"Who am I?"
That was a question that had plagued Kiyotaka for years now since the very day he escaped from the firm grasp of that man. The man who held the title called "Father".
The answer to such a seemingly innocent question had been the sole objective of the boy who had been shunned away from the society since the moment he was born. A boy who had only understood order and discipline. A boy who had only known rooms tiled with blinding white and hearts painted with crimson, everywhere his cinnamon brown eyes could take a glimpse of. Never the inherent chaos that encompassed life in all its spheres.
Was he the selfish monster who would destroy everyone obstructing his path to victory? The cruel and ruthless person who would cross any and all limits just to see the ones who threaten him burn to hell?
Or was he the boring gloomy teenager he portrayed himself to be, whose personality couldn't even win over a toddler? An indifferent loner who mysteriously cared about nothing and everything at the same time?
Was he both?
Or was he neither of those things?
Honestly he did not know the answer. Because there was no answer.
All that had remained of his white room self when he exited that god awful place were two things. First was a tactical mind unlike any other, one that could read the array of possibilities so far into the future, possibilities that would never be acknowledged by mere mortals and the second was knowledge. The kind of knowledge that would span over several libraries and more, too heavy for a single human being to hold.
He had no desires.
No likes.
No dislikes.
No preferences.
No comforts.
No aversions.
He had never had the space nor the time to explore the intricacies of what it meant to be human. No time to be human. Not when the only way to protect himself was to turn to his cold-blooded white room persona to get things done. The safety blanket of a boy who had been stranded in inhumane cold for way too long.
The defense mechanism was the only human thing about him. Only the spark of selfishness to protect himself was bestowed upon him by that man. Everything else was stripped away.
He was just a blank white canvas built out of the hopes and innocence of the ones he had triumphed over in his path to freedom.
He waited.
Waited for when he would finally be free of the pitch black shackles that were entwined deeply with his flesh and blood.
Waited for all the earthly colours he had never had the chance to witness in the isolated white-and-black world he had been accustomed to.
Waited for the fated artist who would inflict upon him the chaos and colours of life. For someone to invoke in him even a single slanted brush stroke worth of emotions.
Some emotion that wasn't an imprint of the boundless cage his father constructed for him, which was still cocooning him from a distance, creating an illusion that it wasn't there in the first place.
But its existence was unmistakable.
His predatory instincts didn't let him forget.
It was always lurking around in the backdrop. Whether he wanted it to or not made no real difference.
He did everything he could think of, to shatter it. Tear it apart. To stamp on it till all that remained was the debris of his past.
To brand himself and his so-called father as a failure forever in the history books.
YOU ARE READING
Why don't you try and leave me?
Fanfiction"I hate you Kiyotaka. Why are you doing this?" Kei screamed, with her ocean blue eyes brimming with fresh tears. "Because I want to." Kiyotaka answered in a monotone, softly wiping her tears off, as though he was not the source of those tears in the...
