Sunlight's Fiend

"And I don't wanna beg your pardon
And I don't wanna ask you why
But if I was to go my own way
Would I have to pass you by?"
- Black Flies (Ben Howard)

As assassins, we held pride and prestige over people who branded themselves as killers.
In truth, they were uncouth brutes who have never studied under the art. Yes, killing is art. Death is our masterpiece.
It's why we provide our services to clients like other artists in the world.
Thankfully, we are paid a handsome price and no one will hear us complain about copyright and credits.
Serial killers with a pattern are the lowest form in our art, after all. It's the easiest way to earn a ticket to a manhunt.
The only person of this art to ever get away with it is the Zodiac killer.
Honestly, he was just lucky. His time didn't have all this security and technology.
And the stereotypes! I'd be offended if I ever hear someone say "Irene Lane is a cold blooded and heartless psychopath."
I am perfectly aware what I am doing. I am perfectly aware that this is a crime.
But God knows I don't care about that or him. This is the way I have to live because it's the only way I know how to survive. The only way I know how to sustain a good life.
I can accept being called ruthless. But don't ever call me a heartless psychopath.
But if there's something I can acknowledge, it's that the life of an assassin is a life of routine. Especially with clients.
Sometimes there is a degree of specifics we need to follow to satisfy our client's request. The customer is always right.
Even in our company, this is what brings order to our system of murder.
My next client is oddly specific.

Target: Travis Sage.
An up and coming painter who won the Worldwide Paint Royale and is to paint a masterpiece that's to be distributed worldwide. Price for the painting will be an estimated over 3 billion dollars.

I'm a little envious considering how their art is paying them that much and it's legal. Maybe I should learn how to paint on the side.
Maybe even consider using my next target's blood as paint. But that's just ridiculous.

Client's Request:
I want Travis Sage to suffer a beautiful betrayal. To be killed by someone who he will learn to put his trust in. To be killed by someone he considers his friend.
I can give you his schedule and I can give you my reasons.

That's new. Clients never usually give us their reasons. Maybe an occasional "I want this bitch to die" But nothing about reasons. Schedules are another thing.
We usually have to get that ourselves, but this guy is being extremely helpful right now.
What's the catch? Who is this guy?

Travis's Schedule:
(Location: Brie Street, Dolores Complex, Northbrick, Colorado)
Daily basis:
Morning:
9:00 Wake up at 9:00
9:10 Take a bath10:00 Eat breakfast at Cindy's diner
10:30: Go out to run errands or jog
Afternoon:
Have lunch at 12:30
Paint from 1:30-3:00
Break from 3:00-5:00
Night:
Dinner at 5:20
Paint from 6:00 until 8:00
Free time until 9:00
9:20 sleep.

Specific Day schedule:
Sunday: Resupply art supplies at 1:30
Tuesday: Visit cousin at hospital at 2:00
Saturday: Play Yugioh at card shop at 4:00

Reasons:
Travis Sage is the most selfish, hateful, annoying and spineless jerk I've ever had the displeasure of knowing. I wish he'd stop existing. I wish he'd just die.
He has hurt me far too much for me to forgive him. He is the reason why I have constantly wished to die. And I want him to feel that pain.
He had no right to make me suffer when all I've done was try and keep him going.
Please.
I will pay you anything you want. Just please get this scum off the streets by Sunday.
Wow. Whoever this is, Travis must have broke their heart so bad.
But it's not the first time I've had spurned lovers hire me to kill their old flame.
Let's see who this is.

Client Number 1452: Vera A. Gaitss
Client info locked. No info could be gathered.

"Wes!" I shout over to my office mate. "Do you know who Client 1452 is?"
"Not a clue." He says. "The hackers from floor 8 can't crack the Client's info. It's protected by some sort of built in firewall. The IP the client had for the request was tracked to a Starbucks in Eastbrick."
Well that's annoying.
I'd like to say I admire our hackers for trying, but honestly they're not really that good. It's a wonder we get information on our clients and targets at all. But the occasional information they can't dig up happens all the time. I really wish that Thanos Venge had taken our offer. Now that guy's a hacker. But of course, he had to be a man of morals and refuse to work for a company of assassins. It's a wonder he hadn't reported us to the police.
But I guess his business is more important than ratting out criminals that aren't in his way to the cops.
Normally, this kind of thing is a red flag for us to not accept. But it's not like they stop us.
And I do like a challenge.
So I accepted the client's request.
I'm expecting the first 7k of my money in my bank by tomorrow morning.

