Let It Go.
Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Just let it go.
Blood pooled at the drain of his shower, swirling in a little crimson twister, disappearing into nothing. His back pressed against the wet wall, hair stuck to his skin as the open wound trickled into bright red veins down his arms. From his lips a cigarette loosely dangled, the embers had gone out a long time ago from the water. His head lolled slightly to the side, in his lap a bloody razor, responsible for the life draining from his being. He didn’t want this. He never did, but it was impossible not to want to slip away at any given chance.
You’re not meant to die. At least not right now. You have so much left to do.
Arnold’s blue eyes fluttered closed, wanting to push back the voices in his head telling him to get the f*** up. Urging him to move. To continue living. Please… get up. Was it more powerful than the memory of all the sh*t people constantly said to him? Fat boy. Ugly. Put the f***ing fork down, piggy. Words that stuck. Words that left an incredible ache in his chest, purged his will to live… despite that, despite his skin paling as he bled out in the shower, he reached for his lighter and lit it… pressing the flame to his open wound to close it up….
Modern day, midnight.
The scarred wrist hovered, cigarette placed between his lips, smoke billowing from them. He could see them, the bunny f***ers in the distance, laughing behind their creepy mask as they antagonized a young girl. A shadow in the darkness, they couldn’t see him. Not at first at least. Stomping out the cigarette beneath his boot, he slid a familiar mask over his face, one he’d stolen from some poor f***er who’d been unfortunate enough to have his neck snapped with ease in a Valkery alleyway a few nights ago. Once the bunny was in place, Arnold made his way across the street to join the three minions.
“Lucy needs us.” He muttered from behind the mask, hands carefully placed in his pockets. Once they were distracted, he watched the girl scurry off, seemingly grateful that he’d shown up. The three other men peered at him from behind their mask, before looking between one another… finally shrugging and walking toward him. They weren’t exactly the brightest people, the diabolical sh*t was left up to their leader. They were just there for the numbers. Checkmate.
Arnold turned his back on the three idiots whose fates were sealed once they started following him, leading them into the abyss of the dark, Valkery roads on this exceptionally warm night. His feet hit the partially wet ground, fingers wrapping around cold metal in his pocket as they escaped the dim lights of the streetlamps. “What does the bossman want?” One of the minions asked, causing Arnold to stop in his tracks, back still facing them. His eyes flickered down to the scar on his wrist, one that once spilled so much of his blood. One that had almost claimed his life. A chuckle left his lips as he raised the bunny mask off his face, dropping it to the ground, causing the others much confusion, he was sure. “You know what,” He said, “I don’t recall. Maybe it was something along the lines of asking me to make sure you didn’t scream.”
He turned around, not giving them nearly enough time to react as one hand pulled a familiar blade from his pocket, one he’d stolen after the little fear factor night, lunging it into the first minions temple, blood spraying like a sprinkler on a summer day when he yanked it out. The two other men watched in horror as their friend fell lifeless to the ground, but before they could draw their guns, Arnold acted quicker. One hand shot up, gripping one of the minions raised wrist, snapped it back, the sound of bones breaking filling the void, but before he could scream, Arnold stuck the blade into his throat rapidly, bloody splattering across his features, causing the man to choke instead.
He quickly removed the blade, letting the second bunny man cripple to the ground in a pool of his flesh and bones as the third lunged at him, but he too was unfortunate. Arnold’s hand caught the man’s hair, knee meeting his gut, then his chin, before lunging the blade into the back of his skull and throwing him to the pavement. His boot smashed into his head, just to make sure, eyes wandering to the second one again, who was choking on his own blood. “It’s crazy, right?” Arnold asked, pulling another cigarette from his pocket, bringing it to his lips and lighting the end, “what death feels like as it creeps up on you? I know what that’s like. Unfortunately for you, you won’t escape it like I did.” Kneeling down to hover over the dying man, he pulled away his mask, revealing the face of a man who couldn’t be any older than he was.
“In life you get to choose a path,” Arnold said, blowing smoke out toward the other’s face, “seems like you chose the wrong one.” Once the smoke left his lungs, he pressed the blade to the man’s throat, pushing down and sliding it along his flesh slowly, blood pooling at the sharp edge. Once the minion’s struggling stopped, eyes still wide to the sky as his life slipped away, Arnold stood. “That was for Sora.” He said, finger trailing the ‘P.M’ initials etched into the blade handle.
I’ll be the bad guy now… though I ain’t too proud.