Chapter Text
“I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite.” - Isle of Dogs
noun: altruism
disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others.
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He sat on that damn same empty corner in the train station, a mimicking prison cell of his own mind. Theodore slouched down further, looking at his fingers and hands. The skin was weathered and uncared for, painted with an array of dark dirty colours. He can’t remember the last time he cared enough to wipe away the filth from underneath his untrimmed nails or the last time he even bothered to cut the curls that spilled over his hopeless eyes. Maybe it was for the best. The despair and bitter look in his eyes scared everyone away, even the young and naive kids who would come by to see if the man at the train station was okay.
Theodore wallowed in his own hopeless, self-inflicted and selfish sadness. It was stupid and completely foolish. If only he had been better. Now, he spent his days rotting away in random places, looking for some or any semblance of shelter. Solitude was his home and apathy was his sole comfort.
He had opened his heart before, never again. Absolutely never again. It was torn from his chest and crumpled like the worthless piece of paper that he wrote his vulnerable self on.
Those words of admiration and love were everything to him.
But they were just words.
The poems he wrote, creatively crafted and composed, with every single detail he could ever imagine were torn apart and forgotten forever by the very own subject of his affections. Theodore would never, no, he could never ever let anyone hurt him like that again. The scrunched up sheets of boundless love reflect his very own heart. Broken. No, perhaps, shattered would be better. Broken things can be mended, you can stick them back together and put a bandaid over it and it’s all okay. His heart was in shards. There would never ever be anyone who would care enough to painstakingly examine the tiny fragments and put them back together. Who would care enough to do something as stupid as that?
He was just the poet. Never the poem.
Theodore felt the familiar pinprick of tears threatening to escape his lifeless eyes. He hated it, despised it with every fiber of his very essence. Who was he to cry? What made it worse was being in a public train station, sitting in the corner like a useless homeless hobo.
It felt like he was fighting an uphill battle against his own sadness. He loathed it when it showed but in the most utterly disgusting and unhealthy way, he adored how it made him feel inside. It festered inside him like an infection, breaking him from the inside-out.
He almost did cry. But, the tears wouldn’t come even after he forfeited. Theodore was too dehydrated to even think straight, nonetheless cry. He swallowed his own saliva, where he felt the intense sandpaper-like sensation of his throat. It was like the barbwire that he jumped over to run away from being caught for trespassing. A true form of payback for his actions in his worthless life.
Did the lights dim? He looked up when he noticed a shadow blocking the cool lighting of the train station. Someone stood there. This stranger offered a hand out, to which Theodore gave a shake of the head in response.
“I’m fine,” He gritted. His voice was hoarse and devoid of any emotion.
“Are you though?” The voice replied softly with a warm tone. Something unfamiliar to the slouched man. Before Theodore could say anything, the stranger sat beside him.
Theodore sighed and accepted that this stranger wouldn’t leave.
“Why are you here? To feel better about yourself, to pity me or is to just mock me?” Theodore questioned with an aggressive undertone.
“No… I- just thought you looked.. lonely.” The stranger answered with a kind and gentle voice.
“Can you go find someone else to annoy?” Theodore sighed. He shuffled away from the foreign figure slightly.
“… Okay.” The person got up regretfully and left.
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Thank. God.
People were truly annoying. They were annoying little things. They never changed. No matter what situation it was. These vermin would be selfish, self-fulfilling and despicable. He had learnt that the difficult way. Who truly even cares about others? It’s all for show. Theodore knew it was an act to seem better.
They call it altruism. He doesn’t even need to think, he knew that no such thing like that existed. He felt sick that people believed that candy-coated sickeningly sick lie.
That person who’s as just there was definitely not going to help him. They probably just wanted someone to pity.
His eyes closed as he slumped over his knees in the corner of the station. He slowly fell into a deep slumber.
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It was another boring, plain and sickening day. Theodore had woken up at midday. He knew from the clocks that adorned the rough and coarse brick walls of the station. It was a familiar sight for sore eyes. As always, the empty pit in his stomach made itself apparent. Was it hunger? Or was it the filthy amalgamation of rotting disease and infection that plagued his body?
God. When would it end? He pleaded to himself. Would the pain tempting his mind and soul ever be cured?
No, and he was dumb to even think that it could be any other way. Why waste time hoping that the impossible would happen? Fate can’t be changed or rewritten.
He peered into the torn paper cup that was beside him. A few coins and notes were thrown there, discarded by passing people in an attempt to be altruistic. To make themselves feel better about the fact that he had nothing and they had everything he could ever want.
They had a shelter. Somewhere warm to sleep and food that could easily make him feel any better. Eating another scrappy meal from the convenience store felt like it would make him throw up. Everyday that he gave in and got it using the money we received, he swore that there would be a day when he wouldn’t have to.
Most importantly, those undeserving privileged pieces of trash had someone. Anyone.
He had no one.
The shattered remains of his heart did still yearn from the comforting embrace of a loved one. But after all, there was a reason that his heart was broken in the first place.
That person. That sick woman.
She whispered sweet-nothings to him about their love and affection. She nodded on and looked at him with excitement when he blabbed on about his poems. God, it had been a long time since he thought about those.
She had seemed so
content.
Who knew that one day she would just abandon everything that he thought they built together. He repeated the same words in his head that became his new mantra. Never again.
Never again would he let someone in like that.
Never again would he love someone like that.
Never again would he pour out his tender feelings like that.
No. He wouldn’t ever dare to pick up a pen.
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So, why was that same sick person back at the station, clearly eyeing him from across the platform? Just because he lived at the station didn’t mean he wasn’t intellectually stunted.
He internally groaned as the short figure approached once again. It was supposed to be never again.