}

For what it's worth..

Dawn had just recently broken as the crimson eyes of a young, but still mature freshman began to truly understand his almost dire circumstance. The vehicle he's in shakes, and with each road bump, the cuffed teenager looks at the road with despair. Despite his best efforts, he was never going to be accepted. Although sometimes his actions are inexcusable and almost evil; he hates them and despises how he has to act to protect himself. Since he was incredibly young, Uruma would always face hatred for no reason.

Every single day, without one to spare, he'd be ridiculed. Hated just for who was the reason for his birth, not even for anything he had done yet. Growing up with his older-by-minutes brother, was harsh. Both of them, only have each other and their mother to truly rely on, not a father, or a figure who could father them. The only man in their life was the man who taught the boys how to defend themselves, others, and their honor. With each punch to a wooden pole, his hands would bleed with a sharp pain.

The only "masculine figure" in their life would make them go through trials of pain at a young age, then force them to take that pain, hold it, and unleash it. And when they did, go against him to unleash it of course, they were met with swift defeat, almost as if they were hopeless, like their emotions meant nothing, the trials they completed were for no reason, like they weren't justified in experiencing the trauma they did. 

These thoughts are the memories of the past. Each day getting embarrassed by their peers, taking beatings till walking became a drag, and breathing became a manual effort. Like they were nothing. Like they were trash. To be discarded, destroyed. To only take up space instead of having a positive effect on it. Treating them as if they had a say in being born, and better yet, born to the family they were. Crimson eyes with bloodshot sclera. A full red eye as if they had been bled through, yet it was only the tears, the tears of bottling all this.

In the back seat of a car with now silent sirens, he begins to cry. Tears rolled down his pale face. He takes off his glasses as each droplet of them gently glides down his soft skin. Solemnly moisturizing his skin, as he attempts to hide his face the way he knows how. He's not used to crying, he hasn't cried in a very long time. Middle school was the start of his violent streak, where he'd beat people simply for self-defense before ultimately paving the way to respect. By force, he always had to do things. Yet Uruma hated this method, he preferred to talk things out, he preferred trying to use charm, or getting to a deeper understanding.

As smart as Uruma was at the end of each tantalizing day; he still could only get so far, get so deep into a solution without relapsing. The easy way out; was to punch, kick, and fight until it disappeared, until it was done. The car continues to hit speed bumps, recollecting the days of youth when he'd come home from training, eat dinner, and let his mom run her hands through his growing hair. Maybe once in a while let her braid it, or tie it in a ponytail with her personal adornments. Each tear puts him deeper into thought, streaming down his mental landscape, and physical face like a great river. 

His wrists were uncomfortable from restraints, and the memory of training, or sparring, would remain a constant sub-thought as the sting in his wrists was almost like the slight burning feeling in his knuckles during his first time actually fighting back. Protecting himself always used to hurt, and like that would hurt; his whole body was in pain. Just earlier today he was being punched, kicked, and shoved by 7 different people.

Even if he didn't get knocked out, or stayed down too long, he felt it. The lasting effects of a painful encounter, yet the pain in his head hurts more. His whole body was in aching agony. Mentally he's destroyed, after getting his feelings off his chest, after taking up the mantle to help his classmates, and continuing to do what is right even if there is wrong with it. He was prepared to change. Yet as it came, it went.

His chance, his opportunity to close the chapter of his life with blood-soaked pages, was gone. In fact, it was only the beginning. In this moment of course he doesn't harbor negative emotions towards people, except what he had already felt; but his stability, his ability to sympathize, or to regret was faltering. Why would this ever happen to him? Why couldn't he be normal? Freed from his strongest title, free from this school, free from these cuffs. Free from living as a whole. He wept silently in that car. As each little detail infects his mind. A landslide of sadness hits him as he continues to endure the driveway to a police station for questioning. 

He wishes he had a reason in this moment to fight for freedom besides his mother, and his brothers, even if one of them weren't connected by blood. Yet, in the darkening skies, there lay nothing for him to cling to. In the process of protecting himself, he has only done minimal damage, and now that damage is stacking up. A woman he loved, friends that would die for him, a father even. But no, as it stands, there is nothing. Not a purpose to push, to continue. He wishes that in this moment, there was a special someone or special people. But in his darkest hours, the cops tell him to suck it up. A testament to his terrible, horrible life.

  "I just want it to be over.."
THE END.