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He is a good person.
Yeah. Maybe he exploits, maybe he cheats. Maybe he does things that someone with perfect morals wouldn't, and does things that mainly are for himself.
It's understandable though.
Anyone would do something like what he does if they were put in his shoes. Anyone would do the same, exact, things.
It's unfair how others don't seem to get that.
They push. And push. And push.
He just tries to live his own life, but other people seem to have a problem with that.
They follow him. They judge his decisions as if they weren't each thought through carefully. They call him out for simply reacting to situations around him.
He just wants to do whatever he wants. It doesn't harm other people constantly. He's not like that. He refuses to be like that.
Others act like everything he does harms other people.
It's frustrating.
He did nothing wrong.
He doesn't act out unreasonably like they say he does. It was in self defense. Or because someone triggered him on purpose. Or because he was just doing something and others got caught in the crossfire.
He never meant to harm anyone.
He doesn't harm others.
He doesn't.
Blue flowers rest at a grave.
They're beautiful, even in their simplicity. Colorful compared to grey stone.
Rich blue petals rest against dry grass and rough stone.
He had to do it. Even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to.
The grave proof of his genuine regret.
He didn't want to.
He supports the family. He protects them by giving them supplies. He's helpful. He makes decisions that are good for them. Even if he is doing it to make himself feel better, aren't all acts of kindness like that?
It's a normal way to react. Anyone would do it.
Maybe it makes up for what he did.
Ragged stone, a light brown, spiky.
His hand are stained. He didn't want to though, so it's fine.
He had to.
The grave is ruined.
Stained with dirt and grime.
He didn't ruin it. It was other people.
What reason would they have to do that? They didn't like him, but he didn't do anything wrong.
Self defense is not bad.
Invisible walls close in on him. Pressure. They push him back, then they force him forwards again.
He reacts normally.
A white blur falling down into pitch black.
Comforting darkness seems a bit more constricting.
It's self defense. He has good reasons. He's not bad, but they force his hand.
Shaky hands hold onto a flower.
Soft blue falls down. The pressure around the flower suffocating it.
The flower is dead, from the moment it was picked from the ground. Beautiful bright blue stays up anyway. As time passes petals wilt and fall off, but it's fine. The flower was destined to die, it just died faster than usual.
Being deprived of the resources needed to die causes death, slow. Color slowly fading.
The fallen petals, curled and darkened, look beautiful in some kind of way.
Comforting.
Dark hands grip a dull stem, a single shred of shriveled up blue.
The darkness surrounds him, comforting.
The pressure presses down on him. It makes his chest hurt as he gasps in air to fit the void. It makes his hands shake from the exhaustion of their tight hold on a slim stem. It makes his legs shake and his knees give out to let him fall to the ground. It pounds on his head as if demanding entry.
The darkness hurts slightly, but it's good.
The darkness helps. It always has, so why would it stop now?
His back hurts just slightly as he hunches over, straining as his shoulders shake.
It's a normal reaction. Something anyone would do.
He has every right to be mad. He has every right to open up the darkness and let it swallow a dirtied white whole. The darkness constantly begs for more, demands more.
Hunger. Hunger for the wrong ones. Hunger for the one who needed to be gotten rid of despite him not wanting to. Hunger for any offering of scraps.
A void grows in his chest, and his palms hit the ground to catch himself.
The more it's fed, the bigger it grows, devouring everything.
Maybe he can sleep.
Deal with it later.
Eyes close, a sharp pain behind them soothing slightly as the darkness devours.