I loved the boy Lysander, with his charming, pearl-white smile, messy black hair, and sky-blue eyes. He was always so kind, so caring. He was quiet, but in a contemplative way, as one might imagine imagine a philosopher. And he was a philosopher - his philosophical analysis paper was so well written, it was even published in the school newspaper. His words held a sort of quiet power, and people listened to him, even if he never raised his voice. He always believed in the greater good, and in justice and peace for all. Lysander was a leader, a strategist, an exemplary student, with high marks. He held held a sort of purity to him - he was never heard swearing or yelling. A perfect, charming boy.
But that was all a mask.
I knew the real Lysander.
I hated the boy Lysander. He was charming in the way a snake was charming, holding people in a sort of mesmerizing trance. His eyes were the cold blue of ice, and his smile seemed forced, as if he was trying to smile a little wider than he'd like. Lysander was a quiet thinker, always staring at the other students as if if they they were chess pieces in a game. He manipulated teachers and friends alike, and still had their complete and utter trust. The people around him were puppets that danced in his hand. He always believed in in the greater good, no matter what the cost of the sacrifice. "The end is more important than the means," He wrote on his philosophical analysis paper. And as for justice, his was the warped sort, the one that believed in revenge and self-righteousness. A boy that believed in peace: that was his facade until you noticed the knife hidden in his sleeve, always ready to strike. And Lysander was always watchful, cautious of even his friends, and even more so with regards to adults. His watchfulness was because he wanted power. He wanted to be the leader and the sole dictator of his world, and the adults were always threats to his wishes. He never swore or yelled in the presence of people, but became extremely violent when he was alone. Lysander, pure? A joke. He had already killed a man by the time he was thirteen. But with his genius and cunning strategy, the murderer was never found, and he had gone away scot-free. And yet, even in his cruel games, he was always the winner, the perfect, charming boy.
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