His eyes were alight with flame, the promise of inevitable destruction. His lips spoke volumes, yet never moved. Not in a way that did anyone any good. He spoke of hope, of peace and love. In his heart, he knew only war. The depth of his soul was infinite, still, no one had dared look below the surface. Sure the surface was nice; it was shimmery and gave only light. No one could see how willing he was to burn himself to keep you alright. /p

So his heart was forged in fire, his thoughts and wishes never shared. All those things were left unsaid, out of sight, out of mind. Was it that no one cared to look? This boy was made of madness, his bone built from lunacy. His hands twitched in a way that seemed haphazard, yet all it was, was an itch for something to destroy. Those same hands, the ones that comforted you, the ones that glided over worn pages, well, those same hands had killed a man. His hands were hardwired to assemble a gun, pulling the trigger without hesitation. His feet were made to never be found, his involvement in the crime never to be discovered.

Yet that same man, well, he was the only one everyone felt they could trust. These people, these foolish people, they trusted a man with blood on his hands. He could fill a book with name of the lives he ended; he could fill more with the ones he wished to. No one saw the thinly veiled insanity under his mask of calm. They never saw how he never flinched, how he never truly panicked. For what could scare a man who ripped flesh from bone with his own bare hands?

He was the one who everyone shared their secrets with, the one they told their innermost privacies to. They confided in him, and he never broke that trust, except to snap a throat or too. He never derived joy from the things and people he neutralized, no, never joy. Saying he was elated from the kill would be implying he cared at all. Oh no, this man could kill without a notice, without a care or dubiety. The hands that cared for everyone, were permanently stained red.

Somethings so broken, such as this man, could never be fixed, only hidden. Held under lock and key.