I think the plot bunnies have a hold on me... SEND FOR HELP!
... Nah, but they really are scary. You should probably get some help quickly. (LOL Family Guy joke)
Okay, well, here is a really screwed up story I wrote in two hours. I'd say more, but I just want you to read it. So go on. Read. Get outta here!
PLOT TWIST! In the land of Hyrule, does good always triumph over evil? Future Legend of Zelda fic set in a New York-style Hyrule.
Disclaimer: Legend of Zelda is totally not mine. I would have gotten sued years ago if it were.
"C'mon, man, just one gig at the old rate. I'll even throw in an extra song. What do ya say?"
The old man leaned against the doorway and sighed, staring at the boy-man. He felt sorry for the kid, he really did. He looked gaunt, like he hadn't had a proper meal in years, and the smell coming off of him was less than pleasant. The old man flicked his cigarette and, while staring directly into the kid's imploring eyes shook his head slowly. "Sorry, boy. You know you can't go on without the rest of the band. I wish I could help ya, but there's nothing I can do."
The boy stood there for a minute more, looking between the ground underneath his feet and the man in the doorway before him. His eyes were bugging out of his head and the looks he was giving were giving the old man the creeps. The elder was just about to threaten the boy when he suddenly walked off, violently kicking the old dumpster as he stormed out of the alley.
The old man let out his pent-up breath as he watched the youth walk away. He began to wish he'd at least given the boy something to eat, but as he turned the corner he realized it was too late. Feeling terrible, the old man turned and went back into the bar, closing the creaky back door behind him and turning the lock.
The boy managed to settle himself inside his Delta Oldsmobile before the tears began to force themselves between his dry lids. He rested his head on the steering wheel, an action that in a better vehicle would have caused the horn to blare. He cursed underneath his breath at all the things he found wrong with his life; his shitty car, his whore of a girlfriend, his ex-bandmates, the old man. Feeling the old rage well up inside of him was almost a welcome feeling; he relished the freedom he felt while angry, savored the feeling of not caring what happened anymore. It was almost like a narcotic, his rage. He drew his right fist back and rammed it into the radio that had long ago ceased to function. The knobs smashed into his thin fingers and his knuckles were suddenly alit in excruciating pain, but he loved the pain. It made him feel better, somehow.
It made him feel powerful.
After the pain in his fist subsided to a dull ache, he twisted the key roughly in the ignition and felt the car sputter to life. He peeled out of the cramped parking lot, grazing the bumper of another car and grinning as metal grinded against metal. He drove down the lonely street, still cursing as the car gained speed. At twelve thirty p.m. the city appeared deserted save for the random thug or hooker prowling the streets. The thought made him unconsciously drive to the part of town he knew his girlfriend would be working tonight. As he neared the corner she was usually found on he slowed the car, scanning the dark alleys for any sign of her and cursing the lack of streetlights in this neighborhood. The people who lived down here were dirt poor, but that didn't mean they could see in the fucking dark!
He stopped in the middle of the street when he saw her, uncaring that there was another car behind him when he did so. The car instantly drove around him, the driver honking and flipping him off as he flew past. The sound drew the girl's eyes over, and as soon as she recognized the car she started walking over, almost automatically pulling her well-used lipstick out of her bra and applying it in the dark. She had been through this sort of situation so many times that reapplying the thick makeup she wore was almost as normal to her as breathing. She had finished long before she yanked the Oldsmobile's passenger door open and flopped down in the seat.
"When the hell are you going to get a better car, Ganny?" She huffed, slamming the door hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
"As soon as the band takes off, Zel," he replied monotonously, his foot leaden on the gas pedal as they shot forward. The plastic tarp he had covered the broken back window with struggled noisily against the sudden blast of air, and the tires squealed against the blacktop as they flew down the street. He turned to glare at her and she glared back, the fear of his insane driving all too evident in her clear blue eyes. He liked scaring her, enjoyed the rush it gave him to know he held both of their lives in his hands. He grinned toothily at her and turned his attention back to the street, jerking the wheel to the right to avoid slamming into a garbage can and a light post. He heard her quick intake of breath, watched in his peripherals as she grabbed at the dashboard to steady herself. "Easy, baby," he snickered, "You know I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you."
