Cain Steele // D1 // done

Pathetic.

They were all pathetic.

Everyone, everything, was pathetic.

I take in a deep breath of air, the whole motion of actually opening my mouth and forcing the air into my lungs took effort, effort which made me scrunch my face up- also taking effort. Everything took effort. Mother often calls me lazy, and I could come up with a snappy comeback to shut the old hag up, but that took effort, effort which I didn't find necessary.

A scowl on my face, I walk down the street, my eyes glaring at everything and everyone they connect with. I often wandered why. Why we lived the lives that we did, why we bothered to create things for leisure and for others. I was a selfish person, only doing things in which I would gain something from- thats why I breathed I guess, because if I didn't my heart would stop and my tie between the dead and the living would be broken. That was why i could cancel out the effort it took because I was rewarded. If someone was to greet me, would I respond to them? No. What would I gain by saying hello? A sense of happiness in being a good person. Yuck. Who needed that? Not me.

I wasn't a bad person, I just wasn't a good one.

A can in my path, a glare plaster to my face. Pulling back a leg I give the can a kick, watching it fly across the street and smash into a window of a nearby store. The glass shatters and I watch as the pieces rain to the ground. Something was gained. Not only did I clear my path, but I had had the pleasure to watch as something I did had caused destruction that I would not take the blame for. Something about the thought made an unsettling smile crawl onto my face. Mingled with the glare it looked kind of twisted, but I didn't care because caring was effort and their was nothing to be gained.

Images painted my body in the form of ink. Every stoke forming a picture that meant something. Just like my actions, the paintings on my body were nit jus there to make me look pretty, they were there to tell people something about me. It intimidated some, making them cross the road before continuing down their path. Others asked what they mean, and I bet you could guess that I don't even look in their direction, continuing down my own path as though they hadn't spoken.

My mother was against the way I painted my body, she hated it because it was permanent, but what could she say when both her only son and only daughter both carved images into their body. Imperfection. I believe that she wanted to have the perfect little children, ones who trained hard and who would one day become a victor and bring glory to our family name. But that would not come from me. Maybe Piper though, she was much more closer to that perfection that mother desired.

Piper. I didn't like her much. To be honest I don't like anyone very much. Actually being quite accurate I don't really like people. She was a pain, her voice like a nail driving into my brain, ringing around and around like an annoying fly. I think she knows my dislike because she would try to talk to me and I would just cut her off short, my voice cold. (”Cain can you pass-“ ”Get it yourself.” “Cain do you want to go out today, you never really do and I think-“ ”Is that the sound of a dog farting? Its irritating.”)

I walk past a window, my eyes- like the ocean on a stormy night- catching a glimpse on my dark hair which curled at the front. My jaw is prominent, a slight stubble littering the bottom of my chin. No ink covered my face, on of the few places of my walking canvas which was free from the touch of ink. My skin is pale, the touch of the sun only burning the sculptured skin, turning it a shade of red before peeling to reveal a nice clean sheet of white once again. As soon as I see the reflection my eyes are looking elsewhere, my face still twisted in an unsettling expression as the shopkeeper races from his store, his beady eyes bouncing around the rather quiet street lookingfor someone to blame. He chooses a lanky guys lurking around the corner. 

Three people make up my loving (not so much) family. My mother, Piper and myself. My father died when I was lung and I think my mother blames his death on my blunt personality. She often claims that a child like me could never belong to someone like her. After all she was someone who was always seen with a smile, a kind hearted person. I was the totally opposite, my sister- in which I believe- is in the middle. (But you could never know with her, I believe that she is not all that she seems, but I couldn't care less because looking into that because that would mean effort, effort that would not give me anything from it. But also because I couldn't really care about Piper, or mother at that.)

I guess it was around the age of 13 when I really started to become the cold child I was. I mean I was never into that truing shit that people would talk about. People at school would go on and on about how they there further than the other, it was all a competition. So when they turned to me I would allow a cold smile to spread across my face before allow words, which should not have belonged to a boy my age, slip past the guard of my lips. (“Whilst you were training I was with your mom, tell her I said hi.”) Things like that would shut them up.

In other words not many people had liked you- not that much had changed. (Not that I liked the either.) You see, I didn't need love, love only made people weak, it changed people and love involved a whole lot of effort, more effort than anything I could even imagine not to mention more effort than it was worth. Once I had tried it. I really gave it my best shot. It lasted about a day, then the girl wanted to spend more time together, and she wanted to go see movies and she wanted me to smile more and all it was was want want want and what did get from the numerous amount of effort? Nothing.

Pathetic.

Everything, everyone, was pathetic.