This is my first WK fic, so i hope you like it, plz read and review, constructive critism is always accepted

Disclsimer: WK is not mine, and neither is Schwarz ::sob:: ::sniff::

Warning: depression, suicide, and warped minds, but what else can you expect from a Schwarz fic?


Ripple Effect

scream

but the world won't hear you

cry

but the world doesn't care

when the world hurts

it'll see you

"I wish someone cared about me," the words slip through Sierra's lips.

She doesn't know I'm standing next to her, or that is what I have told her mind.

"I wish I wasn't cold and alone," she breathes.

You're not alone, I want to tell her, but know that it would only scare her.

"Celio, why have you abandoned me?" she cries through tears that are now running down her face.

I resist the urge to gag. This is the only thing about Sierra that I despise. Her belief in this God and his angels is foolish. If there is a God he couldn't care less. If there are angels, the last thing they'd be doing is watching out for a human race that's eating at itself.

It's cold out and she wraps her arms tighter about her shoulders. "I hate my life! I wish I would die!"

But she doesn't have the courage to end her own life. How I know those feelings. How many times I uttered those words.

A light turns on behind her and there's a click as the door opens. "Sierra come inside, it's getting cold!"

"Coming!" she answers. Like you care!

Her last thought echoes through my mind. I sigh and shove my hands into my pockets, beginning the long trek back to our penthouse. Sierra is an empath, but she doesn't know it. All she knows is that she always hurts, and then everybody else hurts, and they blame her. She is as alone as she feels.

Just like I was. Telepathy and empathy aren't that different you know. When I was a child I was an outcast. I could hear things I wasn't supposed to, and I couldn't control my projection, much like Sierra now. When I got angry or scared, everyone around me knew, there was no way for me to prevent it. It wasn't my fault, but all the same it left me all alone.

oxo

I stare at the sleeping figure through her window. If she opens her eyes she'll see me. I've been pushing my luck lately, like I subconsciously want her to see me. I shake my head; I'm just insane enough to come up with an idea like that.

I can see her dreams. They're painfully like my own. The whole world turns its back on her, but there's one person, always some strong handsome man, that still loves her. She melts into that embrace.

I smirk. I remember the perfect features, long brown hair, and deep brown eyes that belonged to my angel. The angel that I thought would save me from the world. That angel never came to my rescue, and I know never will.

Looking down at her peaceful face, I realize that, ironically, that she looks a lot like that angel. I grin, or maybe I'm delusional.

oxo

From my perch atop the fence around there school yard I can see Sierra talking with her friends. Yes, she has friends. They talk behind her back, and think that she is suicidal, but she still considers them friends. She's desperate to fit in, even though she knows she never will.

"Can you come over tonight?" Sierra asks a girl with short light brown hair.

The girl looks at her feet, and I can read her discomfort across her features, without having to look into her thoughts. Sierra feels it, though she masks her internal frown and pushes the notion away. She doesn't believe in her powers much like me when I first realized the voices in my head were the thoughts of others.

"I'm sorry, Sera," she uses the childish nickname to lighten the mood, "I've got a doctor's appointment."

She's only partially lying. Her "doctor's appointment" is really a meeting with her psychiatrist. More important, though, is the fact that even if she wasn't busy, her mother doesn't want her to talk to Sierra. She thinks Sierra is the reason that her daughter became bipolar.

I shake my head. If only she knew Sierra really was the cause, in more ways then she could guess. This is something I was never exposed to as a child. Sure, I was shunned because I heard "voices" but I was never blamed for the ailments of others, or at least not as openly as Sierra was.

Sierra shakes it off, but she can feel the distrust. I can hear her thoughts. You're just being paranoid, they whisper.

I only wish you were, I want to tell her.

oxo

I sit right next to her on her fence tonight, but I've told her mind, just like all the other nights that I'm not here. I watch over her shoulder as she writes in a worn blue journal that she's had since the entries were merely about boys and crushes and broken hearts. Entries that came before her empathy awakened.

Nicky was lying today. I know she was. I think her mother thinks I'm a freak, just like Samantha's.

Ah, Samantha. I remember that incident only too well. The tears and the screams as Sierra pleaded with Samantha's mother that her poetry was not suicidal and that she didn't mean to make Samantha depressed. Samantha was still in a mental institution from multiple suicide attempts.

What had always been left out of that story was in that same week, Sierra's parents divorced, unfortunately that could have been caused by Sierra too. I never looked into it.

Sierra's hurt hurts others, leaving her no one to lean on.

Then again, maybe I am a freak. Whenever I'm sad so is everyone else. I'm so sorry.

Tears were starting at the corners of her eyes.

I'm not meant to be alive, am I?

She grins humorlessly.

That question is pointless. Of course I'm not meant to be alive. Nothing that is meant to be alive hurts others. I should be dead. I'm a child of the devil. Maybe that's why Celio abandoned me.

There she goes with that Celio nonsense. If the man is real I would really like to take a couple of swings at him for all the hurt he causes this already torn child. But on the flipside of the coin, she is a child of the devil. We all are, us with "talents". No powers as demonic as our own can possibly be given by the hand of God, cruel or not.

