Subtle

His chest, rising slowly, deep in slumber. His eyes, closed, but hardly enough. They're fluttering. He's probably dreaming of some majestic, dreamworld with perfect skies and perfect people. Somewhere that could never exist. Somewhere we all wish we could go.

I place my hand on his chest, feeling the air slowly slip out. His lungs fill up under my hand. His bare chest is warm and soft. He's one of those perfect people. Away from the dreamworld he's suppose to be in. Thus being the reason he wishes to return.

That's his home.

I hate how perfect he is. I hate how his smile hurts me deep inside. I hate how he never gets angry with me. I hate it all. There's so much I can hate. So much that's perfect about him. Perfection should be a sin. Isn't it one? I wish it were. Perfection is for the ones that have left us already, high up in the clouds above.

A slow smile graces his lips. I watch as his eyes flutter once again. My hand still on his torso. He wraps his hands around my arm. Trying to pull me in. He whimpers as I push them away. He longs to return to the world from whence he came.

I think I'll help him. I want to help him. He wants to leave, I should help him. If it was the only good thing I could do in my life. His angel-like figure puts me through pain. I don't want to see this anymore. See how beautiful he is, see how perfect everyone thinks he is. Which he is. There's no denying it.

I cover his mouth. Feeling his warm breath on my palm. I smile as he's still sleeping. I hold tighter. His breathing speeds up, underneath my other hand. His chest searching for freedom, the freedom I'm granting him. Soon you'll be where you should. Soon, you'll be happy. Soon you'll be appreciated.

Perfect beings don't belong among the scum. The worthless ones, like me. I should be below as you watch from above. That's the true order of things. The greater one watches over the imperfect life form, making sure everything is improving, making sure that humanity is improving itself. Or is trying to.

He calls out my name, his last word. He sounds as perfect as ever.

His chest stops moving. His hands fall limp onto the bed. I remove my hands from his body. He's become suddenly so cold. But the smile hasn't faded from his face. He still looks perfect.

Maybe now, I can be like him.