-X-

Thank God the target lives in Northbrick.
I'd really rather not go to Eastbrick. Eastbrick City, nice as it is, is a den of assholes considering how active Thanos Venge is. And Westbrick is such a creepy little town. The first time I got there, I got the chills.
Northbrick is where normal people like to live.
I moved into an apartment two blocks away from Dolores Complex. Unlike how TV portrays it, it's against protocol to live so close to the target. It raises suspicion considering how easy it is to bump into the target around his home.
The client's schedule has been dead on. It's almost as if the client was the target.
But that's just ridiculous.
Cindy's diner was a quaint little place.
"Hello there." The woman at the counter said. "You new around here?"
I smile. "Yes. Just moved here yesterday. I was walking around and saw your cute diner."
"It was the giant sunflower on the sign, wasn't it?"
I laugh. She laughs. And the conversation goes. So easy to capture people's hearts/ This is why you don't typically let go of your humanity as an assassin. Sometimes, it's easier to get around when you can draw out someone's attention.
"What do you recommend?"
"The most expensive thing on the menu." She, Karen as her nameplate reads, laughs again. "The triple cheese omelette is pretty good."
"Then I'll have that."
I take a seat at the stool. The boy next to me was definitely Travis Sage. Asshole supreme.
He's cute, in that boy next door kind of way.
What could painter boy have done to hurt my client so much to have her hire me.
He's sketching in his notebook.
"That's a nice drawing." I say. If he's that much of a jerk, considering he's an artist, he'll probably tell me to back off. It'll make killing him so much satisfying.
He looks up to me, his hazel eyes on me.
And he smiles.
"Just a silly doodle of a rose."
I'm caught a little off guard by his friendly reaction.
"I see." I clear my throat and regain my composure. "I'm Glenda. I just moved here."
Cover name, of course. Kind of.
Glenda's my middle name.
"Travis."
Karen sets down a plate of omelettes in front of me. "I see you've met our favorite potato here in Northbrick. He's a painter you know? He won the Worldwide Paint Royale two weeks ago!"
"Aw, Karen. It's nothing to brag about." He says. Is this modesty just a ploy?
"Nothing to brag about? You're Northbrick's pride! And if it weren't for you, Cindy's Diner would have gone out of business. You're a hero."
"Wait, what?" I say. Genuine shock fills my face. "Why?"
"Cindy's Diner was in some trouble because our supplier pulled out because he thought Northbrick was a boring town." Karen says. "We needed money to find new suppliers to match our quality. But we didn't have that much money or promotion. We thought we were through. But after Travis won, he gave us a lot of money to keep us going."
"Stop." Travis blushes. "It was nothing. I didn't want you guys to shut down."
"See? This man is the most selfless bastard I've ever met." Karen gushes before attending to another customer.
"That was really nice of you." I say. The client might be wrong about this one. Selfish, Travis Sage is not.
Travis closes his notebook and stands. "I'm sorry. I gotta run. I have to go run some errands. I'll see you around."
He walked out of the diner, heading off to buy art supplies most likely.
Our company red flag protocol might have been implemented for a reason. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
Damn this omelette tastes good.

-X-

I didn't expect to be dragged into the hospital when I decided to coincidentally bump into Travis.
"I'm visiting my cousin in the hospital. He's in a coma."
He was kind of  trembling as he told me the story. A boy who was shot by his own father and put into a coma.
"His name's Terrence. He's been in a coma for a few years now. No one's seen his father since. That asshole. I've never hated someone so much in my life like I do my Uncle."
Well, that's one way to say he's hateful. Could the client be Terrence's father.
"Terrence was like a brother to me. He was cool. It's a miracle I can actually visit him more now."
"Why?" I ask.
"He was transferred from Eastbrick Medical because of a renovation for the hospital. So I'm taking the time to visit him while I still can."
He sighed. "I'm sorry to ask you this considering we just met, but do you mind joining me? I'd feel like I wouldn't break out into tears if I'm with someone."
But he did anyway.
After about 20 minutes of him talking to the comatose boy, the waterworks started falling and he had to stop when coma boy's best friend arrived from Eastbrick to visit.
"It's nice to see you again, Reese." Travis said to him. "Well, I have to go. I have a painting to do."
He turns to me. "Thanks for coming with me."
"No problem." If this doesn't mean I've gotten closer to him, then I don't know what will.
"Bye Reese." Travis exits. I should follow.
"Bye Travis." Reese's eyes follow me. "Bye Irene."
I shut the door behind me and walk with Travis to the exit.
Homicidal uncle aside, I really doubt Travis was hateful.
Next thing in the morning, I message the client. I got the money and I do plan on getting the job done, but...
It doesn't stop me from asking questions.
"Ms. Gaitss, are you sure your target is this horrible person you claim he is? I've observed him and befriended him as asked, but he hasn't been any of the nasty stuff as you say he is."
"That's what he does. But just wait until you get a peek at that head of his. He's a man full of demons and once you get too close, he'll eat you alive."
I hope that wasn't some sort of weird implication of a bad sexual encounter. If it is, I'll try to stray from alluring the target. Sex has been used every now and then to attract the target, but if it's as bad as the client says, I may end up killing him in self defense.
I'll just have to keep an eye on him for now.

-X-
I spent the next two days learning how to play Yugioh. My boyfriend plays this game, so I had someone to turn to for the basics. Ben was all too excited to teach me via Skype that he made me virtual duel him.
I admit, it's a little fun to exercise the mind with this game. But it's a pretty stupid game if you ask me. Not to mention the memes this game's anime gives.
Card games on motorcycle. Who the hell came up with this game?
Once I've learned, I proceeded to defeat my boyfriend, putting him in a world of shame, and proceeded to buy cards at a card shop.
Friday morning, I arrive early and catch up with Karen. I'm going to miss her once I'm done. She's actually pretty fun to talk to. I sure hope no one decides to have her killed. Maybe I'll drop by every now and then once I'm done with this.
I take a booth and conveniently build my deck just as Travis was entering the diner.
Just like any nerd who finds someone playing their hobby, he perks up and immediately goes for my booth.
"So. You play Yugioh too?" He asks immediately.
"Sure!" I perk my voice up. "It's a pretty fun game."
"Maybe this is fate after all." He says. Is he flirting with me?
"I have a boyfriend." I say.
He laughs. "Yeah, I figured. Don't worry, I'm taken."
"Are you now?" Maybe the client is just an unhappy chick that her ex is happy.
Travis' eyes mellow and his smile was sorrowful. "Yeah..."
He looks up and scratches his head. "You wanna come play Yugioh with me tomorrow?"
Quick to change the subject, but I'd rather that than try to analyze that sorrow he seemed to have exuded. "Sure. It's a date."
"I'm telling your boyfriend."

