lived for lies, lived for tales, ... [ redacted ].
the distillation of tonight’s mission is just like the others, nothing unusual about drilling slugs into the wall to reach his targets. three slugs, three deaths. the captive thoughts that will haunt him will only be added to the piles, on the landfills full of self-deprecated, self-deprived intents. everything will remain the same, intact. his sanity has been abraded to the point of no return, some of it still pooling at the bottom of his mind, but that’s all that there is. that’s all that remains, and so, nothing can be incised from it anymore. that’s his only defense mechanism: to know that his anchor is still there, somehow, leaving him humane even though this applies to the bare bones only. there’s not much left but the marrows.
in any other given case, had he grown up normal, had he grown up… just, growing up— he’d probably abhor what he just did. yet, he’s the epitome of everything unorthodox, if not everything unloved. but that’s besides the point: a sinner is still a sinner. his sins are forever embossed on those tinted glass windows in the church veneered with the blood of the corrupt. no, he’s not entirely at fault, erasing the lives that exist within these parentheses of a polluted world, nothing can be entirely pinned on him. at least there’s that, the burden is shared. when he sheds off his mask, taking off his all-black attire that would mark him as ‘kai’ ( a name that is the ocean to his sea god ), he believes that he’s back as more humane, less monster. but who knows, really.
the night is eclipsed by another gala. nobody should be able to pinpoint the lingering gunpowder smell underneath the scent of this expensive eau de perfume. he’s in his starched suit and tie, offering pliant smiles towards those passing by, ranging from the tacit monosyllabic greetings to more familiarized ones. thinks about this night in ruptured manners, for he will for sure see his father once more. the challenge here is to remain stoic, not divulging just how much he wishes things could be mended. he sees a glimpse of the older man, shoulders squared as always, in a conversation with a group of women. charming; he believes this is in the family. inheriting that, he flashes a smile towards the nearest person to distract himself, handing them a glass of champagne while he raises his own. “fancy seeing you here,” he says, leaving the options open for the person to accept or deny the conversation.
