someone did try to follow him, and someone did try to love him. Him, who's caused so much pain and suffering and made a mess everywhere he went. People have told him so, he's a trouble maker, he doesn't and shouldn't take things seriously in life, even if the children are in danger, he'd rather kick back with his snowballs and just forget the world and its children for a little while. And, while he still doesn't believe it, he did love them back.
"I love the 'you' who's in love with 'me'…"
That's the thing with him. He loved it - loved making a mess, loved breaking things. It filled him with a sense of satisfaction, he could finally, finally do something right, even if it was wrong. Breaking things wasn't a habit, no, it was far from that, it was a way of life for him, made him look at things differently and made him not feel so lonely. Small things were fine, small things like bowls, flower pots on window sills, pies that was put out to cool off, decorations hanging up around towns…big things were better. Things like buildings, shoving a snow storm onto a village or a city, creating accidents and causing snow days made his life better in every little way. Watching car accidents unfold were his favorite - the car would screech to a stop too late, and ram into the side of another unexpecting car, the driver probably enjoying a coffee or texting their friend or sweetheart. Wasn't expecting the road to suddenly go slick and cause the bumper to fly off or the trunk to detach. Hell, blood still remained on his blue hooded jacket from his last breaking spree.
"I'll destroy all of your precious things…"
Her feathers looked so ruffled and so flustered, out of place in all direction, like they get when she's scared or upset or angry. Which she was a combination of, if you really think about it, having a blizzard smash into her palace where the children's teeth lay. The smaller fairies didn't expect it at all, the giant avalanches collapsed onto their small, frail bodies and instantly crushing them, the cold being too much for them to handle. Their squirming died out after a while under the icy substance, making her purple eyes widen and glisten with a set a fresh tears. Those eyes would look better glazed over, he thought as the wind picked up the destroyed parts of the palace, knocking even more things down and causing a greater mess and hazard to the being who refused to leave, instead weeping over the destruction of her beloved palace. He took this as his chance to strike, and delivered a blow to the back of her head with his wooden staff, knocking her down painfully into the snow. She struggled to pick herself up and brought her eyes up to her captor, or savior, she thought hopefully, as he calmly walked over to her, a straight face on his pale features. Gripping his now blood-stained staff, he delivered another blow to her side, inflicting damage to her ribcage (how fragile is a hummingbird's ribcage?) and making her wheeze and cough up red liquid from her wound. She dared a look towards him - his blue eyes steely and crazed, as they always get when he causes messes and trouble and breaks things - and coughed out a word that made him grin as he raised his staff into the air, having no mercy on her frail form before him.
"Why?"
Even now, he didn't know the answer, or why it made him so happy to hear people ask him that, why did he love to make messes? He usually just grinned and shrugged, hitching his staff onto his shoulder and floating away with the wind. He didn't want or need an answer, he was content with just being able to cause damage.
"So I won't be able to say 'Sorry,' to you…~"
Breaking things into Pieces - Mike Hatsune :)
Don't know why I chose to write this dark piece, really! Reviews are appreciated~