Snippet #1924200

He didn't call after Pearlie. Oh no.

He ran.

Not the, 'oh, I'm sorry, you were right' kinda run. The 'you've pushed the wrong button' run. The 'you've let the bull loose in the china shop' run. He grabbed her by the shoulder, whipping her around to face him.

"Don't you DARE speak of my parents like that!" His voice was that of an angry hiss, like a rupture in a pipe. "Don't you DARE call me a Perfect!" The walls he had put up had crumbled at that mention. "Does a Perfect do THIS?" He tore off his sleeve, revealing a pleathera of scars, no longer hidden by a skin dye. "Does a Perfect sacrifice his very BEING to learn about the corrupt system that surrounds him?" The entire time, his hands were shaking, aching in anger, seeking violence. "Does a Perfect live without a Father to be PROUD OF HIM?" Tears stung his eyes; the beast was out, and there was no stopping him now. His voice was now that of a roar, echoing across the compound:

"DOES A PERFECT WATCH AS HIS MOTHER IS MURDERED?"

His rage unleashed in a slap that never made contact, his other hand stopping it mere centimeters from her face.

He gave ragged breaths.

"...oh God..."

He fell to his knees, still struggling with his violence, tears all but halting as a glaze fell over his eyes and emotions.

"God."

His body went limp, his arms quitting their struggle.

"...I'm the monster..."

Same glaze on his face, he stood again, not looking at the woman that he had almost struck. "I..." He gave a shudder of regret. "I apologize..."

It was as sincere as he was going to get. This time, he left, making his way toward the fence cackling with electricity. He sat down but an arm's length away, seeming to listen to the hum as if it were words of God, beckoning him to welcome Death.