He closed the door to his apartment with an unexpected gentleness; locking it he rested his head against the solid surface and gave a deep sigh.
He sighs for once was
Not bothering with the light he shuffles towards the bathroom his body slouched, tired. Soon, the sound of the shower and the steam from the water filter through to the rest of his cluttered apartment, his small sanctuary from the outside world.
He overlooks his world that is
Clothed in only a pair of dark denim jeans, his bare feet travel along the cool tile of the kitchen. The shower had done little to calm the ache in shoulders and the pain of the relentless migraine that graced the back of his eyes. He snorted; of course it would be the one thing that got him in to this mess that would be causing such discomfort. His damn eyes, they were his gift turn curse, feeding his eidetic memory. Now every time he blinked, every time he moved them too quickly or caught the light just right shocking pain shot through his entire head… His so called gift…
You think it would be content with having everything
In reality it was his curse. It separated him from the rest of the world making him a freak and now everyone knows as evidence of the three hour interrogation from smug and overly zealous Lassiter, two hours with a fuming Chief Vick, a now ex girlfriend and best friend, a pissed of father who disowned him and a dozen camera wielding sharks outside waiting for a chance to rip apart what little remained of his life.
Yet everything was taken
He opened the fridge, wincing at its light. Ketchup, hot sauce packets, a month old t.v. guide, half a carton of spoiled milk, a Thundercat figurine and a slinky. Adding another sigh to the silence he stares a minute longer hoping that some jerk chicken would suddenly appear then closes the door throwing his kitchen back into semi-darkness. He reaches up and grabbed the pineapple off the top of the fridge and begun cutting it up.
It gazes through the golden bars with fire in its eyes
An ever slight stir in the air. Goose bumps. The hairs on his neck shoot up. A prick. Fear. Adrenaline. He whips around only to stager back against the counter. The syringe sticking out of his upper arm is already empty. His vision blurs, he slowly falls to his knees then onto his side. He begins to reach for the cell phone in the back pocket, only to stop half way. Who would he call? He had no one.
You should never cage a wild thing.
They stand there watching him fight to stay awake. The smaller one kneels down and places a hand on his bare chest. “Don’t worry little bird; you never have to be alone again.” With a last sigh his hazel eyes close.