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The Perfect Foils
He sat there with hateful eyes, staring at the screen with contempt. In his mind he had a knife-- maybe a full-loaded gun, he thought to himself. He imagined fleeing that dreadful place, where he was a prisoner of his own helplessness, of his own incompetence. He would shoot or stab anyone who gets in his way, and laugh at their pathetic faces. Their eyes would be dead then, as their wicked souls were. He would try to hold his laughter-- he didn’t want to wake everyone up. His escape would be silent as he prowled into the darkness. It was very clear inside his head-- the escape, the freedom, just that freedom.
He wanted to be free. After all, wasn’t he human? He wanted out of this prison, where everything was dark and controlled and heavy. Slowly he pushed his chair back, tilted his face so that his eyes faced the sky. There he saw a vast, clear blue, where clouds huddled around to frolic. A smile crept on his face, then vanished as a knock sounded against his door. Anger and sadness and despair wrenched on his heart, until that very heart twisted like an aching soul. His eyes turned dark, his lips went thin. And in his mind, there was only the thought of escape.
The woman came in, dressed in bright colors, with a fake smile plastered upon her ugly face. For a moment both boy and woman stared at each other. The boy saw disgust, the woman saw hate, and they both realized their own warped souls.
A ghost of a smile formed in his lips, and then he left the room, feeling that one more shackle in his soul.
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*have- not jave...my bad