Arthas Menethil was a strange young boy. Matted, unkempt dirty blonde hair covered his head, and his rugged, worn down face if he let it. Pale blue eyes, dangling eyelashes and holding up bags under themselves was Arthas' most prominent feature, as he always seemed to be looking past you, or perhaps into you. Arthas never focused quite on you, rather, he focused around you. Stray details floating about you were more important to him rather than who you were. He cared more about your favorite color, more about what style of pencil or pen you used to write, than what you enjoyed to do. The mundane things one would decide upon in mere moments or subconsciously, Arthas relished those moments.
Despite his attention to people though, Arthas was a quiet, yet creative lad, but he rarely talked to others, and those he called best friends, called him acquaintance in return. For, in truth, that's all Arthas had. Acquaintances, classmates, and, for lack of a better term, enemies summed up all of Arthas' relationships. No one paid Arthas much attention, why would they? To some, Arthas was completely insane. They would listen, and immediately ignore everything that Arthas ever said, for no real reason other than how dull, and unimportant they found him. Truth be told, the boy in the oversized, dollar store leather jacket, who wore combat boots that matched his thousand yard stare, was not in fact a decades long gone fashion statement, but instead a reflection of his life. Arthas was, in a literal sense that isn't mainstream, at war. Constant battles with his family, with himself, and with others at school had left Arthas broken, dissociated, a hollow, thin husk of a person. He cared not where his next meal came from, he cared only to follow the mundane routine that was his daily life, and those small, almost indelicate facts about people.
Arthas' daily life was surprisingly consistent. He awoke when his mother would loudly bang on his door, he'd get dressed, grab his book bag, and leave for school. Arthas wasn't leaving much of a home behind. At the time, a simple desk brown desk with two drawers and a chair in front of it held his computer. White walls, with light lime green banishings made the framework of the room, and besides a closet that held barely five outfits, and a few outfits for school, the only other thing in Arthas' room was two mattresses on the floor, and an air conditioner in the window. Arthas walked to school which, despite how short the walk was, he considered to be the best part of his day. The peace and quiet, the feeling of freedom he had choosing which road to take to his school, both of which got him there at the same exact time, seeing other people, acknowledging them. For someone as reclusive and hidden as Arthas, truly he wanted, and nearly craved human interaction.
Arthas attended his classes, but mostly slept through them as he rarely got sleep at home, and truthfully none of the learning material was engaging enough for Arthas. English kept him awake, as he liked studying new stories, World History had turned out to nearly be a repeat of past studies, Math was far too simple for Arthas, and Chemistry was basic memorization. He signed up, after arguing and fighting with his mother to allow himself to take Astronomy 101, which he was fascinated by, and also a drawing class. Arthas somewhat enjoyed the drawing class, yet his teacher, as great as she was, tried to force Arthas to draw "realistic". Arthas knew his strengths in drawing, and knew he could, if he wanted, become a great cartoon artist, and he enjoyed that thought.
Arthas was allowed to leave school at lunch every day, which most children would be happy for, but Arthas didn't care for. Once lunch came around, Arthas made his way to the school cafeteria, and ate the same lunch every day. Others were offered, but Arthas simply didn't have the energy to go outside of his normal routine. Most of the time, it was a cheeseburger, with fries, and a chocolate milk. Nothing extra, nothing less. Once he was done eating, Arthas left the school, and walked home. Up until now, you might be asking yourself, why was Arthas so depressed? Why did Arthas seem as if he wanted to not exist, as if there was no point in life? Allow me to paint you a picture of an unremarkable, ordinary day for when Arthas arrived home.
Arthas walked through the door to his house, and looked over towards the dining room that adjourned the living room. He gave his mother, who was already into a whooping 32 pack of beer, a weak smile.
"Hey mom." Arthas called out softly. His mother returned the favor by slowly sliding her eyes over, and huffing at Arthas before downing a quick sip from her beverage can. Lianne was a plump figure, yet rather short. Shoulder length flat and brown hair, that curled up at the ends hung from her wrinkled, droopy face. She was drunk, again, as she was most days when Arthas came home, and for some reason or another, she was inexcusably pissed at her son. Arthas hung his head a bit as he walked across the living room, and down the hallway, away from his mother. He entered his blank, void room and sighed. Arthas set his school bag down by his bedroom door, and closed the door quickly, before changing clothes. He slipped into a easy to wear pair of gym shorts, and a t shirt. Simple, bland. He gathered his clothes up, and emptied the pockets of his jeans before walking towards the other side of the house. He didn't bother to look at his mother as he passed her, still in her usual drinking spot, in a corner with her pack of beer in front of her, and her cellphone in hand. She looked up at Arthas, and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Varian drive you home?" She asked blandly, before looking back to her phone's screen.
