Blaze Ryker // D2 // {Finished}

Blaze Ryker // D2 // {Finished} Oct 5, 2012 19:28:41 GMT -5

Post by Natalia on Oct 5, 2012 19:28:41 GMT -5

Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you

What if I wanted to fight
Beg for the rest of my life
What would you do?

You say you wanted more
What are you waiting for?
I'm not running from you

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What if I wanted to break
Laugh it all off in your face
What would you do?

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Scenario One:
The Boy With The Burns

First there is nothing, nothing but the hazy stench of smoke mixed in a toxic combination with singed hair. I can’t move for what seems like all of eternity, but I can hear them, the weary voice of an elder woman and the deep tone of my father, a voice I have grown to hate.

“We’re not sure what happened, but he suffered from several burns.”

That’s when I see it, the dark reds and oranges of flames flickering across my closed eyelids. I can almost feel the heat radiating off my body, dancing its way across my flesh. It’s not a feeling that I am afraid of anymore, but one that I would embrace with my arms spread wide. This is why they think I am twisted, but let them have their opinions and I shall have my own.

“That idiot is going to get himself killed one of these days,” My father mutters and I can almost hear the desire that he hopes that is what happens a day sooner rather than later dripping in his tone. I clench my fists, causing pain to work its way over my muscled arms, but my features remain statuesque, still giving off the illusion that I am lost in a world of slumber. I tune out the rest of their words, they mean nothing to me. The only thing that matters is that my body is still intact. What a lost to the world it would have been if I had scorched it to something beyond recognition? Their voices slowly begin to drain away, blocked out by the muffle of a wooded door. Finally I am alone, but where am I exactly? Still my mind is hazy, as if my head has been filled with the dark greys of a smoke unseen.

With my eyes still fallen shut does an almost cruel smile tug at the corners of my lips, as the memory comes flooding back to me. There had been a fire, a fire that was created by the slender tips of my fingers, but they would never know, they had no proof that I was the root of the blazing inferno. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught up in the heat of the flames by a twisted play in fate. However at the thought that I had lost control a frown pulls down the corners of my dark smile. I am always supposed to be in control, if I can’t be then what do I have left?

“Nothing,” I mutter bitterly beneath my steely breath. My eyes snap open against their will, I need to know where I am, and control has always been and will always be the most important aspect in my life. The ceiling is a bleak grey, dotted with thin cracks that run in criss-cross patterns throughout its surface. This place is not good enough for me in any way. I struggle to push myself up into a sitting position, but every inch of my body screams in protest. I’ve brought damage to myself before from certain incidents, but nothing to this level of extreme. Light filters in through a dusted window, flitting across the plain white silk sheets drawn over my body. I need to see what it is I have done to myself. Despite what some people say, trying to tell the world looks mean nothing, they must know they only utter lies. The beautiful are the ones who rule this world; the beautiful are the ones who can use their bodies as just another way to propel themselves to the top. Beauty is what I use to mask the twisted venomous boy that lurks beneath my surface. Toxic is my essence, driven insane by the fires I create, but that is only revealed if one is able to see past the alluring sense of my surface.

My eyes dance across the room, taking in my mostly barren surroundings. It is obvious that I am in some sort of healer’s room. I almost want to scoff at the thought, why would they bring me to such a place; I don’t need anyone’s help. A part of me knows that even on my death bed I would push away any offers of a final salvation. I would rather die proud and alone than weak and needy. My eyes stop taking in my surroundings the moment they fall onto a solitary mirror, standing in the solitude of the corner of the room. I have to see, I continuously repeat to myself silently in a form of mantra. It takes every ounce of my strength to force myself to my feet, but I am used to being pushed beyond my limits, it comes with growing up in a family obsessed with the Games, with their lives centering around training, and the world thinks I have an unhealthy addiction.

My steps are sluggish and slow, but I force myself to take one small step at a time. I have to see, continues to ring out across my mind, increasing in volume and intensity with each step I take. Perhaps this is vanity in its essence, to be more concerned about my appearance than my wellbeing or even the destruction I created only a few mere hours ago. The world cannot deny that it feeds off vanity, allowing it to course through its veins. The vain are the ones who are looked down upon, but looked up to at the same time. Over confidence is what we possess, a type of confidence some would kill to hold between their clutches yet in my opinion only those such as myself are strong enough to possess it. It takes a certain type of person to be the way I am, many would destroy themselves in a heartbeat if they were this way, but not me, I am different, I am Blaze Ryker and I am hotter than any flames that I am able to create.