-X-
I got what I expected out of going to a card shop. A bunch of manchildren and geeks huddling around tables and playing cards.
This is an expensive hobby, you know that?
I bought the cards I have that are based on a recommendation to play a meta deck for at least 300 dollars. It's like the cards are made of solid gold or something.
"Okay, Glenda. Show me what you've got." He says to me.
Travis ran a Weather Painter deck. Of course he picks a paint theme deck. What a cliche.
I went for something called a Thunder Dragon deck and proceeded to demolish his board.
When I went in for a final attack on his last monster, He played a card called Doble Passe that redirected my attack to... Oh my god I'm starting to sound like my boyfriend.
Basically he took the attack full force and I take damage too. The duel ended in a draw.
"Why let yourself take that damage?" I tell him. "You could have survived it and lasted for one more turn. Not like you'd have won though."
"I didn't want my monster to be destroyed. It didn't do anything wrong. And at least this way, we both kind of win. But take it as your win. my life points went down to 0 first anyway."
Acceptance of loss and very patient throughout the duel.
His deck aside, he wasn't annoying.
I'd really like to drop this but the client has already paid me. And I like to get my job done.
"Hey, you want to come over tomorrow and see my painting?" He says to me. "I feel like you'd appreciate it."
Tomorrow was the final day. And he's just given me access to his home.
Travis went over to the counter to talk to someone. He gave the cashier a big box he had been carrying around for a while.
"You know." I jumped up a little to find some kid suddenly sit in front of me. "I hope you don't go too soon. Travis is a pretty nice guy."
"Oh, it's--" He doesn't listen to me and goes on.
"I haven't seen Travis this happy in a while. He's been unhappy for a few months. Maybe you're the answer. The last time he had a girlfriend, she died. That was like 2 years ago. She was the only girl he ever dated."
Wait... Then... Who the hell is Vera Gaitss?

-X-
Sunday arrived. I couldn't come to Cindy's Diner considering how I'll be killing Karen's hero.
How could I face her on the day I'd kill Northbrick's pride?
I arrived at his apartment.
He smiled at me, his hazel eyes seemed euphoric upon my arrival.
"So where's this billion dollar masterpiece."
"Come in and see."
Travis let me into his apartment.
It was what I expected out of an artist. A lot of canvas and crumpled paper on the floor. His TV was on, running Sin City on HBO.
His walls were littered with paintings and posters. There was a parcel beside the laptop on his desk.
I was careful not to touch anything. My pistol was on my purse.
As Travis lead me to his painting, I was putting on my gloves. I can question morality and Vera once I've shot Travis.
"This is it." He points to a canvas with large stem painted on it. But the flower is nowhere to be found. Now's my chance.
I take my pistol out and aim. He turns to me, unfazed that I had taken out a pistol and steadied it over his head. "It's not quite done. Needs more red but I'm close to putting the finishing strokes."
"Is that really the last thing you want to do before you die?"
"Yeah." He nods, still smiling at me.
"I am pointing a gun at you." I say to him, my voice slowly rising. "Are you not even at all surprised? Shocked?"
"Why would I be?" He says. He turns the chair facing the canvas and sits. He uncorks a bottle of wine conveniently beside him and pours two glasses. He hands me one.
"This isn't a game." I tell him. I still sip the wine. It's pretty good.
"I know." He says. "Now if you can kindly place the barrel nearer to my head, please."
I don't know why, but I comply.
He places his hands around the gun. He rubs his finger around the trigger but doesn't shoot.
"Now if you can kindly pull the trigger. I'd really like to finish my painting."
"What?!" I struggle to pull the gun away but he's surprisingly strong.
"Don't worry. You'll receive your money tomorrow morning."
This was against protocol now. Clients asking to off themselves is explicitly against our code. It can be done but there is intense shame to assisting in suicide. Even assassins try to stop suicide unless it was specified to make it look like a suicide.
Suddenly it made sense. Move Vera A. Gaitss around and you get Travis Sage. Stupid!
I aced my anagram exams with flying colors. How could I have fallen for this? Was I just bored out of my wits or was I really just itching to kill someone?
"Travis, please let the gun go."
"Vera was right about me you know?" He speaks as if Vera was someone else. "I've always been selfish. I don't care about everyone else right now. I just want to leave. Do you think I haven't tried to fix my life? No matter what I seem to do I find a way to hate myself more every day. If Rene was alive, I'd think she'd probably prefer being dead than stay with an annoying prick like me."
"Stop it." I say. "This is no way to end things! You're a talented, kind, and wonderful young man."
"Empty words from an assassin." He chuckles. "I didn't hire you to be my friend. I hired you to kill me. It was a miracle I even found you. Thanos Venge wouldn't dare kill a client. And I'm not so awful to commit heinous crimes just to catch Ethel Reker's attention."
"But in the end, this wasn't a beautiful betrayal." I say. "A disgusting one at that."
"Perhaps." He looks back at the canvas. "Please... Don't try change my mind. I just want the relief of knowing when I go, the Blood Rose will be complete and it will at least immortalize the fact that I was here."
"Travis, this is a permanent solution to a temporary problem."
He sighs. "Look, I've lived my life as far as I can go and I just can't keep going. I don't want to end up living in misery. Say I have the success. Say I'm a person everyone likes. But... In the end it doesn't help stop the bleeding in my empty heart. But I'm too scared to end it myself. Make the pain end. Please."
His eyes are screaming at me. Begging at me.
I steady my hand and align my fingers with his. "Vera got one thing right. You're spineless."
He chuckles. "The world could always use more people like you."
Those were his last words.

