You're Dead!

Tragedy/Suspense

Authoress: Orcadia/Adarcoi (2010)

Rewrite Begun: January 9, 2010

Chapter One:

It's Not a Fashion Statement

…The damage you've inflicted

Temporary wounds

I'm coming back from the dead

And I'll take you home with me

I'm taking back the life you stole…

It had been at the peak of a note when the music was immediately ended as the drone of lyrics died away into the speakers. The silence that overtook the surrounding area was at first daunting as the tanned finger finally slid away from the dashboard power button. The boy who had retracted his hand sighed in a fit of indecision. It tore at his heartstrings to even think about it…and yet, everything, the sounds, the smells, the surroundings, reminded him of where he went wrong.

"I suppose…that wasn't the best thing to play…" He muttered beneath his breath, letting his teeth graze over his bottom lip as he chewed softly in contemplation. He had paid no attention to the blonde boy who sat next to him, continuing to watch the froad in silence as the neon and grey of the city began to fade behind them.

The boy who sat in the passenger seat was like him in everyway, the same small body, the same blue eyes, and yet so different. The brunette driver couldn't help the tears that began to leak from his eyes and down his cheeks, he shot a longing glance to the passenger side, sending cyan eyes to shoot in anticipation. "…Roxas." Another sigh as he wrapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel. He couldn't take the tension this was causing, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he wasn't as patient as he had once been.

Still, not even a breath came from between the blonde's lips. His matching cerulean eyes were glued forward as the scenery exploded past the car in a whirl of color and motion. "You could have come home, you know?" The brunette muttered again, wiping another tear as it trickled from the corner of his eye. As his breath hitched, mentally beating himself for this being so hard, he closed his eyes.

Finally a single sigh erupted from between the peach colored lips of the blonde passenger. So, he did have emotion. But there was no words to follow, the car had become silent as ever, save for the whirring landscape and the soft breathing that the brunette driver had taken to emitting. As he turned the wheel in sudden shaken-handedness, a small brick house came into view. The home blended well with the background, the golden-rod skyline was breathtakingly beautiful as it colored the reddened bricks and clean windows. The scenery was one of serenity, quiet oblivion nestled between human suburbia.

The blonde lifted his eyes slowly, watching as seven windows glared back at him, most with curtains drawn and only half-illuminated in the dimming twilight. He scanned the façade for a moment before stopping as a pale face appeared in the window of the second story window behind the sheer white curtains, matching blonde hair flowing in a nonexistent breeze. Yet still, he spoke not a word to his apparent companion.

"Welcome home…" the brunette drug from the pits of his lungs, wrenching his feet, which had become more like dead weights on the floorboards. He shut the door without saying another word and slowly made his way up the long walkway towards the front, not admitting himself to take another glance in the direction of the passenger seat.

The blonde laid his hand on the door handle in contemplation. All of this time he'd been gone, all of the hell he'd been put through, and this was the welcome he received? He pushed the door of the old station wagon open with a slight creak. "This isn't home," he spat as he took another look at the retreating brunette. "This is hell with windows." The brown haired boy who had left him behind paid no attention as the blonde watched him close the mahogany door behind him and leave the lonesome boy alone in the atmosphere of his torment. The blonde would have been overjoyed to be back in a warm house, to have a clean bed, to be with his family again…what had gone so wrong?

As the wind whipped around his head once again, leaving the impression of suffocation, the aria blinding and the ear-splitting pain that shot through his head unbearable. "Just…Just shut up!" He screamed as he threw his head back and clamped his eyes shut. As he slammed the car door back into place he could only emit small breaths of fuming hatred to leak from his between his lips. Who were they to tell him this was what was supposed to happen? He was nothing without them. This boy, he didn't know what he had been through, how far he had gone to find himself, what he had lost. A twinge of loathing pressed the serenity around him as he strode to the door. It had been so long since he had been here, but it still felt like the same suffocating environment, the same fucking boring people, and the same lack of self-satisfaction.

There was no one to greet him when he entered, but he swore he could hear the clatter of glass and china from the dining room. The living room to which he entered looked well-used. The couches looked to have been moved, a long sage colored rug now decorating the floor beneath it. A coffee table had been implanted, now piled with old copies of newspapers with headings like "Unlucky Thirteen" and "Suicide Club" with hazy photographs. A half glass of orange juice sat beside them, along with a copy of Nevermore. The fireplace was unlit, but the ashes that had been left in its pit sent a smoky scent to flow throughout the room. The television situated in the corner had been left on, old home movies blurring across the screen. He let out another long, drawn out groan as he stormed past the warm and inviting room and instead into the depths of the darkened staircase leading to the second floor.

The second story was more or less a number of doors. They were each closed, adorned with personal implications and secrets behind them. Photos of school memories and sketches of summer scenes were plastered over most, save for the one he solely recognized at the far end of the hall. It had been his door, painted over with black paint from a self-mutilation phase he had gone through in the early years of high school and covered with posters of bands he had once enjoyed. As he approached the door, a twinge of fear swam like electric through his veins. He overcame the emotion as he pushed himself through the darkness. It had only been two months since he had last seen it, and with minor cleaning, everything remained as he had left it.

