The blade was already in his hands before he realized.
In a single motion, swift and precise, he drove the blade forward. The sharp point sliced through fabric, flesh, and bone, sinking deep into the heart. A gasp escaped the man's lips-a short, sharp sound, as if the life had been stolen mid-sentence.
The blood came warm and quick, spilling over his fingers, staining the pristine blade. It glimmered darkly in the faint light, a stark contrast to the deathly pallor that spread across the man's face.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The forest was silent, the wind stilled, as if even nature bore witness to the act.
The monster who had taken another life felt no guilt, his cold expression turned into a little smirk. He thought it was okay, because that was the last time he did this, he promised that he would never take someone's life again.
And Cyrus isn't a person who would go back on his own words.
As the sun rose, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, Cyrus sat in the bus, his soft hum to the music that played in his ears.
A notification stopped the music playing through his phone. Cyrus looked down to see it was a message from the bank, " Transferred £2,500 ". Cyrus knew that wouldn't be enough to survive, after all he needed a new apartment. He would need to find a job quickly to not end up in the streets.
Cyrus putted down his phone gently on his knee and looked out from the window, the bus glided through the misty streets, its windows framing a world bathed in soft, golden light. Dew glistened on the grass, and the air carried a crisp freshness, mingled with the faint aroma of blooming flowers. Trees swayed lazily in the cool breeze, their leaves shimmering like jewels under the first rays of the sun. People walked along the sidewalks, their faces lighted with joy.
The bus engine stopped howling and people started to pack things ups.
Cyrus softly placed headphones on his neck, grabbed his light backpack and headed for the door. He took small steps when he climbed down from the bus, he even almost tripped, but his eyes still were on the beautiful nature in front of him.
Cyrus never seen such beautiful city in his lifetime. He spent his whole life living in a countryside, the nature was as ugly as people there. It almost rained every day, the mud always ruined his shoes, the sound of lighting scared him and people always were angry with him. The rain ruined his childhood.
He raised his head to look up at the tall building in front of him, the wind blowing made his long blond hair hit his face. He slowly raised his pale hand and wiped the hair off his face, and took small steps toward the building.
He entered the apartment with measured steps, his eyes tracing the corners where light lingered and shadows danced. With a voice both curious and cautious, Cyrus called for the owner.
The walls of the narrow hallways were adorned with paintings—some vivid, others faded—depicting scenes of nature and abstract dreams, lending the space a quiet charm. People moved through the corridors, their footsteps and murmured conversations blending into the soft hum of life that filled the air.
A soft voice came from a corner "Welcome, You're Cyrus, right?
Then the shadow from the corner finally revealed their face. A girl of unassuming beauty, her features soft and kind, with a quiet confidence that made her seem approachable yet elusive. Her dark hair framed her face in loose waves, and her eyes, though not striking at first glance, held a depth that lingered in the mind. She dressed simply, with a touch of casual elegance that suited her easygoing demeanor, and when she spoke, her voice carried a warmth.
"Right" Cyrus answered as he took a few steps closer to the owner.
She raised her chin and smiled wider, "We talked on the phone, your payment was successful"
Her shadow travelled behind a table and bent down to reach keys.
"If you need anything, you can come to the staffs room or call me" she handed the key to the tall slender man standing in front of her.
"Thank you" Cyrus replied and turned around, he slowly walked to the room "209". He looked at every painting at least for 2 minutes as he was lost in his thoughts.
Cyrus loves paintings, the deep meaning in them, the hidden true face of the person. "Inconsolable Grief" his favorite. It portrays the universal experience of grief, showing the deep emotional impact of losing a loved one. Cyrus likes to think about his mother when he remembers that painting, young, beautiful and someone who doesn't deserve the pain that she received in this world.
When he finally snapped out of it he headed for his room, "207" "208" ah there it is "209" he raised his hand and put the key in the lock.
He pushed the door open slowly, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the stillness as he stepped inside. The air was warm and inviting. He slipped off his shoes near the entryway, aligning them neatly, and let his gaze wander across the space.
The room was perfectly sized—cozy yet open. The living room flowed effortlessly into the kitchen, where sleek countertops and pastel cabinets gave the space a charming, modern feel. A plush couch rested against the wall, paired with a small coffee table adorned with a vase of fresh flowers. Through the sliding glass doors, the balcony beckoned, revealing a stunning view of the cityscape.
His eyes moved to the bedroom door left slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of a neatly made bed and soft lighting. Every detail of the apartment seemed thoughtfully curated, exuding a sense of care.
He didn't even bother looking around anymore, he dropped his body into the comfortable sheets of bed. "New start" he mumbles and yawns. He turned into the right side and his eyes were slowly closing in.