THE MELODY OF MISFORTUNE → ANTHONY BRIDGERTON (c.s)

00 | even if i die screaming

0000. PROLOGUE
— even if i die screaming

PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS TRYING TO OUTRUN TIME, TRYING TO MAKE IT TO THE END BEFORE THE LAST OF SAND IN THEIR HOURGLASS REACHES THE BOTTOM. People exist solely to try and make their mark on the world and how they do that is by trying to outrun time. Outrun death. For it's in death that a person makes their final, and some could argue, most important mark on the world. But, no one wants to be remembered for their death. Life was not a fan of people trying to outrun the obstacles it threw at them. Life isn't kind. Though, no one is surprised to hear that. Life beats people to a pulp until they are lying on the ground, tattered and torn. The shell of a person. A beaten, bruised, and broken person who can no longer even think of running. Leaving them choking on the what if's, flashes of the things they wished for, things they wished to see, coming before them as they gasped for air. Knuckles bruised as they reached out and grasped at the air in front of them, trying to grab ahold of the time they do not have. Because everyone always expects there to be more time until it is not there anymore. And they are faced with a cliff and only one way out — down. Even cynics are left dumbfounded by time when they finally meet him (because, let's be honest, the only thing that could be as cruel as Time would be a man), even in their worst nightmares. In their worst thoughts. Their nagging dreams that told them all about how cruel and unfair the world was. Time somehow managed to surprise them. Managed to be worse than they could ever have thought. They were still left gasping for air as they choked on their words and desperate bargains for why they deserved to live, why they deserved to see the world for even just a little bit longer. Here's the thing about the world. People live. People die. No one gets to choose when that happens. Some can choose how it happens, but many do not. Yet, people are still shocked when they meet their end.

When time has swallowed them whole, chewed them up, and spit them out like an ungrateful child unhappy with the dinner its mother made them. There is no coming back from that. And, if someone did, would they even be someone that people would hope to be around?

Anthony Bridgerton was not much of a person after his brush with time. In fact, he was much more of a shell. A ghost. Ridden with fears about what could be lurking behind the next corner. He had seen too much too young. And there was only one way of coping with it, at least that was what he had told himself. Trying to outrun time (a classic mistake) seemed to be his only option, like a dog with his tail between his legs, he began a slow journey into a sprint away from the very thing that scared him the most. Anthony Bridgerton managed to escape the public's question by turning from the easy going dog that anyone could be around to one who snarled his teeth and ripped his claws into the first person who dared to speak in his direction. Pain was not something he dealt with well. No, that dog was found within in, claws tearing into his ribcage and chewing its way out. Somewhere along the way, he figured, the dog had found his heart. At least, that was what he had rationalized within himself. It was the only reason this could be happening — the only reason he could or even would be acting in such a way. He didn't want to think that this was his own fault. It couldn't be. It wasn't. Self destruction was not in his nature. No, Anthony Bridgerton was the oldest child of eight children, he had an example to set. His younger siblings looked up to him as a leader. As the person they should be like. He was set to take the mantle his father once held — yet within seconds of his father's death it was like all of the bricks put in place had been destroyed.