Tiny Vessels

  • af
  • Aldersgrænse:
  • Publiceret: 13 okt. 2017
  • Opdateret: 6 mar. 2018
  • Status: Igang
Short stories set in the universe of my novel Vessel.


5. Despite

The boy didn't want to admit it, but for some reason this man was the only one who could hold his personalities at bay. Albert and Kane weren't there when he touched him or when he insulted him. But no matter how bad he was treated, the boy always came back to him, and he always came back to him.

There was no doubt in his mind about it. He adored him, he loved him – but because it's him, he could never hope to hear that back, he never committed himself to anyone, ever, not now and not tomorrow.

Noon, the time one would usually go for a second cup of coffee – except, he hated coffee, but, he liked it.

He sat on his black wooden chair, how he managed to paint them black without damaging the wood remained a mystery to him to this day. He sat there, ever so quietly like he always did. His head lowered, arms resting on the dinner table, his eyes closed and his clothes halfway on.

It wasn't like he was one to never finish tasks, but when he never slept, there was bound to occur a pattern of being grumpy in the morning because of something, despite never sleeping. Yet, he admired this part of him, because it reminded him every morning that he still had fight left in him.

He watched that cycle every night; from the moment where he relaxed so much, that his horns peaked out of his head, of where they eventually grew too tall to lay in the bed with, resulting in him having to get out of bed and pulling himself to the leather couch in the living room, sitting down precisely in the middle of it, just to close his blindingly white eyes again.

Despite not being able to sleep.

He'd always guessed, that this was solely because the man missed being human. He missed the feeling of being drowsy and laying down in a cool bed, to tuck in with his blanket and slowly close his eyes, knowing he had all the time in the world to sleep.

Despite not being able to sleep.

Yes, despite not being able to sleep, he still tried, he tried his best every night to sleep, trying to appear like he did, trying so hard, so hard; every single night, every night, he tried, but never to any gain. He didn't gain anything from sleeping, he didn't, and yet, he tried every night.

That was what he admired so much about him. He tried so consciously to be human, with the most mundane of things.

The man loved coffee and spicy food, despite knowing he wouldn't gain weight even if he ate himself to death in candies and cakes, despite knowing he couldn't process his favorite food and experience the thrill of gaining or losing weight without his knowledge.

He never got anything out of cooking, he just cooks because he does.

Despite not needing to.

He watched him sit there every morning when he visited, when he got lonely in the dark night, when he couldn't find fun in anything.

The man would always sit there in the morning and call him a cat because of his slit, amber eyes; making fun of his long canines from the way they protruded from his mouth, angering him as he tried eating his pancakes, smiling sourly at his misery as he threw a fit and called him loving slurs.

Despite not.

He'd gulp down his strawberry smoothie with such passion, knowing he only made it when he visited, because he knew he liked them, despite knowing he couldn't process it, despite.

Now that he thought about it.

He couldn't sleep either.

Vær en del af Movellas nuFind ud a, hvad det er alle snakker om. Tilmeld dig nu og del din kreativitet og det, du brænder for
Loading ...