ʙɪʟʟʏ ꜱʜᴇᴀʀꜱ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄ - ρɾσʅσɠυҽ

Instructions

- (<3) - It was dark. Stunningly dark. Dark were the skies when William Campbell drove home. Everything was cloaked in a shade of black, moon blaring midst the shadow, like torchlight. He could taste the midnight on the edges of lips, it was smooth and saccharine. Sweet, star-dappled honey on his mouth. Wind blowing back his hair, the breeze whispered on his skin, tinging it a gentle blue underneath. It was cold. Beautifully cold. Cold was the air when he flew across cobbled roads, carried away on the winds. Hands still firm on the handlebars, white knuckles bared on the grips. Mist billowed out his mouth after every calm, controlled breath. He had learnt to reassure himself while driving the bike. Nonetheless, it was horrifying. Amazingly horrifying. Horrifying was the moment when he had to slam hard on the his brakes with bone-splintering strength, as his limbs twisted and contorted, doing anything to halt the motorcycle. There was a car driving straight towards him. Nothing worked. Wheels shrieked as they twisted against the tarmac of the road, and the steady breath of the wind was held in shock. The friction sent sparks flying, alive in a beautiful dangerous chorus. He wanted to scream, to yell, to shout, but his lips felt like they were sewn together. He hit the brakes hard again, his ankle twisted, pain shot through it. The bike didn't stop. His brakes were broken. William had driven straight into the car. Shards of glass exploded in front his eyes, refracting the yellow light. The smell of motor oil leaked out. His bike was inserted into the hood of the car. Shut your eyes, William. Do what you always do, William. Pretend you haven't crashed. He submitted to the voice. Shut his eyes hard, willingly. He could never face his fears. He could never realize he was going to kill a man. What he could do was pretend his hands were clean of blood. Coward. Eyes still firmly shut, he tried to stop the bike again, or even slow it down. The car's engine had obviously broken, and the man in the driver's seat was hurling curses, with the frantic clicking in attempts to open the car doors. William was driving himself into the side of the road, and he was taking the car with him. Stop the bike, William. That's not how you slow the bike. Why are you doing it with your eyes closed, William? Are you afraid of something? That's the accelerator, William. That's the accelerator, not the brake. CRASH. He had hit the barrier on the side of the road, which sent him flying off of his bike, into a ditch beneath the motorway, face first, his tooth piercing straight through his lip with the impact. But there was no time to feel pain. Something hit the barrier. He heard the sound of skin tearing off. The delicate crunch of bones. And a bloodcurdling screech. It played back in his mind. Over and over. You're a coward, William Campbell. You could've saved his life, if you hadn't had your eyes closed. Think about what you've done every now and then, old friend.