Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❛𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦❜
USELESS.
Dazai's existence was absolutely useless.
He never once considered his own life to have any significance or value for him being deemed worthy at any point of his life. How could he when all he experienced was suffering and trauma. He was weak. The weak fear happiness itself. They harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness.
That's why he was so afraid to feel any happiness. He knew he'd get some kind of disappointment sooner or later and that short and small spark of joy will turn out irrelevant and useless.
Dazai's throat burned due to the sake which was poorly held by his bandaged hand, his baggy, red eyes narrowed and just kept looking down to the glass, his depressive thoughts consuming him as per usual. If you actually took a look into his brown eyes, you'd see nothingness itself staring right back at you. Nihilism. Emptiness. Uncertainty. Hopelessness.
His body was usually cold as well and very malnourished at times as he only drank himself to sleep and never seemed to care about his outer appearance at all. It was all irrelevant. As long as he was present at the mafia to do his work, nothing else mattered.
The mafia was the only thing that gave him some type of purpose. If he could call that.
He seemed to be motivated a year ago when he first joined but now... he wasn't sure anymore. He felt stuck.
The young boy was at his lowest point in life. As if he hadn't been through enough already. That his life was capable to go downhill even more wasn't something he ever thought was possible.
Breathing no longer felt like a common thing for him. It was a chore at this point. Everything was. Getting up in the morning especially was very disappointing. Dying while he had finally managed to sleep sounded the most pleasant and painless way to die. But he kept meeting his ceiling every morning, being able to sense and feel his futon underneath him and wrapped around his thin body. He'd smell the alcohol from the bottles scattered around him. He'd have to hear the cars and busy people slide through his ears. And he'd taste the bitterness of not caring to brush his teeth properly every day.