I breathe in deeply before I am face to face with the smooth glassy surface of the mirror. A mirror can be ones best friend or ones greatest enemy. They cannot tell lies or withhold the truth from us; they show us the harsh reality of what we face. My eyes take in everything the mirror before me has to offer, from the curve to my lips, to the bumps and marks across my flesh. My hand shakily runs through my dark brown hair, which is slightly singed at the ends, but it will grow back. It still holds onto the same effect of falling into my eyes, creating an air of mystery that follows my every waking moment. My eyes glaze across my pale forehead, down towards the sharp edges of my cheekbones. My hand brushes along my chiselled jaw and then finally my lips. They appear even more of a pale pink in contrast with my skin as fine as lightly powdered snow, but this is not what draws most of my attention. It is the dark burn marks that lace their way over the muscle of my arms and I mentally curse at myself at the sight of them.

Over the years I know they will fade away into nothing more than scars, but what it is I curse at myself is for allowing this to even happen. I lost control, I fell; the fire took control. I clench my jaw, my strikingly bright blue eyes flashing dangerously back at me. The eyes tell everything, they hold no secrets from the world unless you know how to control them, something over time I have learned to do. I was always told that they eyes are the windows to the soul, but in reality they are nothing more than the insight to the real insanity within. My features remain void of all emotion in this moment, despite what is going on beneath my surface. The reflection staring back at me almost appears lifeless, an empty shell of a boy who used to be.

I cock my head to the side slightly, my eyes still staring back into the glassy surface of the mirror. I wonder if this is the way I look to the rest of the world. I have never seen myself before, no human being can. We can only see ourselves in reflections or pictures, but not directly through the eyes of another. I wonder if they see the deranged emotionless boy who thinks he is above this world that I see. I wouldn’t mind if that was how they perceived me because in all honesty that is who I am; a dark and mysterious beauty that deserves the world. With those thoughts drifting through my mind it slowly begins to return, the dark smile that creeps up on my lips with a ghost like grace. With that seemingly out of place smile still tugging at my lips do my eyes fall back towards my scarred arms.

My gaze remains transfixed on my burns; they will become something that will define me as the years go on. The boy with the burns is who I will become known as and one day they will all know my story.

Come break me down
Bury me, bury me
I am finished with you
Look in my eyes
You're killing me, killing me

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Scenario Two:
The Fire That Courses Through His Veins

One would think by this point in my life those who roam this world would know better than to cross me. They all knew something was off, something more twisted than my obsessive addiction to the heated flames I would create. Some had paid witness to the beast I would become, taken over by pure instincts, no longer able to think straight. It was beyond my control, something I would not be quick to admit. While some paid witness to this sinister side to me, others had not walked away in one piece once that part of me snapped. They would become lifeless, their life hanging in the balance between my clutches, it didn’t take much to push me to this state; anything could trigger me. One had to walk cautiously around me, as if they were stepping over broken shards of glass. One sound too loud or too close for my liking would send me off into a whirlwind of fury that could only be waited out to fade away back into nothing.

This was the only time that real emotion graced my features, but it was not what one would call a pleasant emotion, but I didn’t mind the feel of the rushing anger broiling through my veins. It was exhilarating, made me feel alive, more than anything in this corrupted world could. I would become blinded, but more aware of anything in the same moment. I always believed it was nothing more than my temper wreaking havoc on my being, but I would never know that I had a disorder, intermittent explosive disorder.
However today my body was almost void of all rage, as I made my way through the District, absentmindedly rolling a match between my fingers. I couldn’t go anywhere without them, a pack of matches were always hidden within the confinements of my pockets, they were a part of me, a part I wasn’t willing to let go of. The early afternoon sun hung high across the light blue canvas of a sky that stretched out above me, but even in the presence of the serene peace that the essence of nature could offer me it would never be enough. I deserved better than what the world could offer me, in reality what I deserved was the world. These beliefs I held onto caused an air of arrogance to surround me with each step I took, but any who crossed my path were careful to step out of my way.

