Why did I write this? Well… I had ideas. I read Lithium, by Hades' Phoenix on fanLib(dot)com and was just inspired. At first, I thought about making someone a drunk--when I asked who, four people recommended a character--and I tried it, but I only had one image. And then I thought, who could be beaten? Again, I asked, and they picked the same person. So I tried it. Half of my internet RP characters are child abuse victims--I'm not really one, but I get into it and try to relate, plus I had a few friends who were, so I did my research!

Please don't hate me for what I did. It was fun.

And yes, I'm currently still writing Schemes and Dreams… the WM Sequel is being made!

H'okai. This Story Contains Child Abuse and Violence. If you can't handle that, why'd you click the link?

Disclaimer:
I got Chain of Memories as a graduation present--three months early from a freshman in band…and that's really all I gotz. Ya…

To Create Something Tangible

Prologue

criminal

27 Feb. Case 893162--Sora Nomura.

Age: 15
Height: 162.6 cm (approx 5'2")
Weight: 39.01 kg (approx 86 lbs)
Hair: brown
Eyes: blue

Mother: Rinoa Heartilly-Nomura. Note--currently admitted to Twilight North Institution.
Father: information unknown.

Reason for admission: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Separation from his mother contributes to the Attachment Disorder, Selective Mutism as a coping technique.

9:42 PM.

"This is Nine-One-One, what is your emergency?"

"I just heard gunfire coming from next door. I don't know what happened, but all of a sudden, there were these loud pops, and I know a kid lives down there--" The caller had been speaking very quickly and his words almost jumbled together, but he managed to clear his throat and talk to the operator on the other line. His hands shook as he stood by the window, staring silently through the darkness at the still house in front of him.

It had gotten silent.

"Sir, please tell me where you are," the operator asked.

He gave an address and she assured that police were being sent. With a frown, he took a shaky breath and continued to watch on. Nothing had moved… "I don't know what's going on. That house is usually quiet, or if there's noise, I don't hear it," he mumbled. "Just these loud pops… six or seven of 'em."

9:51 PM.

"Nine-One-One, what is your emergency?"

"Someone's setting off firecrackers across the street!" an elderly woman said angrily into her phone. "I don't know what's going on, but it's not independence day!" She huffed. "I demand that you send police!"

The operator sighed softly. "Ma'am, could you give us your address?" Upon hearing the older woman's response, she blinked, looking at the screen in front of her. "Police have already been sent to that house, on a report of gunfire."

"Gun…fire? Why would someone be shooting guns off there? A little boy lives over in that house, he's just a troublemaker!"

"Police have been sent, ma'am."

9:54 PM.

A set of loud whining bleared through Yen Sid Avenue that Thursday evening, announcing the arrival of two police cars speeding down the road with their lights flashing through the sky. They had just received three calls reporting a disturbance from a small, pale blue house, and knew they had to approach with caution. Gunfire had been suggested, and that meant danger. They weren't quite sure what had happened, but they were about to find out.

The neighbors who had called in reported a child. A young boy, probably in his early to mid teens, was said to live inside and could be causing trouble, but they couldn't jump to conclusions just yet. This could be a boy in a nearby gang, or a child who had accidentally grabbed hold of a gun, or something entirely different. They weren't sure what they should prepare for, but they figured it could be anything, so they needed to keep their eyes open and fingers on their triggers.

The cars stopped, and two of the officers headed to the door, both with a hand on their belts. They waited anxiously, knocking twice.

No response…

They kicked at the door and quickly broke it in, wood snapping and cracking as the lock separated and fell to the ground. They were met with silence, and one officer drew his gun and flashlight, pointing it around the dark house as he looked for the source of the disturbance.

"Hello?" he called out.

The other officer watched his back and they slowly progressed into the house. He flipped on a light and saw the form of a thin, long-haired person dash from the end of the hallway, hurrying to a bedroom. "Stop!" he yelled at the figure.

It escaped through a window, but he quickly followed. His boots made loud clunks as they ran down the hallway, dark eyes focusing on where his light shone. Blood smeared on the walls, drops on the floor, and then…

The body of a child.

Probably no older than fourteen, if that. He lay quietly on the floor in the back bedroom, a pool of blood forming on the carpeted floor underneath him as his pale eyes stared emptily at the ceiling. At first glance, the officer suspected that he was dead, but he slowly blinked and his mouth opened, lungs weakly gasping for air. The officer approached quickly, checking the pulse. Weak.

"Hey, kid!" he said quickly. "Can you hear me?"

The kid's eyes fluttered towards him, though he received a congested cough in response. Behind him, the second officer was speaking in his walkie-talkie, and he quickly called for help on his.

"An ambulance has been dispatched," the operator told him, and quickly began explaining what to do.

Locate the source of the wound.

"…which one?" he muttered. "This kid's slashed up bad…"

As the police officer looked at the boy, he frowned at the amount of cuts he found. The child's previously-blue shirt was cut to shreds and now a darkened blue, slashes all over his chest. There was an X over where his heart was, one so deep he was certain he saw bone past all the blood. He had cuts on his arms, old bandages newly soaked and ripped, pale skin scarred from old wounds and drenched in blood from new ones. His stomach had two long slashes, not as deep as the mark across his heart, and his right leg had been cut numerous times.

