Vaati stares in the mirror. A pair of brown eyes stare back. The color is eating him up—it's mucky and grey and reminds Vaati of the dirt he used to kick into first-graders' faces when he was younger. He tried putting on eyeliner yesterday; to see if the pitch black would bring out the color's true brightness. It didn't help.
Vaati's hand instinctively grazes over a pair of kitchen scissors—the pair he stole, before running into his bathroom, locking the door, and chopping off about a foot of his lilac hair. He looks to the scissors, before gingerly picking them up. He could do anything, really—cut his hair shorter, give himself full-on bangs… Heck, he could even dye his hair. His mom left some hair dye in her bathroom cabinet (a deep, chestnut brown, a color Vaati always admired).
Vaati's mom left a lot of things.
Muddy brown eyes scan the scissors, before pale hands set it back on the counter. Vaati knows he's just fooling himself. After cutting his hair once, he hardly has the desire to do it again. Rather, he'd just like to stand here and stare at the scissors all day, letting them eat up his thoughts and shred them to pieces. Vaati's thankful for that, because sometimes he can act like such an idiot.
Truly, Vaati knows why he decided to cut his hair. Everything is just so… mundane. Boring. Plain. He needed some sort of change, and for a moment he hadn't cared what it was. He just needed something—an escape from all the silence and deadpanned glares.
(And maybe that's it. Maybe this is the closet high-and-mighty Vaati will ever get to self-destruction.)
What had driven Vaati to actually do it, though, was the very idea that maybe someone would speak a single word to him. But if Vaati's going to be honest, it wasn't the idea of anyone. It was the very idea of Green speaking a single word to him, and he knows it. (It wasn't one word, by the way. It was fourteen. Vaati knows it was creepy to count, but his brain went on auto-pilot and he couldn't stop.)
Vaati's train of thought (or train of thought shredding?) is brought to a halt when he hears his father calling for him. He hears the word, "dinner," mixed in there, and he gives the scissors one last glance before picking them up and stuffing them into the nearest drawer. Quickly, he turns on his heel and leaves the room.
His dad is waiting for him in the kitchen, food already on the table. Penne pasta for dinner. They haven't had penne pasta in weeks, despite having boxes of it in the cupboard. Vaati knows why, but he doesn't bring it up. But as he sits down at the table, the thought crosses his mind.
Today is the first time they've had penne pasta—his mom's favorite food—since she…
Since she…
Muddy brown eyes scan over parmesan, silverware, and memories that are growing weaker.
AN- Finally I get to write a Vaati chapter! This is a very happy moment for me...
No extras this time—I lost the charts, and I'm out of ideas.