They had all heard about me, had seen the fire that burned in my eyes. There were several labels given to me, I had heard them all; narcissist, deranged, jealous, arrogant, pyro, the list seemed never ending, but in the end their words meant nothing to me. Why should the words of the weak have any effect on me? However a part of me knew that they did get to me, as only a few choice words were enough to send me into one of my fits of blinding rage. How quickly it was this simple rage could bloom into violence. A sweet sigh escapes my lips at the very thought of bones cracking against the cobblestone, it would be like a lullaby to my ears; a mad man’s lullaby, sweet and dangerous all the same. Violence and death is a natural part of life, why people shy away from it is something that is beyond me.

I run my hand through my dark hair, messing it up on purpose. It is already slightly tangled from the activities I engaged in the previous evening. Of course she was not good enough for me, no girl would ever be, but a man does have his needs. She was willing, of course she was, any girl would be privileged to be with me, but the only thing is there is no girl out there up to my level. I breathe out slowly, with a hint of disappointment leaking into my exasperated breath, as if this is a real dilemma to me.

I glance across the sea of people and that’s when I see her, the tall blonde girl I had spent the previous night with. Her long blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, glistening in the paling light of the sun. A small smirk tugs at my lips at the sight of her, sure she’s not as beautiful as I would want her to be, but she is better than some of the scum I have been with. However my faint smirk quickly dissolves back into my features the moment I see her with a different guy, her dainty hand placed on his shoulder, their bodies dangerously close. She may be beneath me, but I can’t stop the boiling jealousy that courses through my veins. She cannot just move on like that, as if I never happened, things just do not work that way. It may be double standards that I live by, tossing girls as if they meant nothing to me, but if they even dare try to do the same thing in return to myself then something inside of me snaps.

My mind becomes muddled with confusion, the world surrounding me dissolving into nothing. This is what happens every time, when my anger slowly begins to take over me like a toxin unseen. It’s poisonous what it does to me, forcing me to only focus on the anger boiling through my veins. My body feels cold, as if bubbles of ice burgs are floating along the streams of my crimson blood. There is no time for questions, only assumptions that have led to this. My mind is not thinking straight, as I stride across the cobblestone, closing in on the space separating us. My mind is only focused on one thing, to cause harm to those who think they can cross me and get away with it.

Her eyes catch sight of my form stalking towards the pair of them, her crystal blue eyes watching me calmly. She knows I do not own her, but she also does not know the inner workings of my mind. There are times where I don’t even understand myself; everything works at an almost blindingly quick pace when that thing inside of me snaps. I am unaware of what I am doing, almost possessed by the anger that I harbour. Her lips part to allow some cleverly chosen words to slip free from them, but as her lips move I hear nothing. A buzzing sound rings through my ears at a deafening level and it pushes me to the brink of insanity. This is why the rest of the world sees me as deranged, a boy with very little control over himself when he is pushed too far. I want control, no I need control, but there are times when it is fleeting, draining right out of my body.

I don’t ask for explanations when I am in this state because in reality I won’t listen anyways. My hands begin to move on their own accord, pushing her away from him, causing her slender body to tumble towards the ground. I hear the faint gasp of surprise escape his lips, surprised that I would ever lay hands on a female without having any good reason to. Obviously he doesn’t know who I am. I don’t need any reasons to back up my actions when I am in this state, I act first, asking questions later.

I turn my attention to him, fire blazing across the surface of my eyes. I see the fear flicker across his features and I know it is rightfully placed. My fist connects with his skull before he can run, before he can give into his cowardly instincts. One hit is all it took for him to slam to the ground next to his filthy little pet. My head is still ringing, as several pairs of eyes are cast in our direction, but I am already gone, leaving only an empty space of air where I once stood. My hand is slick in the substance of blood, as I slip around a corner, leaning heavily against the wall of an abandoned alley. My breathing is shallow, as I fight to regain control over my body once more.

It takes almost nothing for me to be pushed to that state. Something is wrong in my head, this I know, something snaps, as if a dam has burst, causing rivers of anger and hate to course through my veins. However the reality of this all is I don’t regret my actions, I never have and I never will. It is their fault for pushing me to that state, for thinking they are above me. They got what the deserved, nothing less and nothing more. I carelessly wipe the faint traces of scarlet off onto my pants, a dark smile of amusement tugging at my lips at the picture of his terrified face flickering across my mind, so useless are the people of this world.

There is a dark fire, which courses through my veins. A fire that will never be extinguished and will destroy anything that stands in its path.

I tried to be someone else
But nothing seemed to change
I know now, this is who I really am inside.

