This Is How Villains Are Made

Scream: to shout or speak shrilly, especially with harsh or exaggerated words.

Sometimes, we need to scream. To make someone understand, to make sure our points get across.
But there are times when we over use this ability.
We say things we don't mean, and people get hurt.
To scream is a useful tool, but a terrible form of communication.
We tend to take these things for granted now a days.

But, then again.
We take everything for granted now a days.

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"Hey!"

I look up to see Squanto trying to get my attention,
"It's getting late man, we should probably go."
"In a little bit." I mumble, lifting my knees to my face. I continue to enjoy the sounds and sights the night offers.
The low rumble of mating frogs and crickets are like music to my ears.
The stars themselves seem to whisper their unheard stories to one another, twinkling like forbidden diamonds on the king's crown.
I light up another cigarette, inhaling deeply; exhaling slowly so I could watch the smoke escape my body. Squant shakes his head to show disapproval as he sits beside me and pulls out a cancer stick of his own.

"Your parents love you, Dani."
He says bringing the cig up to his lips
"Very much." I continue taking another hit.

"You can't do this to yourself, man! Stop acting like it's the end of the world! We're fucking adults now, act like it!"

My eyes snap towards his direction, "Says the guy who still lives at home." I say unmoved my his outburst.

"Dani-"

"Squanto."

We sit in silence for the next couple of minuets until he gets up and walks over to his Truck.

"You heading out?" I ask turning my body towards the vehicle.

He gives me a nod and hops in.

I turn my back to him as he starts his truck and drives away into the night. I'm left in silence, to think about my problems in solitude. The two things I hate most in this wold.

I only hate sitting in silence because my mind begins to wonder off like a plastic bag in the wind on a busy highway.
My thoughts always circle around God.
All that, "I am who I am." bullshit..
If he really loves us so, then why must we live in such a terrible world?

The more I think about this one thought in particular, I realize that it's us. The people. We are the ones that made this world so fucking pathetic to even be considered a "creation of God".
He was the one who gave us free will after all.

I close my eyes for a second to take in the world around me.
I tend to get anxious and overwhelmed if I think too much about religious crap.
Opening my eyes, I take in a deep breath and begin to get up on my feet.
It's probably way past my curfew... I guess I'm dead.
I roll my eyes at the thought of my mom's bitching; grab my bag and begin to walk towards the park entrance. Then realize I didn't have to deal with mom's bitching after all...

The darkness makes me feel a little uneasy, obvious reasons of course. I'm a small eighteen year old walking around all by myself late at night. Extremely vulnerable like a sheep wondering in the woods. I make sure to walk at a fast pace with my head facing down so I seem a little less attractive.

As if that would stop some creeper from trying to rape me or something.
I laugh at my own "not so funny" joke as I make my way into the neighborhood down the street from my point A.
The sounds change from frogs fucking to leaves crunching under my steps. The houses around me are poorly decorated with orange lights, jack-o-lanterns and randomly placed tombstones in attempts to make Halloween something to look forward to for little kids.
Another eye rolling moment; it's only sad because everyone knows Halloween isn't as big as it used to be. Not to the children of course, but they'll understand once they grow up.
The wind begins to pick up causing me to tighten my scarf a bit as I make a turn on Jorge's street.
Wonderful ol' Orange.

His house is small, but simple. No garage, with a couple of potted plants to make it seem a little more welcoming. I open the gate leading into his back yard to find him outside smoking a cigarette. We exchange smiles as I walk up to him, arms wide open inviting him to hold me. He does exactly so without hesitation.

"And how was your day today?" He asked holding my face in his hands.
"Shit. How was yours?"
"No, no. Why was your day 'shit'?"
"I'll explain later, love."

He rolls his eyes and presses his lips against mine.
If bliss really existed, then it'd be pure in this moment.