The red drops dripped onto the ground, one by one.
The knife fell onto the ground with a clink.
This world is filled with nothing but lies. Fake smiles, half-hearted hugs.
Even if there is truth in this world, it will be enveloped in false statements, until there's no line between reality and tragedy.
Niou looked at the tip of the blade, for a brief moment wanting to reach out with his finger and touch its tip. He knew what would happen next, though, so he decided against it and put the knife back on the table, triumphantly looking at it, the gleam blinding him for a moment when the sun's rays bounced off the metal.
His heart rate would increase each time he took a look at that knife, his knife, the knife that was especially made for him. He owned this, this device that fit perfectly into his hands each time the tip tore across flesh, tearing and tearing, driving deeper and deeper. Niou could practically feel the blood surging through the metal, into his fingertips, excitement rising and boiling up inside his chest until he couldn't take it anymore.
No one would be able to save him now. He had gone too far, too deep into this, and there was no backing out. Not anymore.
The world didn't even need him; it'd probably be much better off with one less life. That meant one more mouth to feed somewhere out there.
He was just wasting space. Wasting space in a filthy world filled with tragedy, despair, and hopelessness.
There was nothing good about this world.
Those lifeless eyes that stared back at him, unblinking, nothing, empty. That's what his knife did to them, to all of them. That's how powerful that sharp, silver blade was, the blade that he had taken from a store nearby his house. The knife that he didn't even pay for, and yet it gave him so much pleasure to see those lifeless eyes, to hear those choked screams, adrenaline pumping through his veins, the fear of getting caught. All of that he experienced, just with this one device alone.
Niou was assured that it was the most powerful device on earth. Sitting right in his hands, waiting to be used again.
Niou thought that humans, quite frankly, were very hypocritical. Teachers lectured their students about making the world a better place and doing their best, when they themselves were the ones slacking off and turning this world into a dumpster. Parents lectured about their kids getting good grades, and yet they themselves didn't try hard enough in school and that was why they had such low-salary jobs. Romance novelists talked about love, about soulmates, but as far as Niou was concerned more and more people were getting divorces nowadays and married couples who hadn't divorced yet were still fighting on and on.
Niou thought there was something disturbingly wrong with this world, how this world was set up and how it was run.
Niou thought there was something disturbingly wrong with this world, how no one came to help him, how no one knocked on his door and demanded him to grow up and stop doing this to himself. It was like no one noticed; no one cared what the hell he did or who the hell he killed.
He was stuck in a never-ending cycle of wanting to kill people and yet not wanting to kill people. He wanted someone to help him, and yet he didn't want anyone to help him.
Niou thought there was something wrong with himself.
Each time Niou heard the clink of the knife as it fell onto the ground, he smiled. Sometimes he would even give out a little chuckle as he washed the blood off the blade, watching as blood mixed with water and eventually disappeared into some sewer under Tokyo.
He had become a hunter, hunting his prey one by one, hunting them down. He thought of himself as an invincible man, someone who would never get caught, the king predator of all beings in this world.
Niou found out just how wrong he was.
All Niou can hear now are the screams, the cries of all the victims that he has killed as he stares at the gun before him. He can clearly remember each scream, each voice that has called out to him.
He remembers this so well, and the images in his head are so vivid he doesn't even notice the trigger being pulled, the barrel still pointed at him, the man still giving him that smirk.
Niou looks at the gun, the black, shiny weapon pointed directly at him, and he wonders what he has done wrong.
There is a click, a loud noise, and Niou is staring at a bullet that is going directly at him, going ever so slowly, as if it has all the time in the world to reach him and doesn't want to rush it. He can feel the metal rubbing against his forehead, and then everything becomes black.
Shishido smirks and lowers his gun. "Now you truly have become nothing."
Don't kill me please, especially you Solitaire Pair fans out there. This fic was merely...written out of strange dealings in my head? I dunno, it's totally weird and it goes too much in depth about knives, I think. Something's wrong with me. XD