So out of touch and out of affection. He was once a perfect creation of a woman who lacks a sense of caring and was too young to know the meaning of freedom. He, too, was just like us. He felt, he loved, but it is too much that it kills him slowly. Cracks started to grow, but not as structural as plants. At an immediate pace, the first thing to fall is his heart — his passion and affection. The impact is fatal. From a boy with courage and humanity, he turns himself into a conqueror who hides his biggest fears. Then, his mind also failed to gather itself. All are astray and corrupted, proven by how eager he is to banish everyone. Thus, he never makes it happen. The Gods seem to want him to change and send him back to where he started: as a human with no sense.
He can’t help it. Spending all his standings just to wander like a homeless person seeking something to eat is all he could do for now. It’s no use looking the other way because of the conflicts. The mind wants to get closer, but the heart seems reluctant. The beats that hurt the idle self are what his body can endure. To speak out about what’s inside is difficult because of the crowds. Three souls; two are close, but one steps further to tape the lips. Inside, it stings like an open scar when he sees them; both are mutual and had a good bond when it comes to friendship. Perhaps they could be something more than that, right? Nevertheless, it’s only a script his mind wrote to cover the truth — a setback. The feeling of want which his mind denies as it was a threat to himself, and indeed. How dangerous it is to turn him into someone he never knows: a person who often thinks about creating gaps. The threat is love itself.
Day by day, his realization came as he could feel the flaws that, bafflingly, he never knew as he only think it was normal to have such feelings. Not only in the hollow heart but everywhere. Like a porcelain doll, he chooses to never look at his reflections again — terrified, but not surprised. Whenever he does that, he always sees more than a person inside.
Thursday’s child. The dreamer. He has the highest hopes among everyone. His motivation. The significant other created by the purest mind.
Wednesday’s child. The weeping devil. He turns all his best into worst. His own nightmare. His partners in crime created by people who despised him.
Tuesday’s child. The acidic angel. He’s the one who told him to express all his emotions. His honesty and lies. His only best friend who is also a backstabber.
Then, there’s Monday’s child. The admirer; himself. He never put his eyes off the mirror. His insecurities and his confidence. The reason for everything he had done.
Between the crowds in this class, he sees him. The man in red. None of the color wrapped around his slender body, but he sees the red inside him. None of the color comes out of his lips or stains his pearl-like teeth. None of the color shows his personality, but it kisses his lips and left a trace on them. In silence with both iris’ widen, Scaramouche studies his figure; the way he stands, he was liked and ignites the flame inside whoever. The way he speaks, he was adored. Despite this, it’s shrinking Scaramouche’s eyes and widen them back at the same time. In his head, only a question remains: “Is it natural for me, or people, to see him being marked with the ruby line?”
Poetic words aside, as the students clap after the host wrapped up the presentation, Scaramouche’s eyes begin to pin on the dark teal-haired boy. Him walking down the cold ceramic probably left nothing inside everyone as they thought about the same way. But for the boy with dark and lighter color stripes locks, it means different. Even in his ordinary walk, Xiao is attractive and might become a dangerous threat. Why would he think of other things if Xiao’s friend — Lumine — is the one who encourages him at the beginning? And yes, Scaramouche may look like he doesn’t care about it. But inside, his emotions are mixed. Rage and possessiveness towards nothing turn into a jeopardous effect called jealousy, in such an extreme state.
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How he falls into those scenes — Lumine and Xiao chatting their probable usual chatter — again there’s no way out of it. How he admires the attitude — Lumine responds in the very normal way of a friend should answer each dialogue gap — again there’s no gate to be opened. When the lecturer starts explaining the details about the lesson they just had, here is Scaramouche sticking his fingers onto his all-time favorite pen which stands on his new notebook, running on empty. Here is him, feeling the ache inside his burning chest, trapped in a web out of the blues. Too sticky to let go. Too weak to rip it off. Even the so-called strongest catalyst in the universe can’t escape from the haunted house of lethal romance. How outrageous of a heart to fall for the trap once again, torturing him in a tornado-like confusion.
Oh! How devoted am I
That it is hard to guard my head down.
Oh! How fickle am I
To open the scrunched paper with the name of their own.
A stanza with his curse staining the lined note. Things he never knew existed after all he believed he was an anti-romantic being. Yet, the dangerous ones came; the deepest ocean of lies and truth hugged him and whispered, go for the kill, my child. In the statue-like position, he came to his consciousness. Within minutes, he passed all his learning time thinking about the lingering words the Wednesday’s Child said to his ears. “What do you mean by kill?” he mumbles under his breath, “Do you want me to rip both hearts? Do you want me to fill her empty space? Or do you want me to make him suffer?”
Again, only mysteries that left without any clues to provide an absolute answer. As Mr. Alberich ended his session and left the class, Scaramouche took a deep breath and stretches his stiff body. Then, he closes his “adventurer’s journal” and put the pen on top of it. With reluctance, he stood up and said to himself alongside commanding his mind to note down his craving for a cold tea: No matter how deep this rabbit hole is, I will keep looking for my Wonderland.
The last words count to three. The combination of niner characters. Soon or never, my letter is finished. But no words form a permit to stay. Although they may not be in a linear queue, they do say a word that brings in the blue.
The unidentified mixed feeling is always hanging inside him. But this time, it’s different. He found out that his short-time threat would be long gone. Both refreshing and numb. Indeed, you can tell he’s relieved that he will never feel the same way he felt a few months ago. But at the same time, he also senses yet another hazard to his wretched soul: numbness. It made a visit and planned to stay after it heard a piece of news about Scaramouche being exhausted from his flowery feeling of admiring someone.
To him, love is now a disease and something he should have never trusted to be open up. Affection is also a myth that not every eight billion of people has one, he said. “Arson ignites within grasses. It morphs the flowers into dust, in which my heart rages as it shuts both of my eyes,” he talks to himself afar from the group of students who planned a quick farewell to their friend. In his notebook, he creates lines of words, completing the riddle he had left unanswered.
“Even if I feel my love burst when I saw you, I would, am not, and never going back to you!”
“Now, now. What kind of plan will you give me next, Archon? As you can see, I already lost my track to the wonderland. I don’t think my efforts to make her my friend, at the least, is a successful one. Let alone the others. So, tell me: do you really want to make me a lone wolf who would never find its way out of the woods?”