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Scenario Three:
The Poison Seeped Into The Deranged

I wasn’t always the young man who I grew up to be or maybe I was. Perhaps there always was something off about me, but it just took some time to pass to make this fact known. It just took that right moment, the perfect situation to give birth into the creation I would become. I know the exact moment that gave birth to who I would grow up to be, the exact date where I discovered my unhealthy addiction to the bright flames that drew me in and where I learned that there were parts of my mind that were off. It was because of her, her birth, which stole away all the attention that used to be cast my way.

I was an only child until I was the age of four and I received all the attention I always craved for. I always got my way, always. If I didn’t things would never end well. Then my parents decided one child wasn’t enough and eventually my mother gave birth to a healthy baby girl.

“Serenade,” I muttered her name beneath my breath, as I carelessly made my way down the deserted hallway towards where her room resided. The inky waves of night filtered through the high paned windows, causing my shadow to dance hauntingly across the walls. I was young, naïve, but jealous all the same. She had stolen away the attention that had used to always have been my own and I wanted it back more than anything else and even at such a fair young age I would do whatever it took to claim back what was rightfully mine. I push the door to her room open, a quiet creak echoing back off the walls, which go by unnoticed. A serene peace dances across the room, the faint glow of a candle left on a desk flickering off the walls. My eyes fall upon the small crib placed in the centre of the room and instantly my tiny body is filled with a jealous hate. No one would except that one so young and small could be able to feel such a strong emotion, but over the years I would prove them wrong time after time again and again.

I remain standing in the doorway for a few moments, my breathing calm and shallow. I don’t know what it is I am doing, but my body seems to have an agenda of its own. With small quiet footsteps I make my way across the room until I am standing over her crib. Serenade looks so calm and peaceful, her frail body wrapped up in the fine silky sheets, which surround her body, her small chest rising and falling with each gentle breath she takes in. What is it the rest of the world sees in such a small body? She is useless to the world, doing nothing more than crying and stealing the attention from those that should be sparring it my way. I remain rooted to the floor, watching her sleep quietly for what feels like all of eternity, but even eternity comes to an end after time is allowed to past.

My eyes do not blink; the shadows that the flames from the candle create flickering across my features. I appear almost as a ghost, a being not from this world with my pale features and strikingly blue eyes, but it is not the physical that defines who I am, but the jealousy and insanity hidden beneath my surface that does. As the sky outside begins to lighten I know I must return to my own chambers, but there is till that part of me that wants to be rid of this tiny creature, but there is not a way to be rid of her that would appear as nothing more than an accident.

I turn to leave the room, but my eyes catch site of that fading flame once more, but in this moment I see it in a whole new light. It was a startling fascination from which I watched the small bud of light dancing in the faint breeze, which wafted through the open window. I stepped closer to the candle, never having been so close to an open flame before. My eyes were wide, my small finger outreaching for the burning light. I wanted it as my own, even if it was not something I could physically hold between my clutches. Perhaps it was because the flame was so dangerous that drew me to it. It appeared so serene, but deadly all in the same moment. I only stopped moving when my eyes were levelled with the flame, the heat being reflected back off of my features. Such destructive beauty it was that was reflected back in the surface of my young eyes; a kind of destruction that could not be controlled.

At this thought the first dark smile to ever grace my lips tugged up the corners of my mouth. It could be seen as an accident, no one would have to know it was really my doing. My hand brushed across the candle, knocking it off balance to set fire to anything that stood in its path.

Years later that section of my home is still blocked off, the fire I created doing more damage than I ever expected. It was repaired, but it is too painful for my parents to venture to that section of our home, the memories of the daughter they lost by a twist of fate too hurtful for them to relive. I got away with what I had done, but there was always that suspicion that was cast my way, but I was nothing more than a young boy, the fires that were created were beyond what I was capable of. If only they knew just how wrong they were. As the years went on I would soon find I was capable of much greater destruction, more than anyone would first expect me of being able to create. That is the fault in making assumptions; they can always be proven wrong.

Do I feel regret for what I did? For taking the life of an innocent? Of course I don’t, even at such a young age I was willing to do whatever it took, even at the expense of others to get my way. It was poisonous what the flames did to me, making my mind bend into a way that could be labelled as deranged. It was that one moment, that first fire, that would define what I would become as the years went on and I wouldn’t change what happened for the world even if that is what I deserve.

At a young age I learned that this world was in fact made for the insane.