-X-
The art exhibit to Travis' post mortem work was quiet. Gloomy.
Everyone was wearing black, admiring his work. Karen was sobbing while some of Travis' card game friends comforted her.
Blood Rose, painted with his blood was preserved and finished as per his request on one of the letters in his parcel.
Dare I say it was amazing.
Reese sat next to me. "I didn't like how he left, but I respect his decision. Terrence would have been sad to know his cousin's gone."
I sit there, silent.
"Thank you for making it easy for my cousin, Irene. I prayed that he'd get better soon. I did everything I could to try and make sure he's happy. So I was elated to find him so chipper when I came to visit. But it looks like I didn't try hard enough."
He sips a glass of his drink. "I should be mad... But it's what he wanted. I know it wasn't easy to do, but thank you."
He stands up and begins to walk away.
"How do you know my name?" I ask him. But he only continues to walk away.
He's not going to answer. I might as well leave it alone.
I stand and go over to the painting.
Blood Rose. Travis Sage's finest work.
A blood rose. Petals of his blood dripping and splattered around the canvas.
It really was beautiful.
You know what? For once, I'm mad I didn't get the credit I deserve for my art.
~Author's notes
It's been a while since I actually wrote something I really liked.
It feels good to get this out.

Rainbows, Swords, and all that Bullshit

"Today was just a day
 And you dealt with it okay
 But tomorrow is a boy that needs to run."
-Soon Soon (Tom Rosenthal)

There's something tantalizing about watching your sanity crumble before your eyes. Wait, am I using the right word?
Dreams. Sanity. What difference does it make really?
You may have heard of me. One of the up and coming brightest writers in the world. James Terry?
Nope? Well you thought right.

The best you probably heard of me was a blurb on some Poetry book where I wrote about following your dreams and doing what you love. Or whatever cliche bullshit I used to believe in.
The truth is, at 23, I've seen myself crash and burn one too many times and I'll just keep burning at the embers from the ashes.

I take back what I said. You most definitely heard of me. If you've been to any bookstore in the world, you'd find that the Academy of Valor at the top 10s of the Book list. Yes, I know, that was made my an anonymous author.
But here I am. That anonymous prick who can't even release my name to the public because I'm too introverted and scared to find people following me around.
And yet, here it is. My one hit wonder moment. 15 minutes of fame.
Came and went.
And all because I can't come up with an idea. Or I can, but I can't bring myself to finish it.
My mind is a series of scrambled thoughts and indecisiveness.
An influx of sheer chaos and intricate disaster.

The drive that the youth I have should give me is about as high as a pebble.
As I sit here staring at my laptop with an empty word file and laying waste to the electric bill, I couldn't help but wonder where it all went. Where did the sense of pride and ambition I had when I first touched on a story I wanted to tell went?

I was a bystander to an unknown future ahead of me.
Every day, I went to work in my office and type my life away and use the money I earn to buy video games or Pepsi.
I have no love for alcohol or drugs, but Pepsi has hooked me up close to the feeling of what addiction is like.
I play a game with love and envy for its story. Envy for a story well made. Envy for the dedication done to complete a vision.
So instead, I drink my soda and type at nothing and drown in envy at everything made.
And in that sorrow, I felt myself pulling deeper into a hole where I knew I was empty.
I'd heard stories about writers ending their lives because they get depressed. I never thought it would ever happen to me.

"Just go outside. Experience the world." Those were my friends words.

You know what? I did do that.
I did try to go out of my comfort zone. And I quickly realized how much I hated the world and how inexplicably dull and inevitable life is.
If I weren't someone who hated pain, I would have ended my life years ago.
I think I still have that noose I hid in the bathroom just in case I found the nerve.
And in response to these thoughts, I put on the headphones I wrung around my neck and shut my eyes to music I downloaded off of Youtube.
The music calmed me down and gave me some degree of motivation. They always last for just a few minutes though.

But there was something different in my pattern today. Instead of my usual video game binge, or attempt to write, or wallowing in pity, I took my music and walked outside.
In the city I lived in where civilians smiled like there was nothing wrong, I looked at them closely just enough to see if I can see through them.

A happy man in the coffee shop, laughing the hardest in front of his friends. Probably suffers from some degree of depression. The scars he tries to hide doesn't disprove my theory.

A woman taking a bunch of happy selfies that she posts on instagram. Probably a million likes in that sexy haltertop of hers.
Put the phone down and she sits in a bench staring at her stomach.
The sad reality of a person so empty with her life that the only gratification she had left was virtual appreciation. So much so that she feels she has to look good or people would stop "Liking" her.

A guy in an expensive suit. Looks so important and classy. Along with him, a girl in a stunning red dress. They're a couple, both so nice looking. Probably rich too.
It doesn't take 4 seconds to realize they thought humanity was lower than them. Especially when they're the couple that was reported to have had a guard throw a man out of a cafe simply because he brushed his shoulder against him.
The rich have so much power, it disgusts me.

Then... There's the little boy in the park. He was sitting there with his funny looking toy truck and a superhero toy.
"Vroom!" He squeaked. "You're no hero. You killed those people!"
And he crashed the truck at the little toy. A naive innocence I hadn't seen in the tired eyes that the adults I see try to hide.
I was watching the little boy play with his toys and come up with the most unusual scenarios with such ease and simplicity.
"Oh no! He's going to kill the shark people!"
"Time to blast away all the dirt and save everyone!"
"Its not always about you and saving everything Captain Boom!"
It's not always about you...

I think I realize when I started to finally believe I've lost it.
It was always what I wanted to tell, that's the writing motto I lived in. But as I went along with it, I started believing in what I thought people would want.
And it was an endless cycle of what my head wanted me to believe.
Its not always about what I wanted. But it's not always what the people wanted.
The genuine confusion it brought gave me headaches, and I think it was at that time that the sheer fun that it used to bring me started to fade.
To write a story was always about fun for me. Take it into a career sense... It's not fun anymore.

