That Statement Stays - Tumblr Posts

it's pointless, really.

if touya has learned anything from this shitty life of his, it was that it's always been pointless.

it didn't matter. never did, never would.

but sometimes, when the world stops spinning and the flames fall, when he's left with nothing but the broken dreams and blistering soul he's always carried in the palm of his hand—he'd wonder.

just like anybody else, he'd wonder what could have been.

in a house just across the street he wanders, he spots a family eating super. warm golden light seeps through the blinds, shadows within dancing with life. talking, smiling, laughing.

loving.

a home.

on the other side, he sees a home.

he turns and keeps walking.

on nights like these—on the nights he wanders and wonders—there's always one place he ends up.

the flickering sign is the only greeting he receives as he slinks through the entryway, the heavy weight of his boots muffled on rotting wood. he slips into the booth at the very back without so much as a glance thrown his way. the bar is near empty, of course. much like the glass that sits before him. whiskey, probably, with nothing but a sliver of melting ice floating within it.

graveyard shift, he hears you call it. it's fitting. for a dingy bar for wandering corpses and lost souls, it's fitting.

you whisper something about making ends meet into the cell craddled to your ear. doing what's necessary, you say. he scoffs.

you hang up and slip the phone in your pocket, rag in hand once again as you reach for a grimy glass and begin wiping it clean.

if only it were that easy.

but there's no fun in easy, now, is there?

he looks down at his hand, laid out on the tabletop, scars and scalds for all to see.

there is no one, of course. never was.

with a dark chuckle he dips a single finger into the glass, watching as it freezes over with blindingly blue flames. and then he rises, and walks straight out the door.

he doesn't look back, not even when the sinister gleam of his fire winks at him from the puddles beneath his boots and the familiar stench of burning flesh fills his lungs.

if the whole place burns down—well, it doesn't matter.

so he keeps going, a single drop of blood staining the dying ice at his feet with the ashes of his heart.