110

It would appear that, miraculously, one could have temporarily regained his ability despite having it supressed. The suppression hex did not work well on these trifling few. 

—

Lark had sauntered home that cold, sorrowful night, given that he could not afford a vehicle. He had grown hate for the woman he had only just loved. Why had Cassey chosen to do this to him of all men? His life on its own was already so tragic ... why add to the tragedy? Such questions ran their courses through Lark's busy mind, unrelentingly. 

He wanted to hit something. To break something. Perhaps only then his festering rage would be quelled. Lark was a forgiving man in the past. He would be mortally enraged by someone one day, and then speak to them as if it hadn't happened the next. 

But on the day of his uncontrollable rage; he would not stop until he felt incredibly stupid. And stupid, was the last thing he felt at the time. All he felt was anger. He balled his fists, squeezing them tightly. 

He had stumbled across a bar. And forever; this mishap would change him. This encounter would change his life. He would become an alcoholic, always drinking away his worries only to lose himself, go insane, and then worry even more after regaining complete consciousness. Such pitiful dilemmas. 

***

Lark drank from dusk till new dawn. He walked, swaying from left to right, staggering, barely staying on his feet. He constantly drank from a huge, heavy bottle of alcohol on which he had spent his final remnants of his savings. 

His neighbors gawked at him as he walked the streets. Karl had just opened shop for the day. He had only just landed eyes upon Lark, walking the streets like a shambling zombie. It was such a pity. A man who had roused in merriment, could later be the same man to walk the streets depressed and drunken. Karl shook his head. Lark was adapting to a

horrible new thing. Karl have had his past with the awful drug, nicotine. It had taken him years before he had finally killed his addiction to such. 

Lark had managed to land eyes upon Karl, who was busy staring at him. Lark was certainly not in the right mood to put up with their ridicules. He had enough of it. He started to approached Karl's shop.

Karl had busied himself again; prentending he was oblivious of Lark's approach. Lark furrowed his brows. "You!" he snapped. "You make makos ... you son of a bitch, you! It's you! I saw the way you looked at me ..." his words droned and slurred. 

"I'm sorry," Karl said. "I missed the part where you were given control over where I cast my eyes."

Lark gritted his teeth. "You fucker! I saw ... the way you looked at me! You bitches deserve death!" A tear trickled down Lark's face. 

"Don't point your frustrations at me, Elf," Karl said, folding his arms. "A real man wouldn't dare do something so petty. Own yourself. Don't make another man or woman a part of your stress." 

"I'm no man," Lark said. "All men—be them elves, dragons or centaurs—aren't born with such a perilous life like mine! All of you villagers know that! I'm different, that's why the entire world looks its nose down at me. 'Cause I'm below everyone, below everything. Rock bottom!

"I don't get privileges. Anything good that happens to me always transitions to bad. Horrible. Every time I try to achieve something, there is always a huge obstacle ahead. I'm cursed! And I ... can't STAND IT!!!" His tone escalated, he clenched his fists tightly.

"First of all," Karl said. "I never looked down on you before. In fact, I actually see myself below you. I've picked up drinking when I was much, much younger than you—you're only doing so now. 

"Secondly, you have my condolences. I understand why you're in such a mood. Things like that happens!"

Lark furrowed his brows. "Shut up," he uttered softly. His eyes had turned pitch black. His skin had suddenly become pale. A dark aura emanated from his body. He quickly broke the glass bottle on the wall, and started toward Karl.

Flinching, Karl walked backward, slowly. "Woah, wow, woh. That's the last thing you want to do, trust me! I understand your pain, but you don't need to take it to such measures!"

"SHUT UP!" Lark lunged toward Karl. 

"Luis lived twenty-two years without ever looking down on you. He died at twenty-two years last night without ever looking down on you." Karl said. 

Lark had paused. His eyes had regained its natural color, and the same went for his complexion. His eyes slowly widened upon hearing those words. "W-what ... did you say?"

"Again, you have my condolences," Karl said. "I'm not supposed to bring this up, given that I know that reminding you would only make things worse. But I can't help myself. The friendship you two had was beautiful. 

"I watched it every day for years. You two loved each other. I never saw that kind of brotherly love before. I was ... honestly jealous. It's such a shame it had to end—"

"End? What are you talking about!?"

Karl had deflated. He removed his hands from shielding his body. "You mean you don't know?"

"Don't know what!?" 

Karl frowned, looking down at the floor. Then he looked up at Lark again. "Luis is dead, Lark. The scrawny body of his was found near the dumpsters. Raped, murderered, and trashed. I ... I thought you knew."

Lark had froze. 

***

Apparently; Luis was killed an hour before Karl had pushed him away. Karl had remained near the dumpsters for hours. He did not shed tears, but he was sorrowful. They would not let him see Luis' body no matter what. 

Lark believed that he was at fault for this. And, unfortunately, he was. If Luis hadn't gone home sad that early that day, his father would not have molestered him, murdered him and dumped him. If only Lark had taken him to the coffee shop. None of this would have happened. 

After hours of quietude; Lark, with glassy indecipherable eyes, had decided to go home. He walked in the rain; still struggling to stay on his feet. The rain poured down so heavily that it constantly stung his skin. However, he still hadn't sought shelter. 

He was going home. Perhaps home would be the perfect place for a man like him. He would not be able to ruin the lives of others when he was alone, surely. What's more; his brother was supposed to stop at his yesterday. It was pity that he had missed it. A decade. That's how long he hadn't seen his brother. This had only added to his sorrow. 

Lark stopped at the front door of his house. With one look at the house; acknowledging the presence, Lark knew that his brother had recently been present. A powerful man, such was his brother. The exact opposite of him. He could sense his presence with his eyes closed. 

Lark jammed his hands in his pockets, fishing for his keys. He took out his key, and was about to open his door; when suddenly, he heard something. He turned to his right. Subsequently, his eyes had widened. 

On his front porch, there was a huge, brown package. Lark's brother did not usually bring him gifts. What could this package be? Curious, Lark started toward the box. He knelt down before it; scruitinzing it carefully. 

There was a note atop the box. Lark started to read it. The words were:

'Tis I, your dear brother. Unfortunately, I did not get to see you today. And I did not bring gifts. Might you keep this package for me? Protect and cherish it with all your heart. I have been killed one hundred times before I could have made it to this island. And it was all done, simply to deliver this to you. I trust you, Lark. And trust is a thing long lost in my broken heart. Oh and ... my wife have littered the box with other letters, I tried to stop her but I have succumbed to her wrath. I shall see you soon, brother.

-Dacien.' 

Lark looked at the key in his hand. He then used the sharp point of the key, to cut the tape that kept the box closed. He then dropped the key and eargerly placed both his hands on the box. 

He opened the box. 

His heart had sunken in his blood, and then exploded. 

Lark had quailed. His heart thundering in his ears.

Before him—within the claustropic box—loitered a naked elf baby boy. It was an awful sight for him, one that had again shattered his heart into nothing but splinters. 

He looked down at the baby boy; and began to cry tears. Tears ran down his face like a river. Why had this happened to him? He had only just turned Cassey down because of her baby! Why is someone else dropping such responsibility upon him? Why had the universe always spat in his face?

He felt sorrow and agony like never before. He squeezed his eyes closed. "WHY ME!? WHY DO THIS TO ME!? WHY DOES THE WORLD HATE ME!!" 

When the baby had began to cry; it was then that Lark's wails came to a halt. 

Such was the atrocity of the universe.