We Are All Our Own Devil | [Pika]

Freaking deafness.

Dallas can never hear anything. He always has to turn to his right to hear what anyone says. He's not like everyone else, being able to function normally in society with two ears. He works twice as hard at something that a person shouldn't have to work at at all.

After a rather loud quarrel with his parents about grades-or something of that sort-, Dallas had darted out the front door of his dilapidated, dirty house and into the snow-packed pathways of District Seven. Dallas was glad he had had the instinct of snatching up a jacket from the closet before running out; the air was frigid, and it bit at his fingers, his face, the parts of his body that were unfortunately exposed to the elements. The moon cast down eerily on the snow, giving it a sort of uncanny, other-worldly demeanor to it. Bright white, the snow on the sides of the paths had not yet been touched by human hands. Untouched snow was one of Dallas's favorite sights; it was clean, it was pure, it was lovely.

Dallas sprinted through the streets, not caring nor knowing where his feet were taking him. All he knew was that he wanted to get away from his house, from his life, from this world. The silence that the snowy night brought was nothing new to Dallas; he was used to things being quite quiet. The snow masked and muddled everything, and it made Dallas feel good. For once, others could understand and undergo what Dallas dealt with every day.

His feet have brought him to the facade of the store fronts. No lights shone through windows, and the lack of the familiar golden glow against the dusty windows was disheartening. Light brought warmth, light brought hope. All Dallas saw were his footprints in the snow, and the shadows creeping against the walls of the buildings, and the trunks of the trees. And an extra pair of footprints, that were not his.

Realising that he was not alone, Dallas quickly jumped behind the nearest building. Peering out from the side and staring out into the street, he watched a figure amble towards the front of a store. It flicked out an object from its pocket, a knife. The blade gleamed against the moonlight, making it seem more menacing and evil than usual. It came up to the storefront, and brought the blade down on the wood paneling of the store. Flecks of shredded wood fluttered down to the ground, swaying slightly with the assistance of the late night wind. Words began to form. Large, cold words, not filled with love.

I HATE YOU.

Dallas watched with awe as this figure carved into the wood, pressing all of their anger, all of their sadness, all of their loss into the action. He continued to stare as the figure finished its work. As the figure stepped back, the moonlight fell on and blanketed the figure, revealing that it was indeed a girl.

Dallas was not sure what to make of this scene. He was sure that this person was not okay. Then again, neither was Dallas. He stared for a few moments, weighing options, weighing outcomes, and weighing options again.

Dallas flung out from behind the wall, snow crunching beneath his shoes as he stumbled out into the gleam of the moon. He stood there, fully exposed to the moon and to the girl, and waited. She had not yet turned around to face him. He could easily slip back into the shadows of the wall, and she would never have seen him. He could easily slip back into the confines of his old life, of hiding from every new situation. But he stood firm on his decision, and whistled loudly into the abyss of the night.