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Hiori pressed down on his controller, shooting a zombie straight in its face, the noises of their disgusting fleshy screams paired with gunfire ringing out Hiori's headphones, the volume loud enough that even if you were stood at the end of the room you could hear the sound pouring from his headset. The room was completely dark, only light being his monitor, Hiori hunched over with the controller tightly gripped between hands, sitting criss cross on his gaming chair. His eyes soullessly followed his cursor, shooting every enemy in his sight. The noise wasn't doing much to help ease the restlessness poking at his mind, hands gripping firmer onto the buttons as he shot down another.
Usually, he would pretend the enemies were those in his life. That one person who ignored him. The clerk who was a little rude at check out. His classmates. His soccer teammates. Mom and Dad. When it came to those final two, he'd make sure to shoot them where they were alive long enough to feel all the hurt, to feel the coagluating blood choke down on them, to feel their hearts beat and beat until it realised it was pointless. To taste the bitterness and sharpness of blood, their own blood, like the bitterness and apathy they'd buried into Hiori. Of course, he could never imagine himself hurting someone else, not out of a moral obligation, but he wasn't too sure what he'd do after anyways.
He didn't have a particular interest in anything that his parents didnt let him, videogames being one of the few things theyd allowed him to escape into. He was another cog in the machine of society, he'd grow up to be just that, probably. He'd quit soccer once he could, that was for certain. If he wanted to reap the benefits of a modern-day society, like video games, he would have to contribute and follow the rules. But the deep hunger, the hollowness the anger that stirred within him still remained, his hand pressing down hard as zombies screamed in pain as he sprayed bullets.
A finger adjusted to the side of the controller, flicking a button to turn up the volume, but the noise provided zero support in drowning out his internal monologue. He had recently been approached by a group at school, nice enough. Hiori had started to build a sense of community, maybe this is what it meant to like people, the sense of companionship filling his hollowness, patching the resentment and misanthropy deeply embedded in his heart little by little, a sense of belonging. Hiori had never felt that. Sure, he had had friends, but they were simply people who existed around his own existence, he did not feel any particular care for them and he was more then positive that they all felt the same, if not worse.
He was innately an outsider, the stitchings and innerworkings of his brain rotten and scewed. Apathetic, quiet, uninterest, disconnected. People didn't see much of a personality in him aside from being quiet, polite. Good at soccer too, maybe. But he wasnt interesting really, and when people knew the deep planted anger in him, they were sure to turn around. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but it was unfixable, etched into him. He hated that. Broken bones could be fixed, stab wounds and cuts could be treated, people could even recover from the deadliest of diseases. But Hiori was sick in a unique way, even as the cuts on his thighs scabbed over, his brain would never heal naturally. An injury the body or hospitals couldn't treat.
Maybe thats why his newfound group drifted bit by bit, conversations he wasnt apart of, words about Hiori but never exchanged with him. That loneliness returned, the patches coming undone, thats how Yo was reminded. His sickness was sewn into the very fiber of his being, his muscles, his bloodstream, his very DNA. No bandage could help him. His hands shook a little harder, grip becoming tighter as his aim became sloppier, teeth gritting with narrowing eyes. He never understood how he could feel everything yet nothing at once, moments of anger and hurt dissapating into complete apathy and numbness in seconds. Right now he was angry and hurt, he had always been. But for a bit, he was okay.
For a bit he had felt accepted into a society that wasn't meant for someone like him, a painkiller. But painkillers dont kill the pain as dubbed, they numb it, your still injured you just cant feel it. You cant feel that razor sharp blade pressing against scarred skin, you cant feel that anger and rage, you cant feel the violence. But what do you do when its gone? All out of meds? It wears off? Are you expected to go back to being hurt? Time turns, life moves on, nothing lasts forever, he wasn't dumb. But he still missed that, a genuine desire of his, something that wasnt just parents, videogames and that stupid fucking sport.
Why was he doomed to hurt? Why why why, just why? Hiori hunched forward, his face nearing the monitor. He sounded idiotic, like some angsty teenager, but its how he felt. He wanted to take a gun and blow their fucking heads off smooth, he wouldnt, but he wanted to. He wanted to hurt them, relish in broken bones and screams outside the screen. His blood wasn't enough. Razor sharp and sugar-coated, just cock and reload it, all these scars werent worth it.
He was killed by an enemy, Hiori letting out a grunt in frustration, deeply sighing as he curled his head between his thighs, controller holding hands pressing against the top of his head in frustration, anger bubbling in him. As much as he himself could never feel love, never bond to someone as others could, it was still isolating. Maybe it wasnt he couldnt, he just couldnt do it like regular people could. Maybe his love was different. He thought he could find others who would understand that unique kind of love, but he was wrong. Even if love was violent, angry, and cynical, it was still love? Maybe everyone was secretly sick aswell, maybe everyone else was superb at hiding it. He wasnt sure if his love was unique, or his violence, his apathy, his beliefs or philosophy was unique, he couldnt understand or peek into the minds of others.
Actually, he didn't care if they were the same. He didn't care if the other 8 billion or so people on this earth were as dark or twisted, or more. They were all human right? Why not love him? Hiori's desire to be loved, desire to be wanted conflicted with his hatred for humanity, a sinking feeling stirring within his gut. He couldnt even understand himself, nevertheless other people.
Was living always such a struggle? Was it meant to be? He knew it had hardships, but a story's conflict always has a resolution. Where was his? He didnt want to live in a world so isolated, frozen over. Fuck that noise, fuck that all. As much as he indulged himself and relished in the ideas of others pain, he himself didn't want to hurt. Well, that was partially wrong, but he didn't want it to hurt when he died. He wanted to sleep and never wake up. Itd be like quitting soccer, quick and easy with 2 words.
" I Quit. "