help me | help you | (Tom)
Jun 20, 2014 15:49:35 GMT -5
Post by Knuckles on Jun 20, 2014 15:49:35 GMT -5
W I L L Y O U S T I L L C A L L M E S U P E R M A N
K R Y P T O N I T E Z E I
DISTRICT6 | SEVENTEEN | MALE
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K R Y P T O N I T E Z E I
DISTRICT6 | SEVENTEEN | MALE
_______________________________________________________
Pain, both mental and physical is all Krypt seems to know especially since the explosion that ended the life of his mom and twin brother. Every day he's alive they fly across his mind. He holds onto the promise that one day he'll see them again in the afterlife where they all can walk together without any worry in the world because they'll be gone, worry free for the rest of eternity. Watching how his dad deals with the death of his wife and son, destroys every ounce of strength remaining inside Krypt. His dad is always drinking and breaking promises. It's nothing new because even before the death of his mom and brother, Krypt's dad was a liar, but it doesn't make it easier to deal with.
"I'll stop drinking, I promise."
Yeah right.
The pain of losing part of his foot still floods his mind every time his heart beats. It was his own fault; however, it doesn't stop the pain from getting any better. In fact, if you ask Krypt, the pain has only gotten worse since the amputation. Each time something rubs against it, pain shoots through his body forcing screams into the air. It's red in color and oozing a greenish gunk which can mean only one thing, infection. He's tried going to his dad many times over it, but the drunkard is never of any help. "You did this to yourself. I ain't able to help."
I know, but you could at least help me.
It's different today, though. Heat radiates from Krypt's flushed cheeks. His face is the color of a sheet of paper, and the pain running through his foot has become unbearable. Every step Krypt takes causes his muscles to convulse begging him to stop. Thin hands wrap around the giant stick resting in front of the door. It's nothing major, but it allows him the chance to walk without worry of falling over. Last time he walked out of his house with the cane, the first person to see him laughed. What seventeen year old has to walk with some sort of device assisting them? Krypt is a rare case, but the laughter isn't enough to stop him.
"I'll be back later, dad." Not that you care. Krypt can't get used to the sound of his hoarse voice although he's been living with it for a couple years now. It's a constant reminder of what happened, that he killed his mom, his brother, and so many other people out of stupidity. He should have listened when she told him not to mix the chemicals together, but he was young, and wanted to prove he knew what he was doing. Now, it's something remaining on his chest the rest of his life. He slams the door shut behind him wanting his dad to realize he's tired of all the crap.
Step by step, Krypt drags himself along the dirt road. His left foot kicking rocks sending them flying in every direction making it look like a dust storm has passed through. The sun sits high in the sky baring down upon anyone who steps in it's path. Birds hum a catchy tune talking to the other birds as they fly through the air, free from pain and suffering. Sometimes, Krypt wishes he was a bird because he could escape from the grasp of those in charge. He's tired of people lying to him saying they care when deep inside the truth is far away.
Liars need to die because they have no purpose in life.
All his weight presses down upon the makeshift cane as he fights to keep his body moving. Sweat pours from his brow dripping down his face before dropping to the ground vanishing forever. Krypt turns down a path leading towards the main drag. His heart leaps under his chest making it impossible to breathe normally. Each step he takes his muscles beg for him to stop, to give up, but it won't happen, he can't give up because all he wants is to survive. Krypt is tired of his dad telling him everything is his fault; he wants to prove he's capable of doing something despite the curses flooding through his veins every single day.
Hope fills Krypt's veins as he turns the corner and the hospital is resting in front of him.
Someone can finally save me.
I am strong, but I am weak.
And I refuse to talk to anyone who says,
'You are weak.'
"I'll stop drinking, I promise."
Yeah right.
The pain of losing part of his foot still floods his mind every time his heart beats. It was his own fault; however, it doesn't stop the pain from getting any better. In fact, if you ask Krypt, the pain has only gotten worse since the amputation. Each time something rubs against it, pain shoots through his body forcing screams into the air. It's red in color and oozing a greenish gunk which can mean only one thing, infection. He's tried going to his dad many times over it, but the drunkard is never of any help. "You did this to yourself. I ain't able to help."
I know, but you could at least help me.
It's different today, though. Heat radiates from Krypt's flushed cheeks. His face is the color of a sheet of paper, and the pain running through his foot has become unbearable. Every step Krypt takes causes his muscles to convulse begging him to stop. Thin hands wrap around the giant stick resting in front of the door. It's nothing major, but it allows him the chance to walk without worry of falling over. Last time he walked out of his house with the cane, the first person to see him laughed. What seventeen year old has to walk with some sort of device assisting them? Krypt is a rare case, but the laughter isn't enough to stop him.
"I'll be back later, dad." Not that you care. Krypt can't get used to the sound of his hoarse voice although he's been living with it for a couple years now. It's a constant reminder of what happened, that he killed his mom, his brother, and so many other people out of stupidity. He should have listened when she told him not to mix the chemicals together, but he was young, and wanted to prove he knew what he was doing. Now, it's something remaining on his chest the rest of his life. He slams the door shut behind him wanting his dad to realize he's tired of all the crap.
Step by step, Krypt drags himself along the dirt road. His left foot kicking rocks sending them flying in every direction making it look like a dust storm has passed through. The sun sits high in the sky baring down upon anyone who steps in it's path. Birds hum a catchy tune talking to the other birds as they fly through the air, free from pain and suffering. Sometimes, Krypt wishes he was a bird because he could escape from the grasp of those in charge. He's tired of people lying to him saying they care when deep inside the truth is far away.
Liars need to die because they have no purpose in life.
All his weight presses down upon the makeshift cane as he fights to keep his body moving. Sweat pours from his brow dripping down his face before dropping to the ground vanishing forever. Krypt turns down a path leading towards the main drag. His heart leaps under his chest making it impossible to breathe normally. Each step he takes his muscles beg for him to stop, to give up, but it won't happen, he can't give up because all he wants is to survive. Krypt is tired of his dad telling him everything is his fault; he wants to prove he's capable of doing something despite the curses flooding through his veins every single day.
Hope fills Krypt's veins as he turns the corner and the hospital is resting in front of him.
Someone can finally save me.
I am strong, but I am weak.
And I refuse to talk to anyone who says,
'You are weak.'
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