#shadowed thoughts

He stares at the piece of chocolate in his hand, contemplative, before popping it into his mouth--and grimacing.

"Shut up."

          You know I'm right. Accept it.

"Shut up."

          Embrace your hatred.

"Shut up."

          Why should you fight for them? They will desert you in the end. You hate th--

"SHUT UP."

Kazuya's fingers wrapped around the nearest object at hand--his old COMP, apparently--and he whirled around, throwing the device with inhuman force in the direction of the voice.

There was the sound of something shattering; and upon turning fully, he realized that the COMP had collided with the mirror set above the dresser. Cracks spanned its surface, and a few fragments had even fallen.

There was no sign of him.

The teen slowly made his way to the dresser, pressing a hand over his eyes for a few moments before lowering it--and nearly jumping. There, in one of the fragments of the mirror, was reflected a pair of glowing yellow eyes.

          You can't lie to yourself forever.

Once more, Kazuya turned around, hand shooting out to grab a fistful of his collar...only to grab empty air instead.

         You are alone.

                   You have always been alone.

                                           You will remain alone.

The voice is one he knows very well. It's been with him since he was a child, after all: this voice...always murmuring his innermost thoughts--ones not even he is fully conscious of--and reminding him of his deepest insecurities.

He hates this voice. He hates it, and muffles it anyway he can, whether by talking over it along with his friends, or focusing instead on the lyrics blasting through the headphones perched on his head when he's by himself. He buries and forgets it, focuses on other things, on other people.

But what is he to do when it's other people that draw that voice out again?

            "Monster."

                    "Freak."

                         "Different from us."

They don't even need to say it. He can see it in their eyes: the thinly-veiled distrust, the wariness, the fear...and in some, the disgust. He's different from them. Separate. 

Even amongst demons, he is set apart--not because of authority or position, but because of his decidedly human nature. Though they will obey his decree, he is all too aware of the scorn with which some regard him.

There is no place for him, neither amongst humans nor demons. He is alone, the voice whispers.

He shakes his head, pressing his headphones firmly over his ears.

         Alone. You are alone.

                You hate them, don't you?

                            After all you've done, after all you've given up...they won't accept you.

                                       But that's fine, isn't it? It's fine to hate.