Hold the Future

Dejection was painted on the brunette's face as watched Mark get taken away by the soldier and his friends. 

Her eyes listlessly watch the young man's tragedy conclude, knowing that a new one would soon begin for him. 

Inside, a heart softly tapped, just like it had for half of her life. Everything was balanced, lukewarm, stable- at peace. 

Seeing her investment be taken away, she would have felt remorse, perhaps even regret and sorrow, but there was nothing inside. The sentiments were null - long gone. 

Mark was a pawn. 

He was too weak to be anything more. 

He couldn't see the world like she, that soldier and the red-eyed man could. He didn't have the money nor the pure talent to thrive. 

As such, he remained used. He remained a tool to whoever needed him used. His former boss at the bar, whoever the leader of the Hounds was, and even she had kept the poor vagrant for her own bidding. 

Maybe if Mark starts to see the world the way she does, he can finally free himself from the board, and rise. 

The brunette grew distracted from the irrelevant scene and looked at the palm of her hand. It was a habit that had come from a long period of doing nothing. 

She could almost see the somber house that was so familiarly connected with the void above her empty palm. 

In it, her mother remained in a state between comfort and absence. The woman's expression could only be seen as a side-effect of the young girl's actions. 

It was when that giant clock had finally fallen that she found something deep inside herself. This semblance was all-encompassing, limitless in potential, multifaceted. 

For the first time in her life, hope existed. 

All she had to do was reach forward and pry it from the void. 

Glass lay shattered on the floor, for not a soul bent down to clean them up. Each piece reflected a different part of the house, but they all were dark and somber. Only in the shard the brunette focused on would she be able to see the slightest bit of light. 

Her will was the only kindle in the lifeless air of this lethargic abode. 

A menacing pair of steps walked up to the front of her house and an old failure of a man came in. 

That same person was back to torture them again. 

She watched the shadow of a man approach. He looked disheveled, ragged, and most of all - ferocious. 

He looked at her mother, who helplessly remained on the floor, unmoving, with a smile forced onto her face. 

Seeing such an expression on the woman's face, he was enraged. 

Every word and movement was imprinted in the brunette's mind. 

"You... you fucking leech! What right do you have to sit there and smile!? Get up! Do something! Stop giving me that look when I am the one who has to work his back off, every, goddamn day, to let you exist!"

The woman didn't budge. That smile refused to fade as if it were mockingly fixed on her face. 

Anger rolled through the room. Clenching his fist and grinding his teeth, the man stomped to the kitchen. 

Though not in sight, the brunette heard something fall to the floor with a crash. A chorus of shouts and curses followed.

It was almost miraculous how her father tripped at that moment. Perhaps everything that came after wouldn't have happened if it weren't for his mere slip. 

A cacophony ensued in the kitchen. Everything that could be broken was violently thrashed, the sound of it all let the girl visualize the destruction. At some point, the noise stopped, replaced by a dreadful silence. 

This time, the silence was much worse, much more suffocating than ever before.

Her eyes widened as the man returned. 

In his hands, she saw the distorted reflection of herself on an incandescent knife. The man had lost vigor and passion. All that was left was a vile will. 

"What have I done to get here... no matter, no matter. Right? Everything can still be fixed... no. It can't be. Better just cut the losses short." 

He continued mumbling and pointed the knife at the brunette. An incandescent glimmer shone from the steel tip of the blade. 

"It's all your fault, isn't it? It's you, and your mother who makes me suffer so..." 

Watching him approach, the girl felt as if she were staring death in the face. She shivered and looked down at the shattered glass. 

The reflection of her face shook in trepidation, her heart pounded with such intensity that she thought it would burst through her chest and spill onto the floor with a pile of blood. 

Steps echoed in her ears, anxiety permeated her body, and her mind, it was frenzied, almost seeming like there was an inner seizure, the brain moving around all chaotically and without reason. 

Her breaths quickened to an insatiable speed. Her eyes dilated and contracted. Her fingers writhed under the muted pressure. 

And throughout it all, she felt something at the back of her head. Slowly, nearly unnoticeably, it was stirred by her turmoil. 

Everything blanked. 

...

A second had passed, or maybe a few. 

When the girl came back, she was holding something. 

For some reason, her eyes looked at the flat of her palm, she was also looking at herself.

She grasped a sharp shard of glistening glass. 

The shaking was no more, the heart was now silent, the mind was nothing but calm.

Her next move, as well as every action after - they were all figured out. 

Feeling a shadow covering her, the still air whistled as the man brought the knife he held down onto her. She somehow knew that his actions were without remorse. They were filled with irrational sentiments. 

It was the time to act. 

With all the force her small stature could muster, she leaped forward and up, passing the falling blade and brushing up against the man's body. 

The scene would have looked like familial intimacy in the way that a daughter would jump to hug her beloved father, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Her assailant only felt malice, and she felt nothing. 

Calmly, she thrust the glass shard forward, toward the man's shocked visage, and impaled it into his widened eyes. 

Blood spurted out of the pierced organ and fell onto the girl's unchanging visage. Her victim shrieked and fell to the floor, dropping the knife he previously held and clutching the bleeding wound, trying to pry the crimson-stained shard from his face. 

He frantically kicked and rolled, spreading the scarlet liquid in his suffering. 

It was then that the brunette remembered the gun kept in the house. The firearm was meant to be used against intruders and assailants. 

Maybe her father never thought to use it and instead chose the first thing that found his eyes, maybe he didn't want to create a noisy scene. 

Either way, she didn't care. Seeing the frenzied figure on the floor, the girl chose the least dangerous way to finish the job. 

Opening a cabinet in the kitchen, she brought out the weapon. It felt cold, however she was colder. 

It took a moment to figure out the functions of the foreign tool. After that, she left and confronted her father once more. 

This would be the last time. 

Bullets were loaded, and hovered above his head, calmly pointing it down. 

And then for a moment, clarity returned to her father. He stopped squirming and looked up with his only clear eye. 

His sunset eyes showed the look of prey.

His eye trembled and his mouth stuttered. The rest of his body remained frozen, chained by trepidation that wasn't all his own. 

"What... What are you doing?" 

She pulled the trigger. 

More blood splattered on the floor, now accompanied by brain matter.

The sight was utterly wretched, and it was all caused by her. 

Yet, she simply looked away and returned the gun to its proper place in the cabinet. 

It was never to be found again. 

To make sure of that, she searched for her now-deceased father's lighter. The man used to smoke a lot - as a way to try and kill his sorrows. Sometimes, the smoke polluted the house and made her sick, but she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. 

After finding it, she returned to her pallid mother. 

"Let's go for a little walk." 

Grabbing the woman's hand, the girl dragged the dull being to the door. 

She returned to the kitchen and grabbed the cooking oil on the counter before spreading it everywhere she could see. 

The metal lighter was flicked, its spark bringing forth a small flame that incandescently illuminated her pale peach eyes. 

Then, she threw it forward. 

And watched as everything was set alight. 

...

Her house became a fiery hell, and she watched the spectacle with her dead and distraught visage. 

Everything to come was uncertain, but for whatever it was worth, the pain and suffering was gone. 

The residue of the flaming abode rose into the air before sprinkling down onto her head and shoulders. 

Ashes fell around the girl who had finally freed herself from her worldly torment.