A stray streak on the page, a stray stroke on the canvas, a stray mark on the sketchpad are products of control being lost. Yes, they are all accidents, not one intentional, but they were made due to lack of control of the pencil, the brush, the pen. It's hard to cover up; it's hard not be noticed. Every stray streak is like a false stroke—control was lost and a mess was made, no matter how minute or how gargantuan. Life is like this. When one loses control, a mess is made, and a scar is left.

Chapter 3: A Stray Streak

Misery paled a shade, and his spine became rigid. Without realizing it, he had leaned back, away from the strange boy. The boy only leaned closer with his look darkening and the smile fading. Then he threw his head back and laughed loudly, falling back on the desk.

"Oh, man, you should've seen your face!"

Confused, Misery gave him a look as though saying, "Really?"

The boy sat up again, smirking thoroughly at amused at the irritation and confusion written across Misery's face.

Misery snapped. "Out. Now."

"Oh, c'mon—don't take things so seriously. You really are on the menu though," the boy held out his hand, "Name's Fury."

Misery glanced at Fury's hand and then looked back to him not making any motion to shake his hand.

A purpose behind the handshake, Fury insisted, "Come on—don't leave me hanging."

"Get out of here," said Misery with a dull irritated expression painted on his face.

"Shake my hand," Fury countered.

"Get out."

"Shake it."



Why was Misery even wasting his breath? It was clear Fury wasn't going to leave him alone if he reacted this way. He could more than certainly take a more violent approach and make him leave him alone for good. After all, his fingernails could grow about two inches long, deadly sharp. Fury's smirk never faltered, and his hand was not lowered. The dark haired half-demon resisted the strong, overpowering urge to sever his hand from his arm. That urge grew more and more with every second.

"Just shake the hand—what's the problem?" persisted Fury.

Misery glared a pair of daggers into the nauseating younger boy's eye sockets. "You are the problem."

It seemed that the angrier he became, the more relaxed and less likely to leave Fury became.

"All you have to do is shake it," said the boy with his smirk growing.

Irritation growing with Fury's smirk, Misery finally succumbed and shook the hand. That was when Fury saw what he expected. Misery's fingernails, he noticed, were black and a bit sharper than most. Just like his own.

"So—you're a half breed?" Fury stated.

Misery flinched. "…what're you talking about?"

"A half breed—a cross between a human and a demon. Only demon's have those kind of nails—unless you got like a weird manicure or something," pointed out the younger boy.

Hesitantly, Misery tried, "How do you know I'm not full demon?"

"You would've killed already me if you were."

It's very tempting, thought Misery. Aloud, he said, "How do you know about this stuff?"

Fury flashed his nails and his jagged teeth to him. "Oh, you know. The usual reasons. What do you feed off of?"

Misery glared. "Go away. Now."

"Yeesh—it was just a question."



"And just why not?" snapped Misery, getting more irritated by the second.

"Because…" Fury smirked and quizzed, "Does this infuriate you?"

Misery's glare became harder answering his question.

"That's why."

He lost it—Misery's claw-like nails extended to three inches long, and though they could not be seen, the whites of his eyes became black as night and his pupil narrowed in width. Anguish having taken control of his mind, he slashed his deadly nails at the younger boy.

Fury had to leap back, falling off the desk, in order not to be gutted like an animal. "Hey watch it—"

With wild eyes, Misery tried to strike him again, failing as Fury quickly scrambled to get away. Inside, Michael struggled to balance out Anguish's overpowering fury and desire for a bloody kill. Of course the boy was irritating to no end, but that didn't mean murder was the answer. Misery's movements as he slashed at the boy were more strained as Anguish fought against Michael's struggles. Fury dove out the shattered window and scurried away.

Misery began to pursue but something held him back. Anguish's personality slowly receded as Michael finally managed to start adding balance, and Misery dropped to the ground panting hard. For the first time since he had burned the bodies of the four gang members, he had lost control, and Anguish had taken over. The next time, more lives might be taken. Some innocents perhaps.

Still struggling to control his breathing, Misery tried to calm down.

There were still many questions to be answered about this Fury fellow. Why hadn't he fought back? He was a half demon too. He had claw-like nails and jagged teeth and everything. What had he meant by Misery was the meal? Did he feed off a particular emotion? Or perhaps an actual being? Misery hoped he would never find out. Because in order to find out, he would have to encounter him a second time.