"No." Arthas replied quickly, stepping past his mother and through the kitchen, taking his clothes into the washroom, and putting them into the washing machine.
"Why not?" His mother questioned, yet her tone giving away that she didn't really care.
"Varian and I don't talk anymore." Arthas loaded the washing machine as he spoke, before starting to head back to his room. Lianne made another huff, with a hint of amusement and gave an almost trademark smirk, and that was the end of their conversation. Truth be told, when Arthas moved to this school, he had met Varian almost on the first day, and the two of them hit things off quickly. Varian loved to talk, and while Arthas was quite shy, he replied to Varian, and listened to him intently. Arthas laughed at Varian's jokes, and they hung out, or as best as they could, after school. Arthas started to not eat at the school, and instead used that money to go to various restaurants around town with Varian to eat. Arthas had made a real, actual friend, one who actually considered Arthas a friend, and Arthas was happy.
This was, until Arthas made the mistake of trying to bring Varian to his house, to hang out. Arthas and Varian had hung out before, and Varian's house, and while Arthas had taken precautions, he had told his mother and stepfather about his friend coming over in advance, and wanted things to be perfect. Yet, the night went on just like it always did in his house, and Varian ended up never talking to Arthas again. It began when Arthas and Varian were playing a shooter game, one that Arthas couldn't remember the name of, nor did he particularly like it, but Varian did, and for that, Arthas loved to play it with him. They were deeply into their game, and enjoying it when suddenly there was a loud bang from the front of the house. Arthas looked up to his door, and instantly knew what was happening. He closed his eyes for a moment, before sighing and pushing himself to his feet.
"Pause, give me a second." Arthas mumbled out, a sad, disappointed frown forming on his face already. He had hoped and prayed, yet knew in the deepest parts of him, that tonight would go as it did.
"What was that?" Varian asked, as he looked up at Arthas curiously.
"Nothin', I'll be back soon." Arthas said dismissively, before leaving the room.
He walked up to the front of the house, and ignored his mother and stepfather bickering and arguing already to look for his sister, and step brother. He located them, huddled up together in his sister's room. Arthas popped his head through the curtains that formed the doors for Calia's room, and smiled.
"Hey, you two stay in here for lil' bit, ok?" He said softly, nodding at his siblings. They looked up and nodded back at him, and turned to check on his parents. He was just in time to reach out and grab a candlestick that his mother had reared back to hit her husband with, and jerk it from her hands. "Stop that." Arthas growled out, throwing the candlestick on the ground hard, causing it to break while he glaring at both of them. "You want to do this, let me get my friend out of here." He said, rage, and battle in his eyes. They of course, ignored him, and Arthas let out a silent sigh. He thought over what to do, and how to do it. One one hand, he had to make sure that his parent's didn't actually kill each other, which was a serious matter, as they could. A joke to some, but when you fight off a mother wielding a knife, and tear a muscle keeping your stepfather off your mother, Arthas learned that it wasn't a joke.
On the other hand, Arthas had to make sure his siblings were ok. He needed to keep them as happy as they could be, given the current situation. He also had to play defense, keeping the fighting between his parents contained to just the two of them, and not letting it spill over to them. He'd done this several times, by escorting them to the bathroom, getting them food or drinks, as often their parents would forget to feed them, or even destroy food in their fights.
Lastly, Arthas had his best friend Varian in his room. He wanted to keep Varian safe, but also, at all costs, he wanted to keep Varian as a friend. He looked at his parents, and turned to walk down the hall quickly, opening the door to his room, and giving Varian a weary look.
"You've gotta go." Arthas said in a sad sigh. Varian looked up at Arthas confused.
"Uh, ok. Everything alright?" Varian questioned, standing up and looking at Arthas with confusion.
"Yup. Everything's fine. You just have to go." Arthas said, pausing. "And you need to go out the window." Varian cocked his head back, and gave Arthas an even more confusing look.
"Through the window?" He asked, glancing over at it. "You've got an air conditioner there, wh-"
"I know man, just… You've got to." Arthas said, already walking over to the window, and opening it. He lifted his air conditioner, and set it inside, giving Varian a sorry look. Varian looked at Arthas, and glanced up towards the front of the house before sighing. "Well, been a pleasure man." He said, his tone giving away how weird this was. Arthas couldn't talk, but simply nodded, and closed the window after Varian left. He watched, and made sure Varian got into his truck and drove off, before letting out a breath of relief.
