I originally wrote this story back in 2005 during my Hardy Boy obsession, the characters being Frank and Joe Hardy instead of the YJ characters. I saw it while cleaning my room today and I just started laughing before… well… this (: It wasn't a bad story actually; just badly written. Maybe I can fix it… I got all giggly when I started to type this. Yes, the beginning is pretty sucky, but it gets better! It's violent, depressing, it'll have you gasping and threatening to kill me if I don't update soon, I promise! **Best. Christmas. Ever**
Disclaimer: I own nothing~!
They were soft lips, lips that had suffered many years of abuse from rough kisses and teeth that wanted to cut the pain away. But now, they did nothing but bleed helplessly onto the grass, staining the porcelain face that separated them from the pure green blades a glossy scarlet.
They were porcelain hands, calloused from years of hard work, strained effort and pain with fingers so nimble and delicate that they were better suited for a woman than a boy his physique. But now, they uselessly reached through the grass, entangling themselves in the other set of scarlet fingers in the grass, promising that when the owners died, they'd hopefully go in the same direction.
They were beautiful blue eyes, darkened from the past few years of pain, suffering, hopelessness and depression with lengthy feminine eyelashes that gave off an appearance of youth. But now, they were closed, heavy tears unconsciously leaking down the porcelain, mixing with the blood to give off a beautiful pink color.
He was a boy, barely fourteen now, who had suffered through what had felt like Hell while managing to uphold the brightest and most hopeful of smiles; he was short for his age, but more muscular than anyone in his age group could ever wish to be. But now, he was just crumpled uselessly in the field, his body riddled with lead.
There was another boy, sixteen years of age who had followed the other boy into Hell, proudly displaying his scars as to proof that he wasn't all talk. But now, those scars were just scars on cold skin seeing that his stomach had stopped rising and falling a long time ago, just as his breath had stopped huffing out, tainting the air with its warmth.
Another man stood in the field between them, the barrel of his pistol still surprisingly warm as the cold bitter winds nipped at his exposed skin, blood splatter covering his jeans and black boots. From the evil grin that was spread over his lips, he couldn't possibly be any happier. His laughter carried on the wind, spreading loud and clear for all to hear that he had been victorious.
Somewhere, a team of teens and adults worried their hearts out, waiting to hear word of any sort about their missing members. The echo of the gunshots would reach them soon enough and when it did, they'd all fall to their knees in despair, vowing the deepest and darkest of vengeance for their fallen friends.
And to think, only a month ago, things had been normal and uninteresting…
I really hope people like this because I really want to write it. Seriously. Like, really bad. More than I've wanted to write anything. Not that I've ever really wanted to write something but... Merry Christmas! (or not). You know, whatever works! Show a little spirit eh, just a smile if you're too lazy to type? Review~!
-Frank, Ann, Joseph and the III.