"For the fucking love of Nayru, would you slow the fuck down, Ganondorf?" She yelled, voice trembling with fear as she tried to be heard over the loud flapping of the tarp. At her words he slammed on the breaks, skidding along the street and miraculously avoiding hitting the cars parked on either side. When the car had come to a complete stop it stalled, choking and coughing and finally going quiet. The sudden hush afterward was broken only by the girl's stilted breathing as she trembled, wrapping her spindle-thin arms around her in an attempt to calm herself down.
The boy stared at her, fire in his eyes as his blood began to boil. "How many fucking times have I told you not to use my real name?" He whisper-yelled, his muscles twitching with the familiar red-hot fury. His right hand flew out and seized her chin, turning her face toward him. "Do you hear me? Don't use my real fucking name ever again!"
The girl stared at him with part fear, part hate in her crystalline eyes. She would have been pretty if she had a little meat on her bones. As she was, she was little more than a thin layer of skin tightly wrapped around a skeleton, and while her strawberry blond hair was done up in large ringlets and curls meant to hide the fact one could still easily tell she was malnourished. Her eyes were the only truly beautiful thing about her, glittering with both a wisdom that made her seem eons older and a childish hope that had attracted him to her in the first place. How someone who had come from the same slums as he had could manage to have such a striking feature both amazed and irritated him. For a moment the rage was gone and in its place was something much softer, much more foreign, a feeling he couldn't recognize has he stroked her face with his thumb.
She endured this only for a moment before she pulled her face out of his grasp, turning toward the window and shrinking away from him. At her action the anger was back and he chuckled, starting the car and pounding on the gas pedal once again. "Bitch," he muttered, just loud enough so that she could hear him, laughing again. They were silent for the longest time, he driving and swerving through stop lights and traffic and she hugging herself and staring out the passenger window, silently sobbing. Her tears were almost luminescent as they quietly made streaks down her dirty face, dribbling off of her chin and down her neck.
The sound of childlike laughter brought both of them out of their reverie. He slowed the car down and realized that he had driven into the high class district of the city. On either side large buildings seemed to flower out of the ground, flowing over the well-manicured lawns like water in a stream. For a moment they were both lost in the view, eyes hungrily drinking in this life that they would never have. Then the bell-like laughter rang out again, and a flame began to burn in the pit of his stomach. Here they were, peacefully wanting what they could never have and a prissy little rich kid decides the spectacle was funny? He was laughing at them, at their misfortune! Well, he wasn't going to dance for the rich kid. He was going to show the world that he was and would always be more powerful than those who tried to put him down. He pulled the Oldsmobile into a sharp turn, the tires squealing like pigs, and then he was driving back down the one-way street, eyes scanning the darkness for the child. Oh, he was going to make him pay, yes he was.
"What the hell are you doing, Ganny?" The girl asked, her voice tired as she dried her face. She was sick and tired of Ganondorf's games, wanted out, wanted away from this hell of a life. She had tried to end her life twice before, once with a knife to her wrist and once with Ganny's car in a garage. She had chickened out when she'd tried to cut herself, and the damned car had run out of gas before she had even begun to feel tired. She had yet to try out the pharmacy in her aunt's bedroom. Maybe when Ganny dropped her off tonight she'd try again.
"Little fucker… I'll show him…"
She gave him a sidelong glance. He was hunched over the wheel, staring out over the dash at the night. He looked crazed, worse than she had ever seen him, worse than when he decided she made a suitable punching bag. Again she was filled with fear of him, though this time she was also afraid for him. She reached out to touch him but let her hand fall away before it reached his shoulder. He'd probably just hit her, anyway. He was going to do what he wanted; better for her not to worry about it. She sighed and leaned against the passenger door, rubbing her temple with her right hand. "Can you take me home, Ganny? I got stuff to do."
"Hang on, I gotta kick this kid's ass."
She scoffed and muttered "Whatever" underneath her breath. A second later the car breaks squealed and something hit the hood before falling underneath the car; she could hear it dragging along the undercarriage, felt as the tires rolled over it. She turned back toward the front of the car but by that time it was all over; all she saw was an empty street. "What the hell…?"
