Time flies but also goes so slow, the years that I have spend here have started to string themselves into something, familiar. Time could go by with easy without having to worry what the next day would be.
Or if there would have been a next day. Because you were fortunate if you saw the next day come. Not that anyone felt fortunate for it, but we all accepted it to be that way. It was the way of life out there.
It was kill or be killed, be smart of be outsmarted by others. No one was there for you and you lived off of the people that you have ruined their lives off. Places like that harden you in a way other's would never understand.
Yet it gives you a sense of vulnerability as well. Since you are constantly alone you are left with your mind and your mind only. So you better have it be your friend or it will grow to be your enemy more than the people ready to kill you on the streets.
Can't say that I haven't heard the fair share of poor souls that just shot themselves for that reason alone. It is the perception that makes you think that these people are weak or smart.
If you get yourself so such in a situation where the only result out of the matter is death than how would one go about that. Do you want to see it to the end and maybe have a change to make it out with the skin of your teeth.
Or is the option to end it by your own hand and not live through the torture better than the slim chance of hope. It is a choice that one makes in their own mind in a time of need. When the time goes slow. When nothing seems to be moving but the thoughts that go a million miles and hour in your brain.
My contract with Lucifer was signed in such a moment, feeling dreadfully long but my mind would go so much faster than everything around me. Even my movements could never keep up. Everything was delayed.
My green eyes are fixed to the ceiling for god knows how long at this point. I have been able to spot each and every spot that should have to be redone after one of Lucifer's many outburst that ruined the foundation of the wall.
Cracks that form into lines that go toward the core of the room, the chandelier that hung about a meter from the desk itself. Like the cracks were going to attack the heart. The thing that kept everything working like how light keeps the people in their rhythm of life.
Poetic how the rage of an old demon could set up a poetic scene. I would leave it like this if I didn't risk it crumbling on my head in the next couple of months but it remained poetic nonetheless. Cause it reflected how I felt.
I had done everything to get as far away from my past as I possibly could. Sacrifices everything and went to extreme lengths to detach myself from the mortal realm and the name 'Kingsley Dice'. I had done so much and..
Yet it seemed like it never was good enough. Everything came to haunt me back regardless. From the ghost in my memories to them..
God I would have been so happy if I never would have had to interact with them again. That would be the only time I would thank the asshole in the sky and pray that it would be kept that way. But Lucifer's father might just be worse than he is.
The air started to feel denser again, as if I was still down there with him. Despite being a few circles high up I couldn't shake that feeling off. The feeling like I couldn't breathe. Emotions that were a crushing weight that my chest couldn't let go off.
Feeling venerable, just like I did back then sent shivers down my entire body. Their names brought their face back into my mind while I thought I had long forgotten how they used to look like. My hope that they had become faceless ghosts in the back of my mind was a false one.
I could never forget the faces of the demons of my past, especially not them. Especially not the people that have formed me to who I have turned out to be. Proud of it or not they are the root of everything up till now.
The snowball effect that created me to the man I am today, a broken man but a man nonetheless.
Finally I got the energy to get on my legs and slowly walk up to the mirror that had been placed right behind my desk. I wouldn't deny vanity as my personal sin. Yet the reflection always haunted me to a degree.
Cause I know what scars hide beneath the makeup, I know every story their tell. Visible or invisible, they are the cracks that slowly shatter the man in the reflection. In my subconscious mind I had wiped off some of the make up around my eyes to show a scar, that scar.
In a blind moment of anger my fist meets the glass and it shatters it into so many piece, or which some remain in my hand. Yet I didn't mind, the pool of blood coming from the wounds didn't bother me.
I had made some kind of peace with myself that the reflection had to go and it being the only way. Because that weakened man wasn't me. It could never be me.
Not a version of me the world could see. They might have broken me like I broke the mirror but they will never have the satisfaction of see me crumble before their eyes. I am not that boy anymore not the one they scarred.
Blinded by emotions I will show them that they messed with the wrong man and that they have yet to receive their punishment.