Arthas stood still for a moment, and stretched his head to the side. Three distinct pops came from from his neck, and he took in a sharp breath through his nose. A physical reaction, to his body getting ready for the nightly battle he was about to face.
Arthas walked up to the front of the house, and glared at his parents, who were now quiet. His stepfather, who was fighting only to defend himself, looked up at Arthas curiously.
"Done playing with Varian?" He asked curiously. Arthas' mother huffed, and snorted as she shook her head. His stepfather rolled his eyes, and waved her off.
"Varian left." Arthas said coldly, turning to glare at his mother. "He nor I found it pleasant for him here anymore." Arthas' stepfather gave him a curious look.
"I didn't see him leave." Lianne said questioningly.
"He went out my window." Arthas said, keeping his eyes on his mother. She turned, and glared at Arthas, as if personally offended.
"You kicked him out through the window?" She slurred out. Arthas walked over, and grabbed the edge of the table, his nostrils flaring as he gave his mother a look that could kill.
"No, I put him out through the window so he wouldn't see the sad disgrace I have for a mother." Arthas growled out. His eye flinched, a nervous response to getting ready to be slapped, yet when Arthas grew old enough to hold his mother back, she stopped trying to be physical with him. Instead, she simply scoffed, and shook her head.
"Well I'm so sorry we interrupted your play date." She said, in a mocking tone. Arthas glared at her for a second more, and let out a growl like sigh.
"Have the kids eaten?" Arthas asked, looking over at his stepfather. His stepfather simply, shrugged, and looked to Arthas' mother.
"They eaten?" He asked.
"You mean to tell me you don't know if your children have eaten? What kind of sad, sick father are you?" She growled out to her husband. Arthas rolled his eyes, and left them for a moment to go to his sister's room. His sister looked up at Arthas, giving him a sorry look.
"We've eaten Bubba." She said, referring to him by a pet name she had for him. Arthas nodded, and sighed.
"Good. Want some water or something?" He asked, looking over the both of them. They both shook their head, and Arthas nodded, quickly walking back up to the front of the house.
Arthas spent the rest of the night mediating the fight between his parents. He let them curse and yell at each other, occasionally checking in on his siblings. Once his stepfather finally got tired enough to go to his bedroom, and his mother was nearly passed out, Arthas retired to his bedroom. He looked over at his school bag, and thought of all the homework inside of it that needed to be done, and glanced at his computer. He chose the well travelled path for him, and sat down, to try and dull his senses. He scoured and drifted over the internet, before logging onto his favorite game, and playing until he couldn't keep his eyes open.
And tomorrow, Arthas would start the routine over again. Except, from now on, without his friend Varian. He talked to Varian, the next day after school. Arthas thought long and hard on what he should do, and decided to tell Varian the truth. Varian listened, and he understood, and while Varian did try and keep in contact with Arthas, Arthas let things drift apart between them. Not because he didn't want Varian's friendship, but he didn't want his parent's lives to infect Varian's. Arthas was trying to be kind, he was trying to be caring, yet he appeared cold, almost dead inside.
Four years later, and Arthas hasn't changed much. He's living with his single mother, his sister, and his grandfather. He still has his thousand yard stare, he works construction on occasion with his grandfather, and Arthas is still a dead husk of a man. Except, there was one thing different. The mental trauma that Arthas endured for four long, dreadful years had left it's toll on the young man. While no one around him could certainly tell, Arthas was in fact extremely mentally ill. He had anger issues, he had social anxiety, paranoia, multiple personality disorder, and sometimes, on occasions, hallucinations. Arthas, at times, felt as if there was a demon living inside him. He never heard voices outside of his mind, but he could talk to a voice inside of his mind as long as he liked. It was the voice of the demon he thought resided in him. Knowing all of that, you must understand that Arthas is ill. So when I tell you that Arthas has killed people, you must forgive him.
It was a cold, and raining night when Arthas rode into town in his '93 red Camaro. There was a local pool hall that he visited sometimes, yet he only played with himself, as he still had no friends, but he had fun regardless of the solitude. It was usually empty, save for the owner of the place. Tonight, however, wasn't the case. An old familiar face had decided to go to that particular pool hall that night, with another friend. Arthas immediately recognized Varian when he entered, and averted his eyes. Varian, thankfully or perhaps unfortunately, didn't recognize Arthas. Varian was far too busy playing his his friend, and enjoying a beer to care. Arthas picked out the table furthest away from Varian, and started to play. Arthas was, usually, a very average player. Tonight however, he was distracted by his old friend. He played badly, and got angry with himself. With every missed, or terrible shot, Arthas cursed at himself mentally. Soon, his anger overcame him, and he was forced to mentally dissociate from the situation. This was how poor Arthas' mental state was. He'd received no treatment, no attention or kindness, Arthas was, in almost every sense of the word, unstable.
