Notes:
—
"ẞħœþò" is the glitched version of the narrators name. And the [word] is what the narrator hears instead of their name.

Trigger warnings:
- mentions of abuse
- weaponising themselves
- glitching of names
—

Forged in anguish,
bred in hate.
Learned to love
despite this trait.

—
"ẞħœþò[masterpiece]!" My father called out. His voice echoing like a drum, bouncing off each wall and crevice. I could imagine him now...

His bloody hair engulfed in hatred; face carved with a scowl after being burnt with the kiln. It was like a statue, that same horrid expression he adorns. That same look made my mother go insane... or maybe it was something else other than his piercing gaze...it's funny isn't it?

But I'm not in the same building as him anymore, not in that same cramped space which was more a house than a home. It was never a home. Though, the walls may be different but the same voice plagues my head.

Despite our physical separation, his voice leaves an unhealthy taste in my mouth. The aftertaste feeling like bile clogging my airways, reaching for an escape, yet nothing is ejected. Muscles tense with each word spouted from his rotten tongue. Breath hitching, awaiting the eventual release of his anger. Like a storm, crashing down on everything no matter the value and leaving behind a cast of a city.

To my father, I am that crumpled city, yet his most valued possession. I rebuild myself just to be trampled on again by another hurricane of his emotions, the choking winds lingering like an old woollen blanket. At this point, what's the reason to keep adding scaffolding to a broken bridge when such strong winds are inevitable?

Yet this hurricane that torments me and my every wake is praised. Instead of a destructive whirlwind of hate, everyone sees him as a heavy rain after a drought. The very presence that caused me so much agony is worshiped for saving them.

Ironic, isn't it?

Every cheer he receives is another stab in to my soul. Yet, someone can only take so many shots before dying. I think it was when I was five... maybe younger that the praises were no longer fresh wounds but igniting them again. Pouring salt on an already dead corpse, causing it to dry out. But I'm not dead, I am merely a boy without a soul that lives.

And like any undead being, the storm around me eroded me, rust in the forms of scabs blooming over my skin. However, unlike the rust on a metallic statue formed by the rain over years; my scabs were crafted by the person I was meant to trust. Winds grazing my skin in the embodiment of his harsh words; wounds opening by each brash hit.

He is a statue, one people see and think of hope yet underneath he is rotten like an apple. To him, I am his blazing dagger with a cracked mangle. A handle glued together with the blood, anguish and hate that poured from his hands. As every blacksmith knows, a fuller can only last so long under the brazen flames before melting.

A tyrant of a monarch with blood on his palms, the very palms meant to cradle a delicate child. Though, life isn't fair like that... is it? Instead, the blood is from the dead soul of a son he raised through greed. A house he rules over like a dictator in a democracy with no say, not caring for other's opinions. Only his and his goals alone.

☆*:.｡. *･゜ﾟ･*:*･･*:*･゜ﾟ･* .｡.:*☆

My hand suddenly froze through my thoughts, the ink of my pain bled over the perfect paper. The tremors ripped through my fingers as I pushed away from my desk. Breaths heaving out of my lungs, scratching my throat with each movement.

Right, I wasn't at that house with him. I was here, safe. Well, I'm meant to be safe but why does that feeling not exist? Did it ever exist in the first place?

Isn't a child's life surrounded by the feeling of security and safety? I wonder what that is truly like.... To have that warmth surrounding you like a soft kiss.

No matter now. Reaching over to the tainted diary I locked it away, words left unsaid for anyone but my own mind.

Even if someone was to see it, what would they say? Probably nothing as after-all, I am merely a pawn in my father's scheme. A scheme he can bend like an iron sword.

After my cursed spell was locked away, I could finally breathe. My thoughts locked away for me and me only. Yet the residue of the poison remains clinging to my voice. It's almost as if I say a word i'll throw up my past... that'll be a mess to clean up and repair.

Suddenly the sound of another voice entered my subconscious. It was as soft as a butterfly, calm as a winter breeze. "ẞħœþò [monster]!" The angel called out. Soon enough the door of my cage opened to reveal the guardian of such a soft voice.

His hair shining like emeralds in the cozy yet haunting light. "Tenya made dinner, you coming down..?" His eyebrows quirked in curiosity, such a kind expression. One that was unfamiliar to my mind... I wish it wasn't.

Such a childish wish, must be something out of a fairytale that never reached my ears. A warmth I could only hug in dreams.

The angel came into view, his eyes filled with kindness that seemed so natural, as natural as plastic. Shining like stained glass in a church, so pure and beautiful, so unlike my tainted being.

"Yes Midoriya, I'll be down in a moment," I staggered out, blinking away the claws that grasped my throat shut. Digging into my already dead soul to make sure I cannot get resurrected.

Do not tell. Do not tell. That's all that matters. Never to tell.

After my words, the pure heart of Midoriya disappeared for a moment but only for a moment. Goodness I've done it again.. let my bloodied heart kill his happiness.

"Alright, remember it's movie night so wear something comfortable" He beamed with a smile that must've been carved by God himself before he turned away. Leaving the gate open in his wake. The exit to freedom, only a few meters away but why does it seem to far?

The door hung ajar, teasing the sweet feeling of freedom that I can only dream of accomplishing. A dream of warmth, safety and peace that forever slipped through my fingers each rise of the burning sun. The sun that everyone awakes to praise the dawn of a new day....

Guess the world really does hate me, teasing my every waking moment here with reminders that I am never out of his shackles. Clamps that burrowed so far that it feels unsafe to have them off, even if they bleed me dry.

Swallowing the rest of my words I left the comfort of the seat I was on. The cushion dented from where I let myself breathe. I then started walking towards the teasing exit, maybe i'll be free.

Crossing the threshold of my room, as expected, nothing was lifted. Instead it stayed confined in walls that are so unfinished. Never hurt me but the feeling is all the same, same echoing voice that charred my blade.

The embers rested on every cushion, every picture frame, every fresh sheet. Embers I brought here from the furnace I was raised in.

Forever soldering me to my fate. To be nothing but a weapon... a dagger for him....

Nevertheless the act begins - curtains rising from the pull-string of lies - creating a stage that everything isn't impossible to comprehend. I am away from him, physically, it's wrong to feel chained to someone invisible. So what's the point in isolation when you aren't being displayed?

☆*:.｡. *･゜ﾟ･*:*･･*:*･゜ﾟ･* .｡.:*☆

The descent down the mountain is easier than I expected, weights lifting as oxygen refills my parched lungs. Yet, the alveoli are already damaged, so every breath feels more like a chore than an instinct.

Yet another sound rings through the halls as I reach the base, laughter... such an unusual sound. The voice shaking with joy as they try to catch their breath. Maybe I can give them mine? It's no use to me anyways.

After all, I am merely a sheathed blade ready for whatever threat comes my way. That's my purpose after all. A weapon, a masterpiece. Can I ever be anything else..?

—
Notes:
Thanks for reading <3
Words: 1435