Smoke curled above him as Cry sipped the bittersweet taste of the cigarette and blew the grey gas, silver embers entwining as it rose along the air that lingered with the stench of iron stinging his nostrils. He sighed, feeling the pressure fade away with every blow, the stress seeming to leave his soul with the nicotine that vacated his lungs with every release. And yet as he inhaled the toxic again, everything goes shooting back at him like a bullet.
It hurt. It really hurt.
And yet... he couldn't stop. Even though he knew it only hurt him more, he kept doing it: relying on the little white stick that only endangered his life even more. Even though anyone would tell him to, and everyone did tell him, he just couldn't stop. He was addicted to it; to him. Even though anyone in the right mind would stop right there, right now...
But was he still in his right mind?
He reclined, shuddering a little due to losing some blood minutes ago. God, blood had such a strong stench! Or maybe it was because it still hadn't stopped bleeding. He glanced at the sink that still hadn't drained the blood that flowed like the Red Sea, and the razor blades that were carelessly tossed aside with blood stains that remained as fresh as the memories whirring in his mind.
He fluttered his eyes closed, drifting into a state of nostalgia and reminiscence. The days of adventures, the nights of peace... All the memories he knew would never return.
Who said that nostalgia can't be a bad feeling?
Every memory, every flashback shooting him like bullets that never even gave him time to dodge, or at least to recover... And all he could do was take everything, tears of pain rolling down his cheeks endlessly and violently, while he cursed his fate, his life, him. And how much he made him laugh, smile, frown, cry...
Die.
"This isn't fair!" he screams. "Don't you try to bring this on me. My love for you was bulletproof but you're the one who shot me!"
"And God damn it, I can barely say your name!" he cursed, but his voice wavers. "Why?! Why... do I still hope?" He asks himself, voice trembling and quieting down.
Despite all he endured, he would turn from the bad things and focus on the good ones, blinding himself from the reality. He'd think of those nights he couldn't sleep and that soft accented voice would sing to him, lulling his soul into relaxation as he drifted into sleep, the lullaby's tones lurking in his mind and following him into his dreams.
And he'd sing along, tears rolling down his cheeks as he felt his body grow numb and fall to the ground, memories of Felix lingering in his mind until he was gone. He'd close his eyes, his soul finally put to rest.
It's all over now.