…and he never felt so alive for the first time in his damn life.
He got up, wiping the blood from his face, it didn’t mean a single thing to him. This crimson color was just a bore, you could see it every day if you lived in a place like this.
He sighed, dusting himself off. He seemed shorter for sure, he used to be so tall, but why was he so.. short?
His figure had changed, at best. Rather than being tall and nicely built. He looked like one of those sickly children in the streets, the ones that hold the newspaper reading some bullshit title and probably containing fabricated stories of ‘spotted fairies’ or otherwise., begging for you to pay a single pence.
“I don’t recognize myself, almost. I used to just be in the background, a simple onlooker, a bystander. So why now, am I the only one seeing the writing on the wall?” He thought. He was not Richard Enfield anymore. But in that case… who even was he?
He sure as hell didn’t know, maybe if he got a look at his new face, He’d get an idea. Because otherwise, he didn’t think he looked like himself anymore! Maybe he looked like a monster, and he would die right then and there!
He walked for a while, looking for a reflective surface, but in these cold months, you can’t eagerly stare into the water like some people would suggest, so he would have to think of a better idea.
It felt like hours as he walked, he tried, desperately to find something to show him who he was, now.
Eventually, he decided to look into the opening window of a shop, it would decently reflect his new face if he got close enough.
He stepped in the streets, his once fitting clothes now covering his hands almost, He found the shop he would look into, it was a fashion shop, so he looked like one of those children he was thinking of earlier, tended to be silent, always curious.
He put a hand on the shop window, before approaching it fully. His eyes were pure black, with a slight feeling of dark blue amongst the dark sea, almost like a night that never would end, a far cry from his once hazel eyes. His hair was long, dark black, and it covered half of his face. Unlike his former self, he was fairly different. Only bodily.
He didn’t feel any different mentally, but he felt like he wanted to do things he’d never do before. His mind paced with the ideas of crime, madness and violence.
But he remembered, he didn’t even get a name, so he finally decided to bother with one. He stared at his own face, once again.
He knew that his name would be something that would harm people more than help them. So with glee, he granted this form of his a name, something to separate it from his true self, Enfield.
He named himself Ryker Seele.
With that, he laughed, going out of his way to find something to break. A simple shelf full of fine china? God, he hated fine china, the stupid floral patterns it wears! And it looked cheap and flowery, so it didn’t look necessary at all! “So why not I break it, to save me sorrow?”, he thought.
He kept breaking everything that reminded him of a good life until he felt bored, which likely would’ve been soon, but who cares? He still wanted to feel something at least! “Sure, the people will fight me and scream at me, but I want to feel ALIVE! I want to feel something. I want to be alive while I still can.” He thought.
After breaking the shelf and watching the china break and crack apart as it fell to the floor, he ran away, giggling to himself. Then, he went around the corner, checking every nook and cranny he could, and if he saw something he just didn’t care for? He would break it. “God, I’m doing this place a favor, honestly. These simple things look so mundane! Why does anyone want these things out anyways?! They look dull, and boring, and fucking ugly for most of them!” He thought.
That was when he heard a crowd of voices, all of them crying out words. “That young man! He broke my prized fine China!” “He split one of the chairs outside of my coffeehouse in two!” “He smashed one of my vases, I just made it today!”
He was caught. Great.
