He closed his eyes.


Because that’s the only thing he could do. He feels so alone, exhausted, and wounded. Beneath his eyes, thousands voices were wailing. Crying is not a choice, he might be afflicted, but he doesn’t want to cry… not anymore. He’s not weak, he fights everyday, he fights for himself, he wants to save himself for no one will ever do that but him. He enjoys the night, the scent of the wind that traipses that whole corner of the world. He wishes to be the wind, or just to fly with them. He loves the stars, the moon and the obscure and eerie dark sky. He loves how the wind makes his face pale, and his lips dry. He loves sharing his old and same story to the moon who seems enjoying his gloomy trance. He wraps his cold hands to the railings, maybe this is the last moment, maybe this is the last.

His eyes are still close.


He slowly bows his head until he could feel the rushing wind wrapping his whole body, it feels like as if he was floating. He tries to wait for his superhero to save him, but no one came.

For the last moment, he felt the searing pain, the loud bang, and the loud scream of people. It was so sweet, so wonderful, finally he has already find the courage to be courageous. When he opens his eyes for the last time, it was dark and the strange sound emerged from nowhere. He must continue sleeping.



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