#obsciuro

* ✮ ╾        THE MOON HANGS LOW IN THE SKY, reflecting brightly on the ocean like a skull foaming at the mouth, its smile stretching wildly across the pitch-black backdrop. a perfect night for a less than perfect situation. legs dangling over the side of the railing, nakia carefully balances on the handrail, fingers digging sharply into the metal as she ponders her stepfather’s latest foray into despotism   ( with a side order of assholeness. )   as an active member of the surf nazis, a group of criminals who treat santa carla as their very own playground, complete with protection money demands  &  drug and firearm distribution, solving issues related to territory disputes falls under his jurisdiction —— just as she does. and now she has no choice but to give in to his demands lest her younger sister fall prey to the bastard’s explosive temper. use your gift, he said. find their weaknesses, he said. funny how he would call her curse a gift now when before, he would always refer to it as freakishness.        ❛   lỗ đít,  ❜  she mutters under her breath —— but then visibly starts when she suddenly notices a young boy  ( he can’t be much older than ten )  staring up at her, an aura of distress emanating from his slightly trembling form.        ❛   hi, there,  ❜  nakia says, deliberately keeping her tone soft and friendly so as not to startle him.        ❛   would you like to keep me company?  ❜ she inquires, accompanying the offer with a small, genuine smile, one he eagerly returns  &  with a nimble jump, he quietly joins her on the handrail, sitting as close to her as he dares.      ( and just like that, she makes a new friend, one who seems just as lonely as she tries so hard not to be. )

   ┃ ┄ ┄      OW  is  his  first  thought,  followed  by  NOT  AGAIN.  a  grimace  distorting  his  features,  hirohito’s  trembling  fingers  immediately  reach  for  the  back  of  his  head  where  a large  knot  would  have  formed  if  not  for  the  fact  that  his  life  is  strange  and  his  body  doesn’t  quite  understand  how  to  stay  dead.  this  isn’t  the  first  time  his  head  has  made  nice  with  the  asphalt,  cracking  open  like  an  egg  on  the  side  of  a  bowl  ╾   dying  is  his  reality,  and  his  reality  sucks  ╾   but  this  is  the  first  time  a  car  has  accidentally  mowed  him  down,  clipping  his  hip  and  sending  him  careening  into  the  crowded  takoyaki  stand.  and  it  hurts,  the  agonizing  impact  of  metal  against  flesh  turning  his  stomach  and  bringing  tears  to  his  eyes.  it  hurts  so  much  that  he  can  barely  think.        slowly  pulling  himself  into  a  sitting  position,  the  young  japanese  boy watches  with  a  sort  of  detached  resignation  as  the  people  around  him  continue  on  with  their  lives,  the  accident  long  forgotten.  just  as  he  has  been  forgotten   ☾  because  even  when  he  dies,  no  one  seems  to  pay  him  any  mind.  ☽