"Hey!" There was a boy, Larger than the kid, approaching him.
I saw these types all the time. The people taught to be societies definition of normal. Those who learn to be so close minded that they become awful.
"It's 2017, ever heard of actual toys?" He picks up one of the action figures the kid has. "And speaking to yourself like this? You're pathetic!"
The moment he throws the toy to the ground, I walk over and stop anything else from happening. I've dealt with people that told me I wasn't normal for a long time.
Selective poisoning to the thoughts. Denying anything different to shun them.
And for the past year, it finally got to me.

"Don't you have anything better to do than bully someone for being who they are?" I shout at the bully, not afraid if their parent finds me. "You think just because he likes something you don't you get to antagonize him for it?"

"An...tagonize?" He said in confusion. I forget that I'm dealing with a 3rd grader or something.

"Just back off." I say. "And maybe learn to respect other people."
The bully walked away, more confused than scared if I said so honestly.

"Thanks mister." He said to me. "I don't have a lot of friends, so I just sit here by myself and play."

"What about your parents?" I asked with concern.

"They're always busy. They're nice and all, but busy." He says as he crashed toys together.

"What do they think about you going to the park all by yourself?" The concern in my voice rose.

"I live across the street. They tell me I'm learning the world. Or something."

"Are you?" I ask.

"I don't know. I just wanna make stories when I grow up and make people happy."

I paused at the innocent statement. A statement I myself had similarly told others. I wanted to tell stories, but I ended up keeping them instead.
I sat there with the kid, watching the stuff I've proclaimed to hate. The falling leaves and the concrete buildings. The people that walked around, minding their own business.

"Wanna play with me, Mister?" The kid held up a toy to me. I stare at the plastic figure and all I can think of was how similar this scene looked to me as a child.

"Sure."

I feel like I can type something today. Maybe a paragraph or two.

-Author Notes
This story is particularly special to me. A release from a balloon of pent up frustration.
There are some similarities I draw from this and started to even believe that my drive was dying.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.
But... I don't want it to. If I can, I will continue to fight so what little left lives on.

Diagnosis of Free Falling

There were words that I used to say
And things I used to do
Just enough to make me smile
And just enough to make me go on with my life

I can't remember what they were
Nor can I remember when I've smiled truthfully
Because the last time I did I think I still liked myself
I can't remember the last time I thought that either

I sat for hours looking for a reason
Something to make me believe in that innocence
In that pride that made me walk tall
And those dreams that keep me alive

It made me miss the feeling of being Naive
To senselessly chase after something to prove a point
But time isn't a very nice person, you see
And he takes away the filters for you to see the truth

So in the 21 years I live
I learned to smile just enough to make people believe
That I wasn't ever empty inside
And I live now, trying to look for something to fill this hole up
Because I don't want to be empty inside anymore

Restless Silence

"Say what you have own your mind
  To yourself and no one else until its nothing more than wasted time
  Time to hurt and time to wait
  Time to see that its too little and much too late "

-Aftermath (Koethe)

(Note: This is a work of fiction)

You never really know when a person's gonna die. Or who's gonna die for that matter.
Family, Friends, Lover... We're all equal in deaths eyes.
And no matter who dies, life goes on, and you can't do anything about it.
But really, life never just goes on.
In a way, death makes you immortal, if only in others memories...
And in that immortality, it shakes the core of those who are still mortal by living standards. If only by the impossible silence they've created with their death.
That was how it felt my best friend, Will, died.
And if you think just learning a person died was devastating, it isn't as heart crushing as being the one to find them dead.
I should have predicted it, actually. Will had always been so happy and always had this smile on his face.
You wouldn't have noticed anything was different the past few weeks until you realized that his smile was far different from the one he had before things started to go wrong.
It wasn't like he was happy.
It was more like he was refreshed. Peaceful.
And my stupid mind couldn't comprehend the difference between the two until I finally took notice.
So one day he started messaging me out of nowhere to talk. So we did. We always talked.
That was probably the last time I saw him alive.
It was that night that I realized that something was wrong.
The day, we talked about memories that passed us by. Remincing was normal, but not to the extent where it got so far to how we met. And then we talked philosophy and how the world was changing and that life just went on.
He seemed so tired and refreshed at the same time.
It was 12 midnight when I realized that, so I decided I'd just go in the morning and see if he was okay.
When I got to his flat with the spare he gave me, I found him. Slumped on his refrigerator with a bottle of pills on his right hand. Belive me, I did everything in my power to try and revive him. I was CPR certified and I wasn't about to let my best friend die.
But he did.
And the medical examiner told me he had been dead for over 8 hours. So there really wasn't anything I could do.
It was at that moment that I felt this nagging, deafening silence pierce through me as the days went by with the fact that my friend has passed on, way too early than he should have.
There was no note to why he did what he did.
But there was one video on his phone. It was the last one he ever made. Like 3 hours before his plan.
He beamed that stupid refreshed smile again at me and with unnerving graititude, he said:
"It's a wonderful day. Wonderful life. I hope everything has been wonderful. I'll see you again."
There was nothing after that. Just that smile turning into pursed lips with a faint hint of the vanishing smile and one turn of his head.
His bright, gray eyes. Tired.
And nothing.
There was no whys he left behind.
Just whys that will never be answered.
I could never comprehend why things turned out this way.
He was loved, he never showed anything to make me or any of his friends believe that anything was wrong.
That he was always just smiling at us, telling us to have a good day.
This man that I vented to when my mother died. This man, who saved my sister from drowning. This man, who touched the lives of many others...
A man who saved everyone...
And no one was there to save him.
And in his wake, he left a bone crushing silence in my heart. The mark he left on me and our friends, aching for him to come back.
But he would never come back.
And time would renew again without another one of his trustful words or his smiles.
Sometimes, you'll never get a reason, and for that reason itself, you just have to find your own way of closure.
People say it gets better. And it probably will.
But never forget to realize that pain will stick around and it can be awhile before it really does get better.
So in the days after watching my friend get buried, I contemplated how I would continue.
Should I just dive after, ask him in the afterlife myself?
But then, why?
It leaves a lot of whys.
So instead, I took my time... I took the time to grieve and appreciate that he was here for me, if only for a while.
And as time went by... I coped... I healed...
I'll never understand why... And I probably never will...
But after a while, the silence didn't pierce my heart or ears.
Instead, it brought me warmth as I cherished the memories of his immortality.
And that in itself... has let me move on....

