Title: And All That Could Have Been...Part 1
Author: Cannibaljello
Rating: R for violent themes, severe depression, a tid-bit of shounen-ai...
Notes: I wasn't going to post this up here on fanfiction.net, but my lovely confidant Lady Frost 1 insisted I did, as I'd be "depriving" readers of this story if I didn't...We'll just see if that's true or not, won't we?
Wrote this fueled by my own manic depressive disorder. Don't know what spurred it, exactly, but it was...helpful, I guess you could say, to write.
Read and Review. You may do both...or maybe just review for the hell of it without reading..? But please, don't skip giving a review. It means a lot to poor authors like myself who spend time and effort scribbling these things down. And unless you're a posting author, you might not realize the importance.
IF you do review: please don't give me somethin like "Oh geez, how sad". I'd like to see some reflective parts on your half.
This is perhaps the shortest section of the story, so don't fret.
===Intense was the cold.
Not even the man-made walls of the road-side hotel could prevent wisps of air from worming their way inside cracks of dry wood, through slivers framing the doors, wafting through the single layered glass which was chilled. When touched, the ice seemed to transfer through the brittle barrier of crystal, soaking through fingertips to pass through flesh and bone to the blood flowing beneath...
...Like a virus. Infecting everyone in touch, impossible to escape…
David King pulled his hand from the window of the room encasing him, shaking away the shivering sensation and the nightmare dominating his mind. An incubus epidemic swarmed his head, screeching as it claws shrieked against the gradient of cicatrices that David had spent years, a lifetime to build, now clotted with scar tissue brought on by a catastrophic blend of days which seemed unreal now that it's past.
Against the atramentous solid dusk that had fallen, David could swore he still hear the cries of pain, the wails of the dead, and the shuffling of tangible, rotting shadows that chased the living even though they themselves were deceased, nearly unreal.
Too real to be unreal, yet too unbelievable to be believable...
The idle man tore himself from his standing point at the glass. Why he was waiting, he wasn't sure. What he was waiting for, no one knew. The answers evaded him like the unliving shadows of the room as a small lamp clicked on, chasing the darkness away partially, but not completely. Behind a small clock that ticked and a phone that sat the gloom remained. Surely it was waiting, waiting for the bulb to burn so it could spread again.
Is that what you're waiting for - another disaster to strike? For what reason - to feel alive again? To escape the remnants that linger in your mind? To have that one distraction strong enough to save yourself from destruction?
David shook his head only to himself, for no one sat nearby. The emptiness of the room reflected the hollowed space beneath his flesh, inside where an underlying heart beat, reduced to a mere nameless organ since it no longer seemed to pump blood. It felt as though it was suffocating, - caving in on itself to fill the emptiness kept inside, leaving space elsewhere for melancholy to brew.
Twenty-four hours he'd lived - twenty-four since the rebirth of a man, melted and malleable from a near death experience, shaped by a new perspective of life.
But why do I feel so dead? Had I ever felt alive?
The answer dawned on him, draping him in a curtain of aching loneliness.
Yes, alive if only for a lapse in time, David thought, closing his eyes. And then he remembered...
= = =
To be continued...
(Was that a cruel ending to this part?)