Las Vegas, 14th of April, 20xx
A city that never stops throwing light trances from one building to the next. Every time this specific soul took a step closer to the platform, the lights came in from all directions, leaving classic thunks of the fine leather he wore grandly for the night.
The night when he would transform a large stage presentation into a spectacular show.
Despite the cheers and crowds that never seemed to stop as he approached the stage, the man kept pressing forward. He merely kept pushing forward until he reached the end of the road and came to a complete stop. A single action is more than enough to calm the masses and quickly draw everyone's attention to him.
He is gifted.
In a matter of seconds, a simple movement can charm anyone. Especially in light of his final gesture of a large welcome swing and bow. The raucous applause persisted. Everyone couldn't stop clapping and smiling as he continued to dance in the shadows, his palms holding something that the audience couldn't see.
Their gaze is fixed on the sole shadow that danced still in the midst of the performance hall, the lights never lifting its glance from the sides, never disclosing the nightcrawler's identity. They are not expecting what is to come, glistening with hope and eyes full of wanders on the next step of amazement.
Enticing, the lights continue to dance around until it is time for the light to open the curtain, synchronizing with his movements where he came to stretch his arms open, and is about to fly if he has the devil's wings that night.
They all screamed frantically after it stopped rolling around to tempt the crowds and bathed the one figure they are enthralled with in light. Some tried to flee, even saving themselves by pushing each other just in time, but once the deafening gunshots rang out from one location to another, the remainder of the victims knew it was their turn to bathe in blood for the night and worse.
Until the footage of the Las Vegas horror night is shot and there is no longer any recording except a black screen.
"That concludes the murder in Las Vegas last night, located in the middle of the concert hall that isー"
And just as the news was about to continue with the incident that occurred last night in the nearby district, a man in the room pressed the remote control, which made a loud beep, and the television was quickly switched off. He lets out a groan as he begins to hurl himself onto the awful couch he adores, especially since he has just arrived home safely after a hard and tiring day at work.
"That news makes me angry. I couldn't wait to get home till this item aired on TV. What's more bizarre is that the killer doesn't even bother to massacre them all the first time he sees them. Is a psychopath still a thing?" He sighs as he reaches out to retrieve the drinks he's gathered on the nearby coffee table. He squeezed the tip of the bottle with his lips with a simple flick on the bottle cap while taking his time to get comfy on the couch, ripping his tie off and throwing it across the wooden floor.
t doesn't take him long to gulp the entire bottle of Whiskey, which he has despised since he was twenty, but which he is enjoying as he continues to live his existence alone inside his compartments, with no one but himself.
Kyle Meguile, a normal coworker in his mid-thirties who works hard, is an enthusiastic guy when the day arrives with a slew of tasks to complete. Working hard has been his typical credo and way of life since he discovered the joy of starting a family, which is as magnificent as his hopes and ambitions for the future as a great businessman.
That, however, was his intention until he married a woman he used to adore while he was in his early twenties. They were even blessed with a daughter, whom he adores to the point where he now drinks heavily to cope with the reality that those things are no longer present. The reality that he is now living in a very chilly place with no sense of home, but a fast coldness that digs into his skin and bone, persists.
Kyle lets out a gentle sigh as his thoughts begin to drift.
"...Nothing is the same now, therefore I'm wondering if the universe wants me to go through anything else." He mutters in between on his inebriated thoughts as he stares at the screen, where he observes his current sad situation.
Drunk, oblivious, and sad. Since their divorce, he hasn't even shaved in months. His hair is still spiky, but it isn't brushed as much as it once was. When it comes to his coworkers at work, his bright smile is always present, but at home, he is nothing more than a shabby man who has nothing but silence to greet his complaints and everything else.
Kyle, on the other hand, has a sneaking suspicion that his daughter is still alive. Despite the fact that she is now in his ex-custody, wife's he is unable to visit her or inquire about her well-being without being robbed of money. The house's silence is killing him within every time, and the sound of her cheerful voice is no longer audible. Kyle might not even be in the state he is now if she is still there. He was also not a drinker.
For Kyle, everything had been fine until this point in his life. Kyle will never be able to forgive himself for being divorced over something as basic as his lack of desire to construct a house with her. Perhaps he is enraged because no one in the court is on his side, or perhaps he is enraged because he has nothing but his body and intellect.
"How come I'm thinking about this now...?" The male in his mid-thirties shakes his head with a deluded gaze as he suddenly recalls the old days. He knows he should be grateful that his daughter is still alive, but the feeling of missing a member of what used to be a family made him sad and sunk inside every time he returned home. And Kyle is just being too sappy about everything; he can't handle the loneliness, so he drinks all the time.
He wants to get his mind off his problems by drinking.
Drinking until dusk and the coming of dawn.
And until his liver was depleted of all nutrients.
He'll probably be able to give up on his life by then.
