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Ethan felt that he held no purpose in life.


The night was heavy and, suddenly, he felt its weight press him down. The cold park bench made his shoulders stiff; he sat supine for what felt like years. Neck unsupported, hands tucked away in his sweatshirt.


He tried to ignore the fact that he had nothing: no cell phone, no money. Hell, he didn't even have his sketch book to help de-stress his nerves.

Oh, how those drawings of Grayson would've soothed his soul.


{Grayson—you need him. He's your better half, Ethan. Something that you can't live without, or love without. Years apart, and you fell for the fucking illusion that you could be independent.

You weren't, not ever, not in the slightest. }


Ethan's sharp eyes fell shut and he sighed, red nostrils flaring.


In this time and space, he had no purpose;  the only thing he had a drive for was to paint damn paintings. What good was that.. for himself? for Grayson? even for Bellamy these past years?


He wasn't showing that he could be a productive citizen, or contribute something to society. He just wasn't. He was, however, a waste of space— nothing that anybody would miss.


And now his mind couldn't stop overworking in the dark frost, and it was driving him mad. Thoughts cluttered; they made him claustrophobic.


He needed to be firm: to set his foot down, to stop acting so empty-headed, and to just act.


{Do something, Ethan. It's the least you could do. Even before Bellamy came along... Grayson must've been sick of you and your pathetic tirades.

So selfish, bottling it all up just to explode in the end.}




Ethan Grant Dolan. Sitting in the middle of Sunset Park alone.


He sat up and rubbed the haze from his watery eyes. His hair was insane, frayed at the ends from neglect. The cold night mockingly bit at him. Yet he felt searing heat because of the tears that brimmed.

A lonely riot.




Crickets sang loudly, chirping a consistent ballad for him. They watched him with deep pity. That poor human, they must have thought.




Disturbance settled in his stomach, in his very core. It hurt inside. He felt as if he had been left alone to die. He felt as if he wanted to give in and sleep for eternity. He felt that maybe he was going off on some crazy tangent.



"I can't stay here." He muttered weakly under his breath. "Grayson would be upset if I fell asleep outside. I don't even have a proper coat." He added silently, and then slumped his shoulders.



The park was dark and empty. There was absolutely nobody in sight. It was equally as eerie as it was comforting. "Nowhere to go." He whispered. There was no sign of life for hours; it was dead-silent.



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⏰ Last updated: Mar 05, 2018 ⏰

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