Hello, once again, I'm back. Just took a long break and then had the worst of writers block, don't worry, it's gone now, but now I'm going to try and focus on this one story now.Hopfully, I can get a lot more of good, postivereviews then my last one. But anyway enjoy and Idon't own Ghostbuster oranything else metioned in this story.Read and Hopefully, ENJOY!
The Young One
A storm ran swiftly through the streets of New York, as if God had heard the cries of a tragedy committed in the streets below, and was showing the city the pain and repercussions. Through the rainy sheet that spread across the city that night, a lone boy walked in the empty streets. To make a correction, the boy was more or less struggling to stand on his own than walking, dragging his legs across the concrete, which scratched his shoes (or what were left of them). Gripping what remained of his left arm; he pulled it up and tried to keep more blood from pouring out of the wound. Cuts ran up and down his face as his lips gushed blood from his mouth.
The only sound that issued forth, despite the rain against the sidewalk, was a sword, a katana to be exact clutched in his bloody hand. The rain washed away most of the blood that stained upon the katana's thin steel blade.
Through the pounding pain in his body, he continued on, in search of sanctuary, a place where he could heal and then continue on his quest; a quest to find who he truly was. The tears from the sky, for that is what they seemed, continued to drip inside the gashes on his face as he dragged himself across the wet streets of the New York City. Nevertheless, he continued to think back on the events that had taken place that had brought to such a lowly state. He was once again been wandering the streets when he was taken on by street-punks.
If that was not bad enough he had been led into a trap by the surviving members of the clan that he and his family had brought down; fighting just to survive, as he was out-matched in every possible way. He tried to escape from them, but each time he turned, there was another group waiting for him. He was pushed and tricked into a dead-end, where he had to stand and fight with his back against the wall. Now, looking back he could only remember bit and pieces of the struggle… Challenging what seemed like hundreds of thousands of black-fitted warriors, he had fought bravely on, even through the endless beatings as his body hit the ground. It took most of his strength just to stay conscience through it all. His two short staffs were broken right in front of him, as his own blood blinded him; it had been too much for him to handle. Nevertheless, he fought on, through the torture, the pain, the fading hope that one of his brothers will come and save him. Despite the odds against him he had killed every all of them… slaying the leader with his own sword and then struggling down the alley just as the storm began.
Despite the horror that he had he had endured, one thought kept crossing his mind, he had won. He had gone up against incredible odds and came out victorious. He defeated his enemies to the death and was alive to tell about it…well, for now anyway. He didn't know how much longer he could walk. It had taken all of his will power just to win that battle and get out of the alley. He didn't know what was making him go on, but he felt his body crying out more and more to give up. Yet, he pushed on. Just to this corner. He thought. I can get help there at the next corner. However, he knew that help wasn't around the corner, the next corner, or any corner for that matter. No one could help him this late at night, he didn't even know if anyone would help him in broad daylight, especially in this city! He just had to push on and find a safe place to sleep for the night and hope he would wake up the next day.
Therefore, he pushed on through the night, limping past streetlights and street corners every so often. Every moment, that he felt his body giving up, he forced it to move on, after of a minute of rest.
Finally, after what seemed to be hours of waling, his vision began to blur in front of him and he began to sway left and right. He felt the coldness of death streak over his body and an unknown darkness began to fall over him. He tried to shake the feeling away, but death was slowly clawing through his body. "NO!" he whispered into the rain stricken street. "Must…..push…….on…….." His body finally went limp as he tripped over a trash can on the side of the street. The streetlight over him cast its bright golden light upon him as he let the rain pour over his cuts and gashes. I should have never left. He thought as he felt the darkness take over him. His eye lids closed as he accepted his fate to the heavens. He tightly gripped his sword in his hand, hoping it would be with him in the after-life. He heard the rain hit the pavement around him as he made peace with himself. The darkness surrounded him more and finally he succumbed to it. As the darkness fell he thought he heard a voice call out to him. "Sensei" he said out through the darkness, "Forgive me for my mistake…."