Observation: Breathe

I'm feeling a little better. The monitor on this laptop's blue glow isn't taunting me anymore. Now its just glowing, illuminating my keys so I can find these words.

SMUG GLOWING SON OF A BITCH!

I've been watching Moth. Studying him. I don't understand why he is what he is. He's mute, he has black hair, he has a nasty attitude, he would sooner express a thousand words with a punch on the shoulder, he hates electronics, and anything a modern people tend to consider fun. Things he shares in common with Duckie.

Things I believe he consciously choose in order to immortalize Duckie's memory through himself. Things he does to immortalize the man who supposedly bled his screaming mother dry right in front of him when he was 12. Who gave him a knife and told him to kill. Who threatened to let him join his mother if he wouldn't. Who would beat him if he ever made the mistake of talking or crying. A man who abandoned him to be executed at the simple request of an organization he didn't care for without so much as fucking hesitating.

So I got to wonder, if Moth is so hung up on idolizing a man he should hate with every fiber of his being... THEN WHY THE FUCK IS HE HERE TRYING TO HELP ME KILL THE SON OF A BITCH.

...

I spent a lot of last night studying Moth while he slept. Watching him as he lay over his blanket and sheets, giggling to myself that he was too stupid to figure out how a blanket works. So calm and peaceful. So free of his glare and his rage. Rage I know he carries. Rage I can so often see in his eyes when wants to talk but can't. Rage he can never express, that always burdens him. Gone, at least for the moment.

It's a wonder he can even sleep like he does, always wearing that stupid mask. It never comes off. Another thing he does to honor a madman. Certainly it must be hard to breath with that on, right? But I can see he is breathing. His chest rises and falls. Rises... and then falls.

Quite suddenly he starts thrashing. His own peace shattered without warning, even as he dreams. I can only wonder what he is dreaming about. He twists and he swings. Like he's fighting. Like the fighting never stops. Not for him. Not ever. Not yet. Maybe that's Duckie he fights. Maybe that's why he's here. Because he needs to be stronger. He needs to beat him. Maybe that is the natural course of his sick obsession with Duckie. With his sick obsession with a VIOLENT, ABUSIVE, SELF RIGHTEOUS MADMAN.

His sick obsession with the man who killed my brother.

Trapped in a dream where he must be dying after being turned into a monster leaving no one crying, not for him.

Suddenly he breaks free of the pillow I've been holding over his face. He takes a deep breath and pins me to the wall by my throat. His eyes are so full of rage again. But not Moth's rage. Not his own... it's his rage. Duckies...

Things go black as he grips my head and slams it against the wall he was pinning me too. 

I wake up tied to the bed again. Knife taped to my hand again. WASTING MORE FUCKING ROPE AGAIN!