Because I have major issues with my old story.
"Towers of gold are still too little
These hands could hold the world
But it'll never be enough."
"Alexander mother-fucking Hendrickson!"
Alex jolts awake, blinking and fumbling for the lamp cord. The old bulb flickers once, twice, and then springs to life, illuminating the faded yet elegant maroon wallpaper patterned with golden toile. He tosses his covers off, stretching leisurely as he reflects on his dream last night, a strange hybrid of the Revolutionary War and World War Two where he was a soldier travelling through time. He shakes his head at the thought. U.S History must be getting to me.
His gaze turns to the digital clock on his desk next to his school laptop. His eyes widen as he takes in the flashing 7:00 and he bolts up, racing to his drawers to throw on a random outfit. He dashes down the stairs, grabbing his computer and his bag that he thankfully packed the night before.
Through his blurred vision, he spies his glasses on the kitchen table next to a protein bar. He snatches up his glasses, ignoring the food and heading into the living room.
Alex is greeted by his adopted brother Gilbert grimacing at him. "We're as late to school as Jefferson is to Band, mon frère. Did you sleep through your alarm again?"
"So what if I did? 6:30's too early to get up, anyway, now shut your face." He grouses, throwing open the door and walking out. Gil rushes after him, holding both of their phones. He chucks Alex's phone at him and Alex hastily catches it, glaring at him even as he can't keep the smile off his face. "Thanks, asshole."
"You're very fucking welcome."
The mile-long walk/half dash to school is rather uneventful. Nearly being run over by foul-mouthed drivers who don't know how to stop at a crosswalk, being glared at by assorted strangers as they speedwalk through the downtown area, and one of the local pigeons stealing Alex's algebra homework. Alex races after it until he finally tackles it to the ground and wrenches his math back, oblivious to the horrified stares of onlookers.
When he finally trots back to Gilbert, his brother just raises his eyebrow and shakes his head. "Sad, mon frère."
"Whatever," Alex replies, putting his earbuds in and clicking into a random song, hoping to drown out the constant honking of car horns and whoosh of tires against the uneven roads. Before long, his surroundings seem to completely vanish.
"All the shine of a thousand spotlights, all the stars we steal from the night sky will never be enough, never be enough..."
"Hey, Alex? What's up?"
"Towers of gold are still too little, these hands could hold the world but it'll never be enough."
"Alex!"
"Never be enough for me, never, never..."
Alex suddenly remembers how tired he is, how he kept waking up last night, how it hurts to even move his legs and how all he wants is to sleep, and before he knows it, he can feel himself collapsing into bed. He feels his dream from before tugging at him, a voice so terribly familiar calling to him to come back to him, not to go, to come back...
He takes the hand of his mystery caller at the same time a burst of pain hits the back of his head and he is yanked forward, into fond, strong arms clad in deep blue. He feels the press of a kiss to his forehead and of gloved fingers brushing his cheek. Alex looks up and sees a tall, curly-haired man smiling warmly at him, and he knows this man, he knows him.
"Never enough for me... for me... for me!"
Then there are lips against his own, and Alex feels his hair graze his neck, which makes no sense because he's never grown it long before. It all feels so foreign and yet so right, his hands gripping tightly to muscled shoulders and the press of brass buttons against his hands. He hears the sound of a bomb, as if it were straight from a war movie, and the buttons under his hands turn to straps and he feels a strong helmet atop his head.
When he pulls away, he is surrounded by artillery and there is the whistle of planes in the night sky, and the man before him is wearing a combat uniform and his smile has become sad.
"Goodbye, love. Maybe we'll meet again."
"Wait, don't go!" Alex finds himself catching the other man's hand, dread surging in his gut and the undeniable feeling that if he lets him go, this man will die. "Please."
"I have to, Alex. I'm sorry."
He turns and leaves and once he vanishes into the dark, Alex collapses. The dust bores holes in his vision, excruciating as drops of fire, and then everything goes black.
"For me…"
I think that's considerably better, but we'll see.