The room itself was freezing; a chill shock sent itself through his spine as he collapsed face first onto the grey-colored sheets atop the twin sized bed. The airflow from the heater to his room had been lost some time ago, and this was how he liked it. He wished he had been able to see his breath in it, just to know he was alive. He smothered himself into the sheets, entering a world filled with his own scent, something he hadn't smelt in so long. He had become accustomed to the cigarettes and violets that held him close, and he longed for their touch.

He had long forgotten of the brunette downstairs, just as they had probably forgotten about him. He closed his eyes, entering the world he had become so equipped to live in, a world of darkness and pity and fear. But now…he heard something, someone. Someone was here, in his darkness.

A pale face adorned with emerald and black.

It sent him shooting forward, arms ready to catch what he had so longed to have. "Ax…el!" He let the words erupt in their own tattered and choked breath. He couldn't be here…not here. He had seen him there. He was…

…he was…

"So…" The silence had finally been broken in the midst of dinner. Each patron of the table set their forks down for a moment as they all turned to the brunette sitting at the end, staring into his plate as if it would give him the answer to the world. The table was cluttered with dishes of sweet peas and candied carrots, seasoned steaks and a pile of toast. A plate of butter and salt and pepper shakers swam amongst them, giving the room a look of used familial living. The tall blonde beside the boy made a quick move, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy as he pulled him close. The rest of the table tried to swallow the lumps that had gathered in their throats, shooting glances between the shattered boy and the photographs on the wall that depicted six happy faces that now dwindled on the edge of four.

The brunette pulled away, standing up on shaky legs. "He hates me, Cloud." He almost chokes on the words as they spill from his lips. "That's why he's done this, you know." He turns his back to the family, retreating from their presence. Cloud, the elder blonde, would have none of it as he shadowed the smaller boy.

"He doesn't." Cloud murmured behind him, placing a hand on the shoulder of the younger boy. "Roxas…he would never…"

"He would!" The brunette shot back, sweeping away his hand in fury as he left the dining room in a whirlwind. It felt like he was at fault. It was his fault Roxas had run away, it was his fault Roxas had ended up on the streets, it was his fault that the Roxas he knew was gone. He slumped himself against the wall, head dropping to his chest as tears released again. "Maybe he was happier without me…"

There it was again. That feeling. It was a feeling that made him want to rush to the nearest drawer only to grab a fork and shove it deep inside his stomach—and twist. The numbness had subsided long ago, and the darkness was beginning to fade with it. He felt airy, like he had awoken in a sort of high that sent his body in tingles and seizures. His arms felt lifeless at his side, clad between white seats and the black shirt he had worn to his bed. They clung to his ligaments with the sweat that trickled down his body. He had finally opened his eyes, emerald orbs shooting to the ceiling. The room was bright, even blinding, shattering his sight with a neon eclipse of white and light. Was this heaven?

He quietly excused the thought. There was no heaven for people like him, nobodies. He could feel the bottle he had used still in his hands and the razors he had used out of rage and heartache. He had wanted to die. He needed to die. The prescription of Norepinephrine that he had been given a week before was still making its way through his system, he could feel it. Every single tablet had gone into his mouth in his moment of terror when he found the rest of them already gone. He had swallowed the whole fucking bottle! Why was he still alive?

He laughed, it grew slowly and then resounded around the lifeless room. Who was he without him anyway? As he sat up, his entire body racked with aches and pains as he let his crumpled self begin to rise on shaking legs. His entire being felt broken—weak. He pulled a hand to rake through his hair, candy apple red hair drifting around pale pianist's fingers. He let the hand drop down, noticing for a second that he no longer looked normal. He was ungodly pale, almost misty as he sat in the blinding light overhead. He wasn't dead. He just wasn't alive either.

Sora hadn't meant to make Roxas angry. He was just so frustrated with everything. Roxas had been acting like such a prima donna, sitting in his room all day, just feeling sorry for himself. The brunette could only do so much cheering up before everything went to hell in a hand basket. The brunette had taken to walking when it began to soak into twilight, the environment was calming, and sometimes he just know Roxas was watching. He'd leave fleeting glances at the window that had served as Roxas' escape, berating himself with questions of why it had to happen to his family.

The blonde had sat in the window of his bedroom, watching as the elder brunette boy below him continued to pace. He had just wanted freedom, a chance to live; a chance to see what was so great about the world that he had been left behind for. Now all that he could hear was the music that was belting out of the stereo on the second floor, but instead he found it easier as he swerved around the corner, repeating the same phrase:

…We never got that far;
this helps me to think
all through the night.
Bright lights that
won't kill me now
or tell me how.
Just you and I
your starless eyes remain…

[End One]

I yet again hit a rut. Go figure. But I did decide this time to just do a re-write. It worked well for Broken Boys and Mondays, so I figured a retuning of this story was necessary. I changed the plot slightly, added a major twist that I had always wanted to include, but never actually had. My characters are a bit OOC, but I try to fit everyone in. Roxas is about 17, maybe 16? I'm not sure. Axel will probably be closer to 23, Sora will be a year older than whatever age Roxas is. Namine (who I've put at Roxas' sister) is probably 12, and Cloud is more around 25. Demyx, although only mentioned once in his chapter, is crucial, and will be about 20. There is a reason there isn't that much dialogue, but its one of those stories where I want you to think about it until the end and go "why didn't I figure that out"…I'm so mean. I hope you all don't hate me for starting to rewrite without even finishing the original…and for the fact that I haven't touched this in under a year…I swear, I was busy. I do hope that this makes it awesome though. Please review!