I can see it in your eyes [Pogue/Kousei]

[kousei ♚]

SHADOW

Apparently I should be afraid. It's so late. White starts that decorate the sky weep from above, the sun long since been replaced, indicating that it's late. The cold bitter wind licks the the flesh of my hands like a knife and I can't help but internally wince. I should be at home. My family's probably worried sick despite the fact I find myself doing this nearly every day. It's funny because when I get home I don't even get questioned, they're just relieved to find that I'm back and haven't gotten myself thrown in the detention centre or anything like that (as if I'd be stupid enough to do such a thing) and I go about my normal business.

I should be expecting this, after all it's not easy running my own internal puppet show. Once my strings have been attached to someone I need to keep them there or they might just end up cutting themselves loose then control will be lost forever. I have to keep visiting the numerous puppets dotted around this little area in District six so I can keep them wrapped around my finger where they belong. I'm on my way back from one now, I'm still in the process of wrapping my strings around her limbs so of course it will take just a bit more commitment.

The price of my commitment? I've watched the clock tick down now, it's ticked down and down so now it's late; well early. Last time I checked my cheap barely function watch it was quarter past twelve. This is the price of committing myself to keeping myself committed to changing someone from person to puppet. Perhaps when I get back I'll expect to hear another lecture from my dad.

"Need to be careful, there's a lot of psychos crawling around the District at times like this son." Is what he usually says when I come back late. Although, there's not much they can do; I'm not fifteen any more. Besides, I still help out, my late nights don't really affect me. They have no ground to complain.

If I can add another puppet to my collection then this will all be worth it.

It's dark, my only illumination being the street lights decorated around the street. Better get used to it, I'll be out here trying to get home for at least another half hour. I have to travel a while to get from there to home but it's still worth it. Cold biting my exposed hands I shove them in my insulated pockets and clench my jaw, calmly filling the air with the sounds of my soft footsteps. Each step feels like another mission added to an ever growing list, each moment adds another complaint to my growing list.

Truth is, I hate times like these. Once I've finished with my little meetings and I have to leave after a certain amount of time. The problem is I can't exactly feel accomplished because you can't always see the progress so I don't always know it's happening. I kind of just continue on and let it happen until I eventually hit that sweet spot, the peak of puppet mastery where I've hit my maximum with that person. It better be worth it, I better have another puppet to add to the show.

I sigh, my breath forming a clean fog in front of my face like smoke from a cigarette. "So damn cold." I tell myself, staring at the grovel ground as it moves under me with every slow step. Well, according to my dad, the cold should be the last thing on my mind at this time: killers, robbers and corrupt peacekeepers according to him but I never paid attention to that. Why should I fear the unseen? Nothing anyone tells me causes this thing known as 'fear' to strike my heart. Scrap that; nothing at all has caused me to feel fear. From what I've heard it's a mind killer anyway, I have no need for tha-

I look up from the cold moving ground and in the corner of my eye I see a figure. A person, a shadow in the dark down the road. I'm just observant. My feet come to an automatic halt and everything stops. I slowly turn my head so I can get a better view of him or her. Whatever the fuck they are.

Is this a time to be afraid?

It's funny thinking of it like that, people don't really think or decide to be afraid (at least that's what people tell me) it just happens. Adrenaline should be pulsing through my veins, my knees should feel as flimsy as paper and I should be quivering in my boots. My brain should feel threatened, impulses and alarm be ringing throughout my body and telling me to run or something. Or perhaps I should be frozen to the spot and unable to move like a paralysed victim as I piss my pants. It should all be instinctive, it should just happen without my consent.

If this person was some kind of crazy killer I guess I'd be fucked. Switching masks and putting on acts won't get me out of taking a knife to the heart. If they slash my jugular I can try and use all the tongue twisting words in the world but once I'm cut I'm dead.

Just like that.

I'm not much of a fighter.

I stare at them calmly, silently grateful for the fact that they haven't noticed me (killers, robbers and corrupt peacekeepers) but fear has nothing to do with that. I'm impulsive, I'm fearless and that's what makes me dangerous.

I begin to follow them without so much as a second thought.