Another second later and someone was screaming. The girl turned and rolled the squeaky window down, craning her neck to see what was going on outside. In the dark red light of the car's break lights she could see a girl crouched over something. It took her a moment to connect the crumpled form to that of a person, a human being.
"Oh fuck."
She turned back to Ganondorf, who was smirking as he stared into the driver's side mirror, obviously staring at the horror that was behind them. "Take that, you asshole."
"Ganny, what the hell have you done?" When he didn't acknowledge her, she pushed his shoulder roughly. "You just ran that kid over! What the fuck were you thinking?"
He finally turned to her, a confused look on his face. "What the fuck are you talking about, Zel? The dick was laughing at me; I couldn't let him fucking get away with that."
Her heart dropped into her stomach as the full realization of the situation hit her; he had killed the boy. She just knew it. And she had let him. With no other way to get her emotions through to him, she struck; once, with her left fist, into his bony cheek. "You fucking killed him, Ganondorf! You fucking murderer!" She struck him again, this time with her right hand across his other cheek. "Murderer!" She screeched, clawing at his face with her fingernails.
With a yell, he was on her; he was much stronger than her, and with the rage propelling him forward he grabbed her small head and rammed it into the dash. Almost instantly he could feel the skull crack; the feeling—oh, Nayru, he was powerful—driving him to pound, pound, pound her face into the dashboard of the car. His hand was suddenly slick and then it was on his face and in his eyes and mouth and it tasted soo good, like a high-class dessert, and he started hitting other parts of her body, seeing which bones he could snap the fastest. Her arms were broken quickly. Her ribs took a little longer, but the crunch underneath his hands was so satisfying his dick responded immediately, and then he was jacking off and breaking her bones at the same time. And all the while the girl behind the car continued to scream, hunched over the body, her own hands slick with his blood.
The next morning it was all over the news; the sick double homicide in a supposedly safe neighborhood. At the crime scene police found victim #1: a young boy named Link Forrester, straight-A student and captain of the fencing team at Hyrule Private Academy for Boys run down in the middle of the street. His spine had shattered when his body had hit the hood; his skull had cracked when he had hit the ground. Multiple broken ribs and a caved-in chest suggested the car had also run him over after he'd fallen. The girl who had called in the homicide claimed he had pushed her out of the way of the car; she'd been careless, she'd said, and had stepped off of the curb without looking both ways. The school was holding a memorial service in his honor, she said; they would celebrate his courage in the face of death. She didn't seem to be taking her boyfriend's death well.
Victim #2 was found in the car, and her injuries were far worse than the boy's. Police were unable to discern whether she had died before or after her arm and ribs were broken, but they were sure she had been dead when her skull had been crushed against the dashboard. Found inside the car along with the body were traces of semen and cocaine, along with empty beer cans. It was assumed the driver had been drunk when he had run the boy over and had beaten the girl to death. Oddly enough, the driver had disappeared. Link's girlfriend, Malon Ranch had insisted that she hadn't seen the guy run, hadn't even seen him get out of the car. Nevertheless, police searched the area around the crime site, hoping for some clues to the murderer's whereabouts. Unfortunately, no one had even witnessed the crash, much less seen a drunken man stumble through the streets. Police would continue the search for another four months, but would call it off as the investigation went stale.
What they didn't know was that their world was about to fall into a state of pure chaos. The balance between power, courage and wisdom had been broken for the first time in history. Hyrule would be the first city to go, destroyed in a blaze of hellfire. The few survivors would note the one thing they remembered clearly about the event; the vision of a huge boar, tusks gleaming with the blood of its past, present and future victims, a red triangle emblazoned on its forehead. They cited the old legend to back up their story, a tale of a hero in green, a maiden with holy powers and a devil with a lust for blood, the three holders of the legendary Triforce. It was a tale of magic and of a legendary sword that was the only weapon that could truly destroy the holder of the Triforce of Power. But in this day and age, where magic is only in a child's imagination and the Triforce is worth nothing but a few lines in an outdated textbook, the fate of humanity is grim. If the race can survive another hundred years, it may still be able to be salvaged. With the almighty overlord Ganon running rampant, it seems like salvation may never come.