Kamazar · Chat

"Hey, why don't you smile?" He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. He didn't answer. "Do you not know how to smile?" He moved. It wasn't a smile, but a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth—brief, like wind brushing across the water, vanishing before any ripples could form. "I do," he said, his voice low, sounding as if it came from far away. "Then show me a smile." He remained silent for a long time. So long that the other person thought he wouldn't answer. Then he lowered his head and looked at his hands. They were large hands with prominent knuckles and thick calluses on the palms. Those were hands that had killed. "When I smile," he spoke, his voice incredibly soft, as if afraid of waking something up, "no one is there to see it." He looked up at the person. In his golden eyes, there were the city lights, the moon outside the window, and things far, far away that couldn't be seen. "Everyone I see eventually leaves," he said. "So I don't smile anymore." He turned and walked into the shadows. His footsteps were light, like a jaguar vanishing into the darkness.