-Authors Notes
This short story shows us how life is an unpredictable element.
That life will move on as people vanish.
And that at some point, you have to just... Move on...
-Thanos Venge

A Stranger's Pieces

I didn't know you
Not personally, Not at all
Yet I saw you in the vast interweb
And I felt you touch my soul

I wanted to know you
See your life
But it was far too late for that
After all, death doesn't take calls

I long to understand you
You and your choices
And all the sorrow you left
In exchange for the peace you've gained.

I wish it wasn't you
You who connected
To this stranger's heart
To have left of your own accord

I hope happiness is with you
Because there was nothing I could have done
All but ask
Why?

Authors Notes:
This poem is about the deceased Youtuber/Musician Nathan Wills.
I didn't know him, but I heard great things about him.
And the moment I saw him on the net, I just felt a weird connection.
With that, a sadness came over me, and I didn't know what to do.
-Thanos Venge

The Co-Pact: Intro

"No one can hear you, Not at all."
-Escalators (I The Mighty)

The City of Vinctum had a pretty beautiful park. Comparable enough to that of the likes of Eastbrick City's. Enough to get it treated as a tourist spot for its fantastic view of the shimmering buildings built with fortitude and the best materials. The mayor of the city practically laughed with pride as he muttered to himself how the owners of Eastbrick and Westbrick would eat their hearts out from jealousy.
Of course, Vinctum park was notorious for one thing.
Attacks from superpowered threats. It was practically a battle ground for heroes and villains alike.
Every town or city of the Brick Circle, as people now call the circle of towns that are parallel to East or Wesbtick, all have their own gimmick. Eastbrick had a vigilante hacker. Westbrick was a small town subject to many mysteries that never seem to leave its vicinity. Vinctum's gimmick was that they had superheroes and villains.
They're practically like Gotham or Metropolis.
Except people aren't surprised anymore. There are a lot of heroes nowadays and Vinctum was one of many cities home to various superpowered beings.
Of course, that meant that there are about at least 4 or 5 attacks every week or 2. And the local heroes usually deal with them.
Though Vinctum battles are low profile that villains around here are usually defeated in an hour. Heroes here usually immigrate to the cities where there are larger threats. And not to mention they get called to battle when a gigantic threat threatens to destroy the world. Again.
So that usually leaves the city vulnerable.
But while the buildings have been made to prevent damage, and people having enough common sense to get out of the way, the villains here, while often mediocre at best, are still that. Villains.
Of course, there are some high class villains that pose a real threat, such as Ragdoll, a metahuman capable of creating high strength, high capacity cloth that can't be cut with any old knife, and Trip, a junkie with acid powers. Those two, who are attacking the park right now to try and get a bunch of college students in a photoshoot to give them their money and equipment, were a sinister force to be reckoned with.
And since there's a gigantic alien somewhere down in New York, that left this city virtuallly helpless.
Almost.
If push comes to shove, Vinctum had one more group of heroes that they could call upon.
Though this group was an uncanny bunch that didn't seem to fit like any ordinary puzzle.
The Co-Pacts.
A group of super powered humans who grouped up to cooperate on a pact they made. To this day, the citizens have no idea what sort of pact they had. But its what keeps them together.
"So, what have we got?" Dressed in a detectives trenchoat and face covered with a masquerade mask designed like a set of playing cards, Razor Flush was the defacto leader of the team. While he didn't want to, opting for a democratic teamwork, the team had occasionally needed directions and he was usually the first to direct and notice things. "Aren't you being a little too petty?"
 Ragdoll stretched his cloth hands, extending them towards Razor Flush. Of course, it was useless. The cloths had been diced into tiny pieces before Ragdoll could strike. Razor Flush's playing cards fluttering from where Razor Flush threw them.
Razor Flush had the ability to manipulate an objects density and sharpness. A mix of Picnokinesis and Aciukinesis. And so with that, he usually manipulated playing cards into becoming dagger-like projectiles.
"Maybe you need a trim." Razor Flush revealed a bunch of sharpened cards from out of his trench coat sleeeve and took a step forward to Ragdoll.
Of course, that just wasn't enough of a threat to Ragdoll as he tried again, trying numbers to overwhelm Razor Flush.
But of course, that meant the second member of Co-Pact stepped in.
The cloth, now frozen in ice, were all sliced off by a single stroke from Fencer's blade.
Fencer, clad in a graceful gold combat skirt and fencing coat and her own special mask, is a metahuman gifted with the power of Aqua and Cryokinesis from a gene splicing experiment gone wrong, made number two in Co-Pact's numbers. She fights gracefully with her sword and fencing, hence her name.
"You seriously need to give it up." She said.
Trip was the next to attack, showering them with green acid.
Of course, it didn't hit. A sacred light engulfed the liquid and burst them into nothing. A feat only Sacreed could have done. A young man with the power of Light gifted to him by another hero. He is practically the definition of a comic book hero. Not to mention his outfit was one with all the stereotypical things on it. A logo on the chest and a cape Edna Mode would never approve of.
"Miswire, a hand?"
"I gotcha." Miswire, the youngest member of the team, is a teenager gifted with the Technokinesis and Electrokinesis from being electrocuted during a freak blackout. She's suited up in a black skin tight outfit with a off shoulder top and miniskirt filled to the brim with gadgets over it.
With a snap of a finger, She stunned Trip into submission and Razor Flush Pinned Ragdoll down into the ground.
"Let's cut to the chase." Razor Flush snorted as he said that. "We either beat or kill you, or you leave with your tails between your legs and call it a day."
This was one of the reasons why Co-Pact wasn't a person's first call for help.
The team had a practically gray moral line. With Sacreed being the sole hero to uphold the usuall superhero morals of being pure and good.
Razor Flush, more of a mercenary in attitude, could care less about the methods or lives. Not to mention he was a dirty fighter. Fencer, though fighting fairly and usually gracefully, was not above killing those who she thought needed to go. And lastly Miswire, though not as easy to justify killing, is willing to commit certain acts that couldn't be considered ethical at times. And she was one to beat someone into submission if she had to.
Of course they gave chances. So Ragdoll and Trip surrendered. They were arrested and the team dispersed, uninterested in interviews.