Kyle continued to stare at the floor, hiccuping from the heavy drinking, deluded in his hazy mind until he accidentally drops the empty bottle of Whiskey, at which point he widens his eyes.
Kyle realizes what he is thinking and is reminded of the taboo of his past, the male drinks some more of the remaining Whiskey and continues to down the liquid as if there is no tomorrow. He furrows his brows and breathes raggedly the entire time he can feel a sting forming on the edge of his eyes, but he never stops drinking until his throat feels burnt. Not only that, but the pain in his chest is unbearable, so drinking is the only option he considers, or so he believes. If he could stab his chest right now to undo the feelings he once had, he would.
Kyle, on the other hand, chooses an outlet to lash his urges to end things from the past and cut off everything in an ambiguous way.
It wasn't even evening yet, and Kyle had started drinking even more heavily. This, however, is not a new phenomenon. Nobody has ever seen this side of him. He acts as if everything is fine until life begins to bite him on the head and inside. Then it's time for him to drink and drink and wallow in his misery.
Or, at least, that's what he had in mind: drinking until his heart's content to celebrate the end of his heartache until the last drop of his Whiskey.
When the male shakes the bottle repeatedly and nothing comes out, he becomes enraged. But, no matter how drunk he is or how muddled his mind is, Kyle simply shakes his head and shifts his pair of hazelnut orbs to the couch, looking for something to wear to go out and get his drinks. Kyle shrugs his trench coat over his body and carelessly topples out of the compartment without even locking the door once he finds his trench coat and the money that should be enough for his drinks.
He just doesn't care and keeps dragging his sluggish legs carelessly, even though he nearly collides with the stairs and below. "Whiskey..." he mutters before getting up and continuing on his way, mindless as he is.
Kyle has no idea where he should go, but as he is about to leave the compartment's residential zone and buy a Whiskey in a nearby store with a clerk who may have had enough of his usual state, he bumps into something hard and topples his body, the male instantly crashes down to the ground.
Kyle furrows his brows and prepares to lash out because he couldn't tell what had crashed into him. However, a gentle chuckle and concerned voice from what might be a person who bumps into Kyle caused Kyle to immediately shut his mouth and turn his head to look in the direction where the voice came from.
"I apologize for running into you. Are you okay?"
A mysterious man with a rather thin complexion and perfectly sculpted face, hinting that he might have been in his thirtys or around the young adult stage, and black glimmering eyes that looked like he could captivate his prey, slick back hair who wears a rather oversize black trench coat, and fancy clothes that glimmers under the sunlight crouches down to offer his hand to Kyle. Kyle, on the other hand, couldn't take his gaze away from the male, who was wearing a mysterious smile the entire time he returned the gaze with a curious one. Kyle couldn't make a sound, speak, or reach for that hand; all he could do was stare.
As drunk as he is, it is stupid, but the entire situation made him reminisce about how he met his wife and his similar trait, all of a sudden.
"You have a similar trait to her... just like we did when we first met..." Kyle simply said after a moment, both of his eyes streamed with tears, as he is still drunk and unstable.
Kyle has no idea why he suddenly felt sad, grief, and even anguish, but when he looked into the other's eyes, he couldn't stop thinking about the good things and forgetting what had just happened; of their divorce and how he was abandoned alone in that compartment with nothing behind.
Surprisingly, the mysterious man who extends his hand gasps and quickly wipes the tears from Kyle's eyes. "I'm not sure what you're talking about or what happened to you, but I hope you don't do this here. They'll think I'm a bully. Let's go somewhere where we can talk and you can relax, shall we?" The mysterious male inquires, his face concerned at first, before softening into a gentle, but creepy smile that compelled Kyle to agree and find himself taken somewhere with the man's assistance.
Kyle simply shifts his gaze to the man who assisted him, his arm already latched over his waist and holding him tight the entire time he assisted him in walking somewhere. Kyle isn't sure where to go and isn't going to ask because he feels weird. Given the fact that the male said it with a reassuring smile, Kyle believes he isn't a bad man at all.
"Thank you very much..." Kyle said this in the midst of his hazy mind, which drew a rather unique, clouded gaze from the other male, who simply smiled and said nothing the entire time they walked back to somewhere.
Kyle has no idea what is going on or even has the mental capacity to think of one now that he is in the care of the unknown man, but when he tilts his head and checks again to see the same person, the same nice man who helps him, he thinks that maybe he can get over his drunken stupor and find out what the end of the road holds for him.
Perhaps he can believe that there aren't such things as loneliness in the house, being abandoned, and simply living alone now that there is someone who cares about him, even if he is just a stranger. He's never met anyone who will help him walk before; everyone just walks by and leaves him in his drunken, sobbing mess. Perhaps there is still a good person out there, he reasoned in his hazy mind.
Maybe he can believe in forgetting the past and discovering that there are better people out there.
And just to forget what the past might have given him, now living in the present and no longer haunted by nightmares of the past...