Arthas continued playing many, many games. He'd decided to try and catch Varian as he was leaving, and wanted to wait for them to leave. He played while keeping an eye on them, and when they started to leave, Arthas closed his table up. He walked outside, and found Varian walking into the nearby woods. The town was old, and run down, and far far away from the fancy high school they attended. It was in the country, and tall, thick woods covered the landscape, and it wasn't very uncommon for people to cut through woods to get to their homes, if they lived nearby. Arthas cleared his throat, and tried to get Varian's attention, but failed. He frowned, and kept walking.
"Hey." Arthas called out softly, unable to see the pair of earbuds in Varian's ears. Arthas frowned more. Varian was ignoring him, or so Arthas thought. He closed his eyes as he walked, and stretched his neck, popping it three times, and exhaling sharply out through his nose, as he quickened his pace, following Varian into the woods.
The next thing Arthas could recall is the blood. There was a lot of it. Blood stained his hands, the knife in Arthas' hand, and most importantly, the confused look on Varian's face. He had finally recognized Arthas, but only after his throat was slit open. Arthas hung over him, with his friend's blood dripping and marking him, and took in a deep breath. The iron in the air stung his mouth, but he let his breath out slowly, and assessed the situation. He looked down, and realized Varian was still alive, and thought quickly. He stared at Varian solemnly, and raised the knife. In one quick, deep thrust, Arthas finished the job he never wanted to start, in hopes of ending Varian's pain. He closed his eyes, and if it were possible, he would have shed a tear over the shuddering, choking body of his former friend below him, but Arthas had lost the ability to cry long ago, after what seemed to him like eternal emotional jarring. He stood slowly, and looked up. He could hear a nearby river, and after not immediately recognizing the part of the woods, looked down at Varian. He sighed, and slowly made his way towards the river, dragging the body along with him before he got to the edge of the water, and started to pile rocks on top of Varian's body. He lifted it, and carried it out to the middle of the river, which was thankfully chest deep for Arthas, and dropped him. To this very day, the splash and feeling of relief from dumping his friend Varian's dead body into the river stays with Arthas. Arthas spent the next few minutes covering Varian's body with the heaviest rocks he could find, before he started to clean himself off. After Arthas was sure he had completely rid himself of all the blood on his clothing, face, hands, and weapon, he turned to walk back through the woods. As he walked, he tried his best not to pay attention to his surroundings, though it seemed every tree had eyes, and every one of those eyes were judging in terror.
He had apparently chased Varian very far, Arthas thought. It took Arthas a good twenty minutes of walking to exit the woods. When he did, he glanced around, making sure no one spotted him, or trying to see if anyone did, before quickly making his way to his car, trying to seem as innocent as he could. It was stupid, but all Arthas could think is that right now, in the dead of night, an officer had already found Varian's body and could already prove that Arthas had killed him. Arthas got into his car, and sat there for a moment, calming himself, and letting out a slow, shaky and stuttered breath. He reached up and clutched the steering wheel, his breath quivering, and his arms shaking. He closed his eyes, and took another slow, shaky, and stuttered breath before an unnatural calmness swept over him. He drove home slowly, yet didn't take every precaution, as a normal criminal would leaving a crime scene. Arthas seemed, in almost every single aspect, normal, yet he definitely was not himself.
Arthas arrived home to an empty house. He seemed confused, only for a moment before realizing that everyone else was spending the night at a relatives, due to a cousin of his playing baseball late. Arthas walked inside of his house, and sighed. He shook his head slowly, before making his way to his own room. Quickly, Arthas changed out of his attire, and into more comfortable sleeping clothes. He took the clean, but unmistakably dirty clothes to the laundry room in the house, and put them into the washing machine. He added soap, as normal, but also added a fair amount of bleach. Arthas wasn't entirely sure if adding bleach would remove traces of the crime, yet the clothes themselves were faded and easily could have burned them, he easily could have tossed them away, and while he did put careful consideration into that whilst driving home, he ultimately decided that destroying them would seem far more incriminating than bleaching them. Arthas, despite being extremely remorseful, and ultimately not caring about his own life, for some reason or another did not want to get caught. He knew he could easily pass as insane, and be put into a mental institution, though he questioned if his faked ability to pass as insane was a sign that he wasn't crazy, or a sign that he was, and, as Arthas tossed himself onto his bed to drift off to sleep, and try to forget for a few fleeting hours his crimes, he didn't truly care if he was crazy or not.