darkness {malum} ✔

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{Therapy : All Time Low}

[i am so stressed about this book.. i know exactly how i want it to go, but i don't want to disappoint anyone with my ideas... maybe i am just being insecure?

Also the poem that is mentioned later in this chapter is all written by me. :-)]

Once Calum had slammed the door of his shared apartment, he had left the apartment complex. He walked off into the merciless world outside of his small home. He wasn't extremely angry at his lover, he just needed to think. Michael was pushing him, and he needed a short, very short, break to himself.

Calum took this time of silence and alone time to admire the beauty of society while slipping in a headphone he found in his jean pocket and listened to one of Chris Brown's songs. He saw how different everyone was, yet how everyone was also the same. It reminded him of the poem he had read that morning on Tumblr.

'The world can be seen in many different colors for many different people. Some see it in gleaming colors. Shades of red and orange, green and blue-' that was him and Michael.

'Others see it in black and white, colorless.' that was Michael before they had met.

'The world is like an art exhibit, and everyone's life inside of it is a painting.

Everyone and everything is a brushstroke to your painting. Even if it isa small one, one of those brushstrokes no one notices because it's so small. Yet, that small brushstroke still makes up the painting that is your life.

Everyone has such different paintings to the ones we have. Maybe there's a few similarities here-and-there, but never are they the exact same. The world is so fucking different outside of our lives'

Calum watched a little girl hold onto, what he assumed was, her mother's right hand. The girl was frantically pointing into the store that was beside the two, tugging at the older of the two's sleeve.

Calum was very distracted by the girl and her mother, though.

'But of course there's the final brushstroke. That last mark that finishes the painting forever.'

He didn't hear the warning bells going off to tell people to clear the tracks.

'Sometimes the painting is never finished and is thrown away by he artist because he or she is not happy with it. But, it still has a final brushstroke.'

The little girl made eye contact with him.

'And with that final brushstroke, the person leaves behind their lives,'

She stopped pointing at the window.

'the person leaves behind their possessions,'

She stared towards Calum's direction with wide eyes.

'the person leaves behind the world,'

Calum turned to see what she was looking at,

'the person leaves behind their lovers.'

everyone on 4th Avenue could hear the sound.

'The person dies, and the painting is completed.'

Hell, everyone within a 100 feet radius could hear the loud, terrifying, and scaring sound, of train metal meeting the flesh and bone of what was, the twenty year old, Scottish-Kiwi, lover, named Calum Thomas Hood.