Sometimes/Weakness

Sometimes Omi felt like being normal. Sometimes, he felt like chucking out all of his clothes and replacing them with whatever was in fashion at that moment, no matter how hideous it was. Sometimes, he felt like going to a piercing parlour and getting his eyebrow or nose pierced. Sometimes, he felt like goading one of his co-workers – Ken, most likely – into a shouting match that would end with one or both of them storming off, doors slamming behind them. Sometimes, he felt like saying “fuck it” and indulging in a typical teenage ‘nobody-loves-me-nobody-understands-me-nobody-knows-my-pain’ shit fit. Sometimes, he felt like telling one of his classmates the truth about what his job was. Sometimes, he felt like taking his mission clothes to an industrial furnace, so he could chuck them in and watch them burn. Sometimes, he felt like taking his crossbow to bits, piece by piece, and driving over them until they were nothing more than twisted bits of junk metal and wood. Sometimes, he felt like taking one of his darts and slitting his wrist in the bathtub. Sometimes, he felt like allowing himself to be depressed. Sometimes, he felt like letting the full impact of the life he lived to hit him. Sometimes, he felt like reacting the way a normal teenager would. Sometimes, he felt like doing what normal teenagers did. Sometimes, he felt like being a normal teenager. But only sometimes. Because Omi hated weakness.

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