Hooray for semi-internet access! :D
Kimblee's past isn't really like this. I know that. He's also pretty OOC, just a warning; however, if you still want to take the risk and look through this madness, go ahead. I won't stop you. Just don't flame me. Give nice advice. Please. And for the love of chocolate, someone give me a new idea for a title. I mean, this one makes sense but I hate it. So. Much.
This is one of my very fast paced pieces ever that got me slightly reeling. See, it has a huge age jump in the middle that sort of freaks me out, but I hope you figure it out (and send me virtual cookies so that I can breath again).
I wasn't quite sure what genre this story belonged in, so I put horror/drama. Think I should change it?
There's also a tiny bit of Kimblee/OC (mine. No touchy!) that's pretty obvious. It's also boy/boy, so yeah. I'm sorry, I usually don't pair characters off with OC's, but in this case I just couldn't resist.
Also, for the last bit, there is a lot of mania in here (schizophrenia, anyone?). So if you take offense to that in any way, I'm very sorry.
So, enjoy! And please, please review. It'll cheer me up when I get back on the net in a few days. Thanks.
It starts with noises at the back of his head. Tick click clack clang tick click clack clang went his mind until he lay awake at night staring at the ceiling of his room, hearing the echoes bouncing off the walls of his skull.
(he knows this is payback for what happened then and he sees it all over again, replaying and replaying over and over again, black hair whooshing past the thin shoulders, the eyes wide with shock and mouth open in a silent scream as he falls down, down, down)
His parents asked all the time if he was all right. Well, his father did anyway. His mother didn't give a damn about him, not like Daddy pretended to, because in his family they're all liars, they're all fucking liars, and because they were liars he told them he was fine.
The noises got louder.
In school he was sent to the headmaster's office for covering his head with his hands and scratching and scratching until he bled.
(it was pretty scarlet, like little beads on a fine threaded necklace that slid down his skin like sweat and scalding water)
His father asks him again and again if he's all right.
And because he's a liar he tells him he's fine.
(but he's not fine, he was never ever fine)
Then he starts to hear whispers amongst the noises. He hears the voice of his (dead) friend Elliot who fell off of the roof of his house (eyes filled with shock and betrayal, hand reaching for his). He hears his aunt who hated him with a passion (it's his eyes, she says when she looks at him, they're the eyes of a snake), who vanished when he was ten. He hears his parents' voices, the true voices that whisper and tell him how they really feel.
(hate, why didn't we give you away, what a nuisance, why are you still here, just go away)
tick click clack clang tick click clack clang
He sits with them at the table at night when it's dark. He hears the real voices as his father talks to him.
You're getting paler and paler, son. You cannot keep bottling up everything inside. You need to tell us. Tell me what's going on.
(you're such a god damn nuisance, boy. you keep fucking hiding like a coward, and good riddance. i don't need to hear your stupid problems, so just say everything's fine like always and i don't have to worry about you anymore)
I'm fine.
The words are mottled when he echoes them, stained and twisted with scarlet beads on a fine threaded necklace against white crystal.
He's not fine.
You're not fine, whispers Elliot. His voice was always pretty and soft and whispery like rain, but now it burns like fire. You've never been fine.
Snake eyes, his aunt whispers, that's what it is. You're a cursed child, boy, with those eyes of yours. You were never right.
He's not right. He's not fine.
tick click clack clang tick click clack clang
The symbols keep drawing him in like a magnet. They hypnotize, entice him like nothing else has done. He creeps closer like a starving rat to a scrap of food left waiting on the floor, all the while knowing that there's a trap sitting patiently in front of it.
He wants to find something loud. Something big. Something that will drown out all of the voices, all of the noises in his head and around him.
He doesn't find it. He makes it with the fresh markings on his palms that he carves in by himself, eager to rid himself of everything else.
The first thing he made into sound was the house that Elliot (pretty boy with big eyes and untamed black hair that flew around his face like a whirlwind in the breeze, pretty boy that he kissed once to try and his lips were so soft they were almost like a girls) fell off of. It explodes with a beautiful, soul rattling noise that pierces him right down to his heart.
(and he can hear something in his head ripping, tearing apart, and it unleashes something, a monster he never thought existed inside him that laughs and laughs and laughs until his whole body is shaking in the tremors of its laughter)
(it eats his aunt's voice up like a black hole, laughing while she screams, and the screams run through his veins like a drug)
You can't stand it, Elliot whispers in his head. You can't stand the guilt of seeing that house every day, every day that reminds you of what you did that day, what you did to me.