#

It took them a while to actually get along and actually be friends.
So a few months ago, it would have been strange watching them eat pizza together at a local restaurant.
"So, what do you think about this Thanos Venge kid from Eastbrick?" Miswire asked, her interest in hacking attracting her to the famous vigilante of Eastbricj.
"Eh.. I'm not impressed." said Razor Flush as hesliced the pizza with his nail. "He gets people to pay him to avenge them. He's a mercenary, not a hero. Besides, I heard from a friend the last two battles he saw the kid fighting, he almost died if he hadn't had a gun to shoot them with. He's probably not impressive in combat."
Fencer nodded. "I agree. He should stick to his computers and mind his own business."
"But technology is sooo much fun. The way he executes justice like that... I want to know who he is!"
Sacreed laughed. "Well Miswire, if you really want to know, can't you just use your powers to hack him?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I want to find out myself without cheating like that." The Co-Pact looked at her, unbelieving.
She groaned. "Fine, his thousands of computer protection is too much even for me to crack."
A grin emit from Razor Flush. "Hmm. Maybe he isn't so bad after all."
His watch beeped and he stood, a slice of pizza still in his hand.
"Leaving so soon?" Fencer asked.
"I got work. Unlike the rest of you, I happen to like my day job."
"You should quit." Sacreed said. "Its really only gonna get in the way."
"You'll understand someday, Holy Breath."
He waved goodbye, gulping the pizza in one bite, and ran out of the restaurant.
The rest of them followed suit after having the leftovers bagged.
All of them, with a story to tell, continued on as they split from their circle.
Just another day for the Co-Pacts.

-Author Notes
This has been a lingering idea of mine for a while now. I'll probably upload art as well.
Expect a prologue of the Co-Pacts, detailing how they came to be, individual chapters for each character, and even more stories, leading up to their current team.
Hope to see you again!
Arrivaderci

-ThanosVenge

Clouds Under Gravity

"Cross your Heart and Hope to Die
  Swear that you won't tell no lie"
-You Can Run (Adam Jones)