Besides the smell of blood, the officer picked up on gunpowder and soon noticed a few bullet holes in the wall, some in the floor. A struggle, he guessed, and those were the ones reported. They didn't seem to strike their target, he was guessing, and he frowned, looking down. The officer wasn't sure this boy could even make it; he had made it past bullets, but not the knife. Calmly, he pressed his hand against the boy's chest, trying to stop the bleeding even though his hand did little for the child in front of him.

"Kid, can you tell me your name?" the officer asked, trying to keep the boy awake and responsive. If the boy lost consciousness, they couldn't be certain he'd wake again.

Bold cerulean eyes turned to look at him, an empty expression on the boy's face. The officer was almost certain that the boy wasn't going to survive, and he swallowed, trying to keep himself from getting emotional over this kid. Just one of many victims, he figured. He couldn't give up hope too quickly, though, focusing on making sure the boy didn't lose too much blood.

The boy slowly opened his mouth to talk, blood dribbling down the side of his face. His eyes looked blurred and unfocused, and he weakly coughed. "Mommy…" he murmured. "I… not worth… liv--" his words dissolved into coughs, and the officer lifted his head a little, frowning.

"Okay, kid, just stay awake, okay?" he said. "The medics will be here in a few minutes, think you can stay awake?"

He received an empty look as an answer. "Hates… me…" he whispered. "Hates…"

Frowning, he wasn't sure how to respond and only asked the boy to keep talking to him.

7:46 AM

The young teenager at the front table had been ready to leave for school. She was excited for that day, since the lack of homework assignments and tests in her classes relieved her workload and made her a lot happier, and she figured this deserved a cheerful phone call to her good friend. He should be awake by now, she figured, probably running late as usual and scrambling around the house to find his shoes.

After three rings, she wanted to worry. He usually answered by then…

Maybe he was running late. Sometimes he couldn't reach the phone--maybe he was burning his pancakes or he was in the bathroom--by the earlier rings, and he apologized for his delayed answer. She just had to wait for that.

Six rings and someone answered.

"Hello."

Her eyes widened as she stared towards the phone. "You're… not… who are you?"

"Officer Shang of the Twilight Police Department. The residents of this household are unable to answer--"

She didn't want to hear more of his watered-down explanation, a question quickly surfacing into mind. "Is he okay?"

"The young male at this residence?"

"Yes! Please tell me he's okay… what happened? Why are the police there?"

The officer sighed. "There was an incident last night. The boy is currently in critical condition at a local hospital."

She almost dropped the phone.

8:13 AM

He had begged his foster parents to stop by. After hearing about the disturbance on the news, he turned to them and insisted they drive to find out what had happened. A knot swelled in his chest, with false hope that maybe the address in his book was wrong, that maybe he was lying.

If anything happens… That was why. He had been given an address to soothe worries and clear suspicions and promised not to visit unless absolutely necessary. He had been told everything was better now, that nothing bad was going to happen anymore. He woke the next morning expecting to meet his friend in the cafeteria at school, and soon heard the news. His parents didn't hesitate in driving down the streets, though they were quickly brought to a stop as the police stopped their car.

One of the officers began to speak to his father, and he glared. He didn't have time for the police to get in his way, he needed to see--he had to be sure…

He clambered from the back seat and began a sprint for house 103 Yen Sid Ave. An officer called out to him, another tried to stop him, and a few of the neighbors watched as he dashed across lawns and weaved his way past bystanders on the sidewalk to reach the house, stopped immediately at the yellow Caution tape surrounding the gates. The tape stretched from the mailbox in the center to the next door neighbor's fence, and around the side of the house. Crime scene investigators, police, detectives, and other unidentified people in uniform surrounded the place, talking on the lawn, taking notes, collecting samples…

Two of them stopped him. "Kid, you can't come in here--"

"What'd she do to him?" he asked quickly, his voice rushed and breathless as he forced out the words. "Is he okay--she didn't kill him, did she? He's not dead--he couldn't have died, could he? Did she kill him?"

One of the men in front of him placed a hand on his shoulder and frowned. "Your friend's at the hospital right now," he answered. "Did you know about what was going on here?"

"Oh fuckin' hell… he wouldn't tell me," the boy replied softly, trying to catch his breath. "It… it didn't seem so bad--what'd she do to him?! Is he gonna survive?"

"We don't know yet--"

They didn't know. They couldn't tell him if his friend was okay? He… he didn't believe this. Shoving his way past one of them, he ran towards the front door, dodging hands outstretched to grab him. One officer called to another, and two tried to stop him, hurrying to him to keep him from the crime scene. He ran faster, crossing a bloodied living room.

The hallway walls had crimson handprints, smudged and small as if left in a rush. The floors had droplets and small smears from feet crossing the ground. He managed to dodge another officer and made his way to the back room…

Aquamarine eyes widened at the sight of a large pool of blood on the ground, bullet holes on the back wall, the floor… One officer grabbed his arms, attempting to pull him away. He struggled against the officer, but he couldn't figure out why. Here… laying in front of him was blood…

"I should've stopped it," he whispered, tears blurring his vision. "I should've… I could've stopped it…"

The officer sighed softly. "No… you shouldn't think that way… you didn't need to see this, kid."

Riku couldn't help it. At that moment, he cried.

to be continued

Thar, the prologue! It took me a while to write, merely because I had ideas, but none of them seemed long enough, and squeezing out more things got a bit odd. I think it gets better in the other chapters, I hope you guys do, too.

:Darkness Princess.