Ugly

H(a)unter

The first punch is always the hardest.

But it is also the most beautiful. The most vengeful. It puts you in your place faster than your next heartbeat. Your senses go on alert, your pain is doubled, your skin molds against the knuckles of the attacker. You feel their bones make contact with your own, releasing a most satisfying crunch. But it all goes downhill from here.

By the second punch your skin is desensitized. You know what to expect, so the effect is slowly wearing off. You now know Violence.

Violence now knows you.

Particularly because this was the first punch, Nicholas chose to relish it, to really sample the endorphins. There is nothing better than pure, unchallenged violence to force your strangled, buried emotions to burst wide open. You start thinking about Death: your own, their own, everyone's own. But you lust after it. You are famished to dish out pain. The second and third punches come unannounced, but expected, raining down judgement. Nicholas, as always, chooses to obey.

But he feels this time is going to be different.

As his blood is being called to the surface and his veins burst under his skin, he begins to find comfort in the hurt. He can seek shelter in the pain. It is the only constant Nicholas has ever known.

You do good, someone is going to bring you down.
You do bad, someone is going to do you worse.

The next punch is aimed at his left eye. Before the hand makes contact, his vision shuts down, much like a TV does when the cable is pulled out of the socket. He now feels nothing. He sees nothing.

The onset of panic is immediate, but he soon calms down, as strange feelings make themselves known. Nicholas knows he should be confused, but he figured the punches screwed with his nerves. In a way he likes.

Nicholas is afloat. The water is carrying him for miles and miles, soothing him with its rhythmic motions. If there is one thing Nicholas loved, it was the water. A silent killer bearing you all the way to your silent death, without anyone to intrude. Without any witnesses. One could die as beautifully or as disgustingly as one wished to. Total freedom. The kind of freedom only found in death.

As the boy settles, the water is starting to slowly soak Nicholas' clothes. Hands clutch his clothes and caress him. Sirens sing, their echo a desperate one.

You will be the first one, I will remember you

Their song is not a song of joy.

It is one of Death.

Hmm..

He is now starting to sink. Nicholas is being dragged down by forces both unseen and unfought. He chooses to sink.

He chooses to escape.

He doesn't make a sound.

The shift between the beaten male and the famished one is unnoticed.

I'm hungry.

Nicholas was born with his back to the stars.

And he will fucking crunch them.
♠ ♠ ♠
We've nowhere to go.