this tale is a misunderstanding,  a  mistake  made  by  the  arrogant  authors  of  the universe.  both  aimed  for  one  boy,  made  him  their  prophet.   one  demanded  him  to  be  the  hero, one demanded him to be the villain. he is born a blessing, he is born a curse. a  hurricane  within  himself ,  a  face  for  two.  both  of  them  -- fighting  for dominance,  fighting  for  their  purpose.  their  morals,  they  clash  don’t  blend,  one bears  the  light  of  an  army  of  angels  -- & one  harbors  the  darkness  buried  in  the  pits of hell.  which   one   will   conquer  ?   which   one    will    prosper   ?

             ❛  it wasn’t me ––––––  ❜  his voice is barely louder than a whisper. he’s staring before him, crimson covered hands trembling uncontrollably as he exhaled a shaky breath. his head flashes to the side, teary cerulean hues staring at the girl nearing him. his eyes find the lifeless corpse by his feet again, head shaking in a small, frequent movement as he turns his attention back to the girl.   ❛ it wasn’t me, i swear  ! ❜

         ❛ see something you like ? ❜ his head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing suspiciously as a small, sly smirk painted upton angelic features.

adrenaline was pumping through his veins -- feet going numb from exhaustion and pain with each step that was taken.  his visage was clawed and bloody, a swollen bottom lip and left eye disturbing his vision.  –––––– he clashes into a figure, sending his own, fragile body to the ground with a groan slipping bloody lips.  hasty, nervous and scared, the boy shuffled back on his feet, hands raising before him to halt the person he had ran into from attacking him. cerulean hues begged for mercy -- filled with apologies.   ❛  i’m sorry ! i-i’m so sorry, please don’t get angry.  ❜

                a foxy smirk was growing on delicate lips,   snake-like movements taking him closer to the male until he was standing in the small little spotlight offered from the device. the knife in his hand was flipped shut rather swiftly, his other hand dipping into a pocket, only to slowly demonstrate a number of keys.  ice blue hues did not leave the other’s -- head titling to the side as brows raised, mocking the male.  ❛  looking for these ?  ❜  the sound of the metallic objects jingled in the air; cerulean orbs CHALLENGING the male before him. 

               ❛   I-I’m sorry, is this your seat ? I can move.  ❜       he was already half-way up, heart pumping against his ribs -- head dropped low,  shame and fear.

judgement. –––––– –   he had gotten a lot of unwanted judgement for almost his entire life. the boy was overly sympathetic ,   taking that implication rather too delicately.  ❛   does it have a special meaning to you -- that symbol ?  ❜  he was genuinely curious -- brows knit together, head slightly tilted.  

he was carving his mother’s NAME onto an old , crusty tree. his dirty hand clutched onto the blade gracefully, every sharp strike against the wood hitting the perfect spot. such talented hands       –––––––––   actions were stopped, the sound of a leaf cracking beneath a step causing a sly smirk to paint upon his angelic features. he turned around, staring the male straight in the eye -- not a sign of fear, not a sign of shame.   ❛   like staring at young boys in the shadows ?   ❜

                                   He’s quick to notice the other’s reaction -- guilt filling his chest before he stutters and apology.  ❛  -- i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to be rude. ❜