A twisted image

Today, the boy really wants to ruin the atmosphere in his surroundings. For some reason, he just wants to be strange and off duty in this short space.

Winter is on its way to come back tomorrow night. Yes, it’s Winter again, and his feeling now is becoming quite a good-for-nothing, lying between the point of delight and the point of disgrace, which somehow creates this twisted indifference. To put it simply, he doesn’t know how to address his emotion right now.

It has been already a week since that shocking moment, and he is still here, on the verge of tearing apart his own physical health. This should not be happening, yet ironically, it must happen so that he can be forced to realize something. Realizing has always been a job to do all his life, and as a given, it never pays any wage. There are only interests of doubt and stress, heaping up the debts over and over again.

On each of those old days when his physical power was at its fullest, after a long-running race, he came home, headed upstairs to the highest floor and watched over it, listening to the familiar trill around the balcony. He always adored it more than its friend living downstairs, and all the time it had been responding to him the most. The way it lived without any fear of human like him, with all the fluttering sound that helped fulfill his days from time to time, was totally admirable.

Those trills used to make his fatigue disappear, and that balcony was the place where his stinking sweat was never of any concern. He just stood there for a long silence, while no one knew what he had been doing until the later moment he went to take a shower.

However, that was the story of a memorable Summer. When Winter came, the bird hardly showed any sign of changing mood like he usually did, and in fact, if they hadn’t done anything to prevent the intense cold from the cage, troubles would have happened much … earlier.

Yes, sadly and disgracefully, he has to let the word ‘earlier’ out. Sooner or later, they all have to face the same ending, in which the bird has to leave them. More exactly, the birds. 

It was not the first time, yet despite the fact that he has already grown up now, he hasn’t been able to change anything. He just knows nothing and only keeps blaming himself for everything he has done, over and over again, until he cannot care less about who he is and why things like that kept happening to him in his life. Especially, in love.

Now, they all stink. The malodour not only comes from the sweat but also the stench of damage and pain. He cannot stare on that balcony any longer and silently retreats into the house.

He smells death. The reek of murder, from inside out. Something important, is about to be killed.


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