I didn't do anything, he says aloud in the rubble, the charred black rubble. You fell.
You pushed me, Elliot whispers, and it twists his gut a little to hear those words. We were fighting and you pushed me off of the roof. It's the truth. You can't get rid of it.
You fell, he repeats for lack of a better comeback. You fell.
I was pushed, Elliot replies simply.
He turns and runs away.
tick click clack clang tick click clack clang
People ponder for days about who blew up the house that the Nites once lived in. They research, investigate with the best people for the job that they can find, and they still pull up zilch.
On the inside, he laughs hysterically. They will never find out, because they are all fools, all of them, and all of them deserve to die in the sound so that he doesn't have to hear their voices all around him anymore.
A few nights after the search has ended, he goes to his school like usual. He listens to his teacher chatter on about the history of their country and he feels the monster rear up and snarl in irritation.
They feel and want the same.
In the middle of the lecture, he's had enough. He stands up.
The class turns to look at him, pretty faces perfect for shattering and ripping apart in a beautiful motion.
Young man, sit down, the teacher says impatiently. I am not done speaking yet.
He looks at the teacher, contemplates whether he would make a nice explosion before merely shrugging his bag over his shoulder and walking out of the classroom.
He walks home, the steps dragging, his mind whirling and banging inside his head.
TICK CLICK CLACK CLANG TICK CLICK CLACK CLANG
His father notices that he's left the school when he walks through the front door of his house. He stands from his chair, looking concerned.
Why are you home? Did something happen at the school?
(why did you even bother to come home? what ever happened back there you should have stayed there so that i would be happy)
He takes off his jacket, drops his bag on the floor. He stares at his palms, covered with black, fingerless gloves.
His father stands uncertainly in front of him, the most real he's ever been to him.
Son?
He takes the gloves off.
(and it's so pretty, the blood and the flesh exploding in one motion with a flare of smoke, the scream echoing in the air)
(and when it fades)
(he's left staring at stained red bone and blood all over the walls and windows that seem to close in on him, overpower and strangle him until—)
(his father's voice fades away from his mind like invisible ink and it feels so wonderful, so, so wonderful. the walls lift and he feels alive again)
His mother comes downstairs and sees the mess in the room. Her eyes widen, her lips part in surprise and horror. She's about to scream—
(he lunges forward and pins her against the wall, covering her mouth. she struggles like a weak little insect under his grip and for one moment, he remembers that she is his mother and he realizes the next that she is so small and he is huge)
(she is no longer the master)
It's a shame, he whispers in her ear, that someone like you could be called 'Mother'. He brushes away a stray lock of black hair that falls in front of her face.
She jerks violently, still trying to struggle away.
What a shame, he says again, that we look so alike and yet we have nothing in common.
He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. She stops dead, paralyzed. This is the most contact they have ever had.
He pulls back and smiles like slow-killing poison.
Goodbye.
He claps his hands.
(and the walls flood red)
tick click clack clang tick click clack clang
When he's walking for the city with a new change of clothes and his palms covered again, Elliot speaks up.
What are you going to do now, he asks softly. His voice is embracing, mixing with the monster's laughter in his head. Where are you going to go?
He smiles, the poisonous gesture giving him a feel of control over Elliot's voice, the monster
(himself)
I need to research more about alchemy, he says calmly to the humid air in the woods. What I have is not enough to keep me satisfied. Then, if it later is in my interests, perhaps I will join the military.
Elliot silences for a few moments before speaking up again.
(and for a moment, he can see his friend again in a milky white landscape, older and radiant and watching him with sad dark eyes and blood dribbling from the shallow cut on his bruised forehead)
I don't know you anymore, Solf, he whispers sadly. You've changed too much.
I haven't changed, he says. I've never changed, Elliot.
(and his friend is swallowed up into the belly of the monster, and it howls until his eardrums are about to shatter)
(he smiles)
tick click clack clang tick click clack clang
- - - - - - -
- - - - - -
- - - - -
- - - -
- - -
- -
-
boom
Was it too strange? Too out of character? Too... I don't know, creepy? Please give me advice (nicely, obviously. Flames are never tolerated).