Sierra closes her notebook and picks up her cell phone where it lies on the ground next to her. She dials a number. It's a number for people who are feeling suicidal, I know. I wonder if Sierra knows every time she calls another of their employees takes their own life.

They're slowly catching onto the trend, though. If Brad were here he'd probably be able to give an exact date for when it'll be all over the newspapers, Sierra's name and all.

"Yeah, thanks," Sierra murmurs the reply like she always does.

I can almost hear the thoughts of the woman she had been talking to. Why the hell can't I have more then this pathetic job? Why can't I have a REAL life? Why does my boss always yell at me? I can't take it anymore!

BANG

That's what they always sound like when they hang up the phone.

Sierra leans back and stares up at the night sky. "I wish I was like one of the stars," she says to no one in particular, but they way she says it makes it sound like she's talking to me.

She sighs heavily and stands, stretching in the same motion. "Goodbye," she whispers to the night sky. Angel.

The last thought catches me off guard and I wonder whether she knows I was there.

oxo

Sierra walks in to school the next morning to be met with pointed fingers and stares. As she walks by, people shy away from her, and hover in little groups just out of her vision whispering. They're all whispering the same thing.

"She's the girl in the newspaper."

Her own friends won't talk to her. And she doesn't know why; she doesn't read the news.

When she gets home, her mother isn't there. Sierra doesn't know it, but she's at some court not far away, pleading that Sierra had nothing to do with the counselor suicides.

I'm sitting at her kitchen table, but again she cannot see me.

I watch her expression contort as she sees the newspaper, flung open across the table. She sees the articles. She reads their titles and starts to sob.

I understand why; the titles read things like "Sierra Miller, a New Kind of Killer?" and "Is Suicide Contagious?"

She yanks her phone out, but doesn't dial the suicide hotline number. She dials a number that I've only seen her dial once before. She hadn't called Carrie since the day that Samantha went into the mental home. Carrie was seeing a psychiatrist before she met Sierra, and so seemed unfazed by her empathy.

Today though, I'm not sure it will be that easy. Sierra's self loathing and depression are trying to push their way through my mental barriers. They may be able to hurt Carrie too, despite her already being ill.

"Carrie! Have you read the papers?" she cries into the phone, still choking on tears.

There is silence as she waits for a response.

"But I didn't…it's not my fault…" None of her thoughts are completed, and she continues to sob into the phone.

The thoughts carried along the phone line are unreadable to me because I'm too busy trying to hold Sierra's hurt out of my mind.

The bang on the other end of line is heard even by me, sitting two chairs away.

Sierra's shock momentarily stops her self-hatred, and then I can hear screaming on the other end of the line.

Monster is the only word that I can make out.

Before I have a chance to stop her Sierra has grabbed a knife from the kitchen. Without the slightest hesitation she tears it down both her wrists. Blood spatters everywhere, and I know there's no way to save her.

I drop to my knees next to her, allowing her to see for the first time in nearly six years. I lift her to my chest, suddenly feeling responsible for her taking her own life. "Sierra, damn it, hang on!" The words are pointless; she's already unconscious in my arms.

Thank you, Angel.

"What?" I ask, hearing the words.

Thank you.

"Sierra?" I realize whose the voice is. "Oh, God, Sierra, stay with me." It's too late; she practically sliced all the way through her wrist, let alone cutting the vein there. She's already dead. I lean over her dead body, tears leaking from eyes for the first time since I had joined Schwarz. "I can't have been your Angel," I breathe, "Your Angel could have saved you."

With that, I stand and step aside, hearing the thoughts coming from the door. Sierra's mother along with several policemen has arrived.

I have disappeared to them. They'll never know I was here.

Sierra's mother sees Sierra lying on the ground in the puddle of blood. "See?" she cries, tears dripping down her cheeks. "This is what you did to her!" She screams at them, but I can hear her real thoughts. Thank God she's gone.

How unmotherly of you, I croon into her head then walk out the still open door without them ever noticing.

As I walk home a story of a young boy comes to mind. When he was child, he had powers, powers that he couldn't control. People, even his own classmates called him a freak, a monster, even a demon for things he heard. One day, he got angry, and the next day the boy didn't come to school. The teachers all said that he got sick and had to go to a special hospital. It was overlooked, and even the second time it was deemed coincidence. The third time though, it was traced back to the boy. He hadn't intended to hurt anyone, but now he was a monster, and he would always be a monster because of these demonic powers that he had. He had wanted to take his own life as well, but his Angel had saved him, not the beautiful angelic creature he had imagined, but a scarred angel with silver hair and only one eye. That angel had saved him.

If only I could have been Sierra's Angel, maybe I could have saved her from her own ripple effect like Farfarello had saved me.


That was sorta dark, i know, but there's no such thing as a happy-go-lucky Schwarz fic, sry. There will be no mention of Wiess at all in this fic if anyone cares, I'm a strictly Schwarz fan.

thanks a bunch to you readers and thanks to my proofreaders