The people look so small. Peaceful. Happy. He watches them leisurely. His thoughts wander freely, snapping back to reality every now and again. Faces and memories and words drift in and out of his mind. Right now, he is thinking about the woman he used to love. Still loves. Love, as he often reminds himself, is a cancer that can only go into remission. It can not be cured. Who is she with? Who gets to hear her laugh like music? Who gets to taste her, kiss her, explore the treasure that is her body and heart? Does it matter? He knows the answer. It doesn't. None of it is real.
Thoughts shift. Warp. The woman at work. The one who tries to catch his eye and when she does, she looks away. Blushes. Offers him small smiles and 'accidentally' touches his hand. She who says such nice, soft empty things to him. In another world, maybe he'd fall for it. Less naivete, more innocence. He'd be hers. But he's seen the reptile in their eyes.
The stars that make up the galaxy of his mind tumble and reshape. Mother comes to his mind. She would be sitting in her corner right now, staring outside blankly. When had he seen her last? Almost a year. She doesn't remember him anymore. He'd gotten tired of that repeated conversation a long time ago. I'm your son. You're my mother. Father is dead. You're in a home. I'm your son. Please stop crying. I'm your son. I'm your son. It used to hurt him, but pain he could deal with. Now it left him cold and tired, and that was harder. The indifference towards her.
Celestial bodies, like waves, crash and roll. Still, he thinks of family. His brother. There's no apathy here. His brother looms heavily in his thoughts. Sometimes the phone will ring, and he'll answer it, expecting his brother's voice. Sometimes he'll see him in a crowd. The dreams are the worst part of it. Where his brother didn't paint the walls in his blood and brains. He comes to his apartment, and they hug, and it's all okay. The voices quiet. The color comes back to the world. His heart beats again. But then he wakes up. To the voices. To the dullness. To the emptiness.
The people look so small through his scope. He absentmindedly strokes the trigger. They all look so...real. Normal. He knows better. He's seen behind the curtain. He'd considered leaving behind a note, a manuscript, maybe a video. But he didn't want to give them any answers. Let them wonder why. Let them seek to find meaning in his supposed madness. He was going to shatter the world.
Stars darken. The park continues to bustle and hum in the warm, summer day. The people live, love, and laugh. He relishes the calmness he feels. The rare feeling of purpose and worth. Something happens to him that hasn't happened in a very long time. He smiles. The people begin to scream.