Suicide is a strange sensation.
You can never really tell what goes on your mind as the final gasps for air escapes your lung. Of course, this is strictly speaking for Hanging or Drowning. It may apply to Jumping or pills if you live long enough to feel the effects. Guns are a little more immediate for any thoughts during the process though.
But I digress.
When a person begins to die, the thoughts that lead up to a premature death can differ for everyone.
But there's always two things that will enter your mind. And two outcomes.
"I'm dying. This is it. It'll all be over soon."
Or
"Oh God, no. I can't do this."
And what follows is either you die and it does all end. Or that you live, and the attempt fails.
What comes after is entirely up to the results. A chain reaction of bewilderment, confusion, and chaos follows after. Like a storm beginning to ravage a small, peaceful town.
I'm sorry, that's a gross miscalculation.
It was never a peaceful town, nor did the storm just begin.
It was always there.
A storm of dire, empty, angry, and sad thoughts.
The town of Quartz was a depressing rural town where people kept to themselves and didn't trust the majority of everyone.
That was the most ironic thing, considering small towns produces strong, united communities.
No, the only thing that goes around here is gossip and meaningless relationships.
In this town, there are only 4 people that I trusted.
But my older brother was long gone from a car accident.
And my mom is away at least half of the year. I never knew my Dad. He died before I could care about him.
So that leaves my older sister, Hannah, and my friend Nicholas.
I'm almost sad to leave them to be honest.
In the past few years, I've watched people leave and never come back from this place.
Everyone in Quartz wants to leave this place as soon as possible because behind the quiet and peaceful vibe this town has, it wasn't a secret that this place was a valley death.
High accident rates, Suicide Capital of the East Coast, and the most miserable atmosphere ever known to man.
I've watched this town break men into tears and make smiling children cry.
But the worst of it all was Quartz High.
A teenage wasteland for the faint of heart.
The students here keep to themselves unless you were born with the magic ticket called talent or had the guts to speak out.
The only person that can actually stand this place was Nicholas.
"You're food's getting cold, Mark." He'd tell me as I stare blankly at the food our school gives out.
Over the years I've lost any desire to live or leave.
Shackled into this weary life after you spent your ticket.
Yes, I had a ticket once.
Me and my brother.
We were both gonna get out of this town and start actually living.
He had the art. I had the vision.
But there wasn't a point anymore. He wasn't here anymore. No one else can make my visions come to life. My mother wasn't here. My father was never here. And eventually, my sister will one day leave me. And Nicholas will.
I'm alone in this empty world where no one is really here.
Sometimes I envied Nicholas and his optimistic point of view.
"Do you think my hair looks nice? The summer weather really is setting in." he would say to me, showing of his short, spiky hair. Though it is a summer weather, him wearing a jacket is a glaring contradiction.
"I really want to get out of here." He pauses. "Go somewhere cold."
I may not have any desire to leave this place, but I do want to leave. This world.
But for some reason, he thinks I want to leave Quartz and start something.
"You understand, don't you?"
I just nodded to satisfy him.
The only thing that really stops me right now is how my actions would affect the few people I do trust. And that it would be too painful.
If there's one thing Quartz was good at, it was keeping guns away from peoples hands. So a swift death wasn't going to be an option. As far as I know, only Nicholas' father owned a gun. And he was a cop.
"You ever wonder what it feels like to the people who get shot and die?" He'd ask me when I mention his dad. "Not that it matters. Barely any criminal here. Its pointless."
As he said this to me for the last time, he popped an aspirin for a headache he had. As he did, he looked so calm. Ever so calm..
It was in that day that I realized I could just down a couple of the pills my sister, who is also a nurse, keeps at the cabinet. I could just shovel them down my throat and sleep tonight. And hopefully my sister doesn't notice me.
That day I decided to leave, I had already lost any conscience of how this will affect people. Sometimes you really have to let things go if it meant getting things done.
Besides, I already made a bunch of letters before I go.
When I got home from school, I checked to see if my sister was around. She wasn't. An all nighter most likely.
So I went straight for the medicine cabinet.
But of course, someone had to knock on the door.
It was Nicholas.
"Hey." He still had that soothing look on his face. "I just wanted to drop by and see if you wanted to play some Diablo III with me and just hang out. Like old times."
I just had to entertain him, wait for him to go home.
As we spent hours mindlessly killing monsters, I began to feel some of the doubts come back to me. Nicholas, who spent the hours with me to play and chat about how things change so quickly and about life in general, made a lot of my anxieties about death resurface.
"There's so much out there. I wish I could reach them."
"You will." I say, to the only person I know capable of doing it.
He smiled. "Thanks. I know you will too." And that sort of hits me hard. Can I reach them?
He dropped the controller and began standing up. "I need to get home. Its getting late." It was 5 in the afternoon, but I suppose his dad would worry.
"Keep the game. People will come by here more if you had it." He says. "Bye."
I watched him get on his bike and pedal home.
So much out there huh?
I guess in a way, Quartz was just a starting place in a world of possibilities. But can someone so broken like me reach them?
This made me rethink of tonight. Hold it off perhaps for tomorrow.
That day, I was the one to find Nicholas at school. go on with our day and reach the cafeteria at lunch.
"I thought about what you said. And I don't know. Can I really reach out to the world?"
He smiles. "Of course you can. Even with the people you lost, what's in that great mind of yours can never be taken away. Even if your brother wasn't here, that shouldn't stop you from chasing what you wanted."
"But let's be honest Nick. If anyone's reaching anything out there, it's you."
He chuckles. "No I won't."
"You're being pessimistic. Why won't you reach anything?"
"Because I'm not even here in the first place."
That was true. He wasn't here. Never was. This conversation we had was nothing but my imagination trying to stop me from processing this day.
Today, Nicholas didn't come to school. He never will.
He was found in his room with a gunshot wound to his head.
Nicholas had been dead since that night. His father had been on the job and his mother had went to relatives for the week, and his sister was in college. Nicholas had no neighbors since they lived at the edge of the residential district where no one lived.
He had only been found when his father went into his room to wake him up for school.
So you ask what really is happening today as I attempted to fabricate this little scene with me and my dead friend?
I'm at the hospital, outside the morgue with my sister. Nicholas' father slumped down to his sides, crying for his baby boy to come back to him.
"There were letters on his person when he died." The mortician handed me a letter. "This is for you."
With it my name was written in his familiar cursive penmanship and his favorite blue pen.

In every Darkness, there's always a chance that a light will come out to guide you.
Mark Gibson, there is still light in your darkness.
While mine has faded, yours is far from it.
Reach out and escape from here.
Its too late for me, but don't let this chance slip you away.
-Nicholas Hayes

This was incredibly hypocritical and unfair.
Darkness and Light? Escape?
Why couldn't he see for himself these words he had written?
It was only later, when I visited him, that I found out.
Nicholas had been cutting himself for the past few months. It explained the jackets.
His mother didn't leave for their relatives like Nicholas had previously told me. She had been on the run after his father had found her threatening him if he told anyone about the physical and sexual abuse she had been inflicting upon him.
Regardless to say, he had been on a manhunt for his wife, that's why he had been out for a while.
Nicholas had also started to fail his classes, which I never noticed because I had been too busy trying to think of a way to die.
And he had dropped photography club for unknown reasons, despite loving photography.
This also traced back to his mother, who had kept taking pictures of a feeble Nicholas, weakened from her assaults.
I was excused from school that day. I spent the entire afternoon lying down on the couch, playing Diablo III.
I never noticed any of my tears streaking down my cheek today. I was dead silent.
As I brushed my teeth after eating my microwaved dinner, I thought to myself.
Did Nicholas get out of here like he wanted?
Did he get what he wanted?
Was it better for him to end his pain?
Was there really light in the darkness? The happiest person I know couldn't live with the darkness, no matter how much light he seemed to radiate.
Why did he leave me? Why do people keep leaving me?
Maybe that means I should just leave too.
But how should I even leave? Where would I go? Do I try to find this light or wallow in darkness?
And at that moment, in the sink, I saw the bottles of pills I prepared.