"Maybe you're better off this way"

It is always the sins of the father that the child has to carry on their tiny shoulders. Brittle little things that have to lift what could devour them if it pleased to. 

It was funny wasn’t it? The same people who interlink their hands with a frown, eyes at the small, hollow framed child claim that infants are in need of PROTECTION.. "underdeveloped, brainless, and cannot make decisions for themselves” are the ones who point their finger at these degenerates, LAUGHING. 

“Underdeveloped, brainless.. pathetic, co-dependent on their elders for holding their fate..”

The child whose innocence, dependency, need of nurture.. stripped away by authorities. They are just brainless, they wouldn’t know what even happens of them, won’t they?

“They won’t feel or think it is bad if we tell them it’s a good thing, now would they?” because conscience doesn’t exist in the mind of the youth, the one who wishes to only hold the hand of the much bigger, experienced one. The little child who hadn’t seen a wink of what the hell reality even means..

An figure of authority could throw them in a field of thorns, waiting to be devoured by hounds and say “It’s just how it goes” and the child wouldn’t be able to defy it.

What would they even know?

It could bring tears in their eyes, skin and bone, but are they in a position to know what hurts?

Not as quite.

.

He believed he’d seen enough of the God-forsaken world to know that even God laughed at them. He’s read enough from man-made material that stated that this Heavenly figure did say something along the lines of man’s misery is by his own hand.

He supposed it was true. 

Nickelback can sing all day about how things would’ve been different if mankind had a HEART, but he knew.. that boarded the same plane as the waste that living beings are so full of. It’s no wonder that mankind is cruel, that much waste residing inside that somehow has to get out, metaphorically and literally.

Having a heart where others would only drag you down.. psssh.

It was no wonder that kindness was such a myth. the possibility of its existence is NIGH.

If he looked with the still ocean-blue eye, he would’ve said otherwise. It wasn’t impossible to lend a hand to someone who is making attempts to reach it. It wasn’t right to leave them forgotten, abandoned when they spent a lifetime trying to stretch out of their secure and safe place. 

Prostating, humiliating themselves, begging as if the individual in front of them is God. The only being that man should bow to.

Man is not stronger than another. What is only gained by being revered is the illusion of power.

“Funny, I am an illusionist.” 

.

Perhaps it was that he kept looking with the crimson of his right eye that he believed that. The one that always just questioned why life is overrated.

And he couldn’t help but make that illusion appear. That one where the others think they have an advantage.. only to crush it all down. Why make them lose with dignity? Give them a little feeling of victory before you crumble it at their feet.

That face of devastation when it all comes down, something he liked seeing, knowing that how many people had made him do that.

Now he was the one who’d be crushing skulls under his feet instead of being the skull.

.

This was the imagery he was pouring into a child who felt that he had an advantage over him. A little inkling of innocence, a rowdy one who IMAGINES being as powerful as their creator.

Now Mukuro was aware that he had no true skill, he wasn’t worth a gaze against the creator of the universe, but he was stronger than a child who’s stuck in the vile world of imagination.

A world he has complete and full control over. Mukuro didn’t need to give a second glance to know how to shatter the small thing, yet a giant piece called thoughts. That was his domain, what illusions were so frightening for. One that can enter the deepest shelter of a being and completely DESTROY it.

It’s as they say, when you’re on the edge and falling off, it’s all over. 

That was the plan in his deep, messed up mind.

Until for a moment he decided to look away from his general philosophy. It does get redundant to keep using the same methods, and if he did keep the element of same tactic, there would be chances of counter-measures.

He wasn’t worried about that.. it was to keep situations from boring him, have it interesting.

.

If he took a closer solemn look at the child who claimed to be ready to destroy everything at his feet, make the strong kneel to him and get rid of eyesores, there was something more to him than just a pushy show of rowdy foolishness.

It may not be a true face of the child, but it appeared to be a lead. It was only a hypothesis in itself, as the eyes do not always tell the truth, and what the windows may show might not always be reflective. People see what they WANT to see, and sometimes, that means pouring a sense of self into what is not understood.

So he thought, but it did seem to hold a strength, its own grounds that told him it may not be just a thought emerging from optical illusions.

If he was right, this was still a child who was trying to PROVE his worthiness to the ones who condemned him. It reminded him of the words of the adults who tried puffing their chests and holding pick-axes saying their little youth need to be GUARDED, shielded from the madness that is OMNIPRESENT.

Those same adults he laughed at, stabbing them with their own weapons and saying “But WHO’S going to guard children if you can’t even lift yourself NOW?”

This child was perhaps an aftermath of personal slaughter. There were no wounds on his body, but deep inside, where the heart was supposed to be, where the gentle air of youth was meant to be preserved was left with unshed tears, disappointment, resentment and overall FAILURE.

Mukuro was sure that if he killed a farmer, he granted the child mercy by either letting them join their father’s fate without pain, or leaving them in shelters to avoid the tilling of the tools further wound their bodies. This child was neither case. 

He was but a child whose father had turned his back to. Left to fall even after begging for relief, a child whose prayers would never be answered and that was the reason for his aggressive behaviour. Like a mechanism that said ‘this is what will keep you here, that would make your father bow to.’

This was nothing but a child who was hurting. A young soul who was thrown into an unending path of misery just for EXISTING. By being born, his life was not his own.

So that’s a case.. how very interesting.

.

“So this is why you are taking it out on a punchable face. It reminds you of the WEAKNESS that you failed to stomp upon?” he asked with a smile, even if it meant getting himself a little hurt, it was not going to stop him from deciding what he wanted to do next.

“So.. you hold those same scars as this fool.” The very same pain that he couldn’t get his hands around reconciliation. Nothing would put him in his place, but for this child.. there would still be time.

The child had nothing more to lose.

“Take my word, you can keep wasting your time here, or finding a way to stand up to your own cowardice. And I’d be willing to help you out” add a bitter laugh.

“I mean, it figures..~ You’re just like me. A disappointment.”