Snippet #1754857

The silence was like a blanket of fresh snow, and his mothers sobs were flecks of blood being flung down like paint from an angry artist's palette. Half of Markus's mind was beginning to break down in silent wails of its own. What had he done? What was the ends of all this pain? Why had he done such a thing, caused such pain to his mother and his brother. The other half was stone cold. He'd done what he had to do to achieve his goals. And they'd believed him. he had to suffer through the pain to achieve his goals. He had to act on his ideas. They were perfect. They worked. And if they worked, then that meant that they had to be used, or that was genius wasted.

And then came the soft voice of his brother, soft but cutting like gentle fire through sweet grass. Markus's fingers shook. His body shivered. His lips trembled slightly. But his mind was still as he listened to the words. What was his brother planning? It wasn't usually like him to speak in such a tone, or with such a furious force behind each word. The youth stared at his brother, green eyes dull. But a tinge of fear began to grow in him at the other's first words, the words that grew in intensity as they were spoken. And then Zander's eyes met his. It hurt slightly, the weight of the lie, but the stone portion of his heart, the all or nothing, the end justifies the means portion kept it beating still.

"Yes brother." He mumbled softly. It was the wisest thing to do, complying. He followed Zander into their room, his mind whirling, groping for an idea where there was none. He'd exhausted his bank of thought for the day. All that was left was a knowledge that he had to protect himself from his brother and his mother realizing what he'd done. The crime he'd committed. His plan of personal gain.

He gathered his things, trying to think of someway to stop it without being too obvious about it. Perhaps if he brought death to Zander's mind it would change it? "Zander." He said softly, almost a question for him to continue speaking. usually he was much less serious than this, but what he was doing now required a stark amount of precision, and he didn't think he could keep the facade up any other way. "What if they kill us too? I don't want ta die like Tommy did, Zander." The weapon that was inherent in being the youngest was wielded. His fingers were tangled in one of his shirts, and he looked up at his brother, but didn't attempt to meet the other's eyes. he just stared fixedly at the young man's chin. He could always kill Zan too, but water was much more effective on water than wind was, and Mark wouldn't have the same element of surprise. Zan would be wary. Not of him, but of merely a threat. and he couldn't reveal himself unless he finished the job. And he had to kill Zan himself. it was the only way he could satisfy himself. To be unique meant to be the one to eradicate the opposition himself. A show of power.