Chapter 5.2

A visible frown decorated Anthony's face as he grudgingly sat on a white and red satin-decorated chair, on his lap was his infamous writing notebook and a black pen. 

He wanted to write again, but how can he do it if he couldn't concentrate? He doesn't want to be here! To be in a lavish room decorated with satin and ribbon, attended by people who wore branded clothes and expensive jewelry; drinking wine in their glasses, chit chatting as they waited for someone to step in the small stage in front and deliver a speech in the gemelina wood podium. 

He doesn't belong here. Why would an awkward mess with raven uncut hair, wearing only a cheap synthetic leather brown jacket and a pair of denim jeans that he got from a bargain shop be here? 

"Auntie, can I go home already? You can do this alone, " he complained. 

The fat woman on his side glared at him as she's sweating bullets, hands fisted like she's just stopping herself to hit him. She looked like any moment from now she'll burst out from her pink tube dress that she forced herself to wear. 

Forced in a way that it doesn't fit. She gained weight. And if the dress could complain it would say: "Stop tearing me apart! I am too young to die! Help! SOS!" 

"Leave here and I'll tear your notebook. This is a commemoration exercise and your father is one who would be given the honor. And General Hamfist wants to see you, so better behave, " his aunt hissed at him, she was about to snatch his notebook but he prevented it. 

"K, " his short reply.

His aunt rolled her eyes and opened her pink lace fan. 

It's not even hot. The room is air-conditioned. Maybe it's because of the dress? 

Anthony heaved a sigh and remembered what Saint told him, "Use your reality as an inspiration to your fiction." 

But how can he use his reality when facing it hurts? The people might be here, honoring his father but he knew the truth but deep inside, they envy and hate him. 

He heard them talk behind his back. Saying hurtful lies about his father, even laughed that he got lost because of his "idiotic heroism". That he shouldn't have saved the hostages and saved himself instead. Pitying him that he loved and married an ex-pornstar, had a loser of a son, and a rebel for a daughter. 

How can he stay here? Breathing the same air with fake people, it's suffocating...It's tiring for him. 

He stared at his notebook and pen and wrote: "Words of praise could be lies of sinful people that see themselves as saints."

People would lie to save themselves from their enemy, but in the process, they become what they abide by. Because lies itself is a nemesis of—truth. 

And he is a liar too. Because aside from the fake people there's another reason why he doesn't want to be here...

The place becomes livelier, chatters and murmurs start to contaminate the place. In the entrance of the hall, two entered; the first one is a big built man wearing a camouflage uniform in his forties, face angular and refined, deprived of facial hair. His hair black with specks of silver; his whole persona screams authority as he walks. Behind him is a tall busty lady in her twenties, wearing a sapphire-colored mermaid cut gown. She has a soft feature, pink plump lips, and expressive blue orbs adorned by a delicate mascara. What's making her more beautiful is her wavy hip-length blond hair and her aura of beauty that could make everyone swoon. 

Like any other man present in the hall, Anthony couldn't take his eyes off that lady. 

He could feel his heartbeat wildly; seemingly wanting to escape from his rib cage. 

"Antoinette..." he whispered her name, longing and bitterness is all he could feel as a memory triggered his mind. 

A bitter taste of rejection from your first love. 

I don't want to be here. 

On a dark alley, a hooded figure could be seen as he wiped the remnants of blood on his black robe. He stared at his gold pocket watch hanging on his waist. "It's time, " he whispered and a smile stretched across his lips. His black cat ears stood excitedly, tail wagging back and forth. 

It's been weeks since animals started to move. It's a matter of survival and such is the rule of the wild. They are just following their instincts. They didn't want this but they don't have another choice. 

"We will be free soon. " A glint of happiness flashed across his eyes as he started to laugh maniacally. 

He disappeared leaving a gust of black smoke, uncaring to the two corpses he left behind. Bleeding on the ground and a tied plastic bag who seems to cry; wailing, moving to be freed. 

Near the cadavers is a bloodied newspaper with a headline:

WEIRD PHENOMENONS RISING: DEATH TOLL RISES.

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