Dead Rose Reaper

2-DxOC. Don't own Gorillaz, just my oc.

Cold. I felt so cold. Images swam in front of my eyes as my hearing went in and out. My body was numb; I couldn't move. I could barely hear people screaming as something red caught my eye. Blood, still warm, was leaking from the gash in my right temple and painting my pale skin it's crimson color. It began to puddle just beneath my hazel eye, stinging it enough to make me wince. Then, everything went up in flames. My nerves started screaming, as though they were being ripped apart piece by piece. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't hear myself. But from the looks of the faceless people around me, I was howling in agony. The pain ripped through my body like a knife slowly cutting it open, draining all other feeling from me. I felt words that I had never said emerge from the depths of my mind and project themselves through my vocal chords, leaving the bitter taste of regret, sorrow, and anger on my tongue.

Regret for not having done anything that I had planned to in my short life.

Sorrow for leaving the one's I deeply cared about behind.

Anger for losing the one I loved so much.

I was going to die on that patch of asphalt, my life substance trickling out of my body gallon by gallon until I was drained completely. I laid there, staring up at the blue sky that began to darken with clouds. I shouldn've been more careful I chided myself. If so, then I would've been able to dance in the rain one more time before the darkness of death took me away from the land of the living.

Just like it did my best friend.

Beep...

Am I dead?

Beep...Beep...

What's that noise?

Beep...Beep...Beep...

Where am I?

The darkness began to fade, but all I could see was white. I could hear people again, only this time shouting things in terms I couldn't understand. The smell of antiseptic and disinfectant invaded my nasal cavaties, almost making me sick to my stomach. I moaned as the remaining pain numbed away, my body still unresponsive to the messages my brain was sending them. I heard rustling to my left, as though someone had gotten up to see if I was still alive after the fall. A hand on my forehead, though covered I could tell it was large and callused, felt cool against my warm skin. I looked up at the person, only to find my mouth dry like cotton in the hot summer. A long black cloak with a hood obscured his face, but behind him against the wall was a scythe with a curved silver blade and a long black handle. In the chair was an old fashioned lantern and a small doll with pins sticking out of it's body.

The thing though was that the doll...looked a lot like me.

I opened my mouth, but like earlier no sound emitted from it. I was beginning to panic when his hand moved away, only to place a finger on my lips as though trying to keep me from screaming again. He removed it when he confirmed that I wasn't going to make a sound, pressing it to his own as he and his instuments began to fade. After that, he was gone. He only left the small voodoo doll of me behind.

That was three weeks ago. I'm back on my feet now after the doctors told me how lucky I was to only have a concussion from my fall. They also said I had partial amnesia, explaining the reason why I couldn't remember anything before tumbling to the street below. I didn't care; I was alive and that was all that mattered at the moment. I spent a week in the hospital recieving 'Get Well Soon' cards from my classmates, some childish while others made me laugh until I had tears in my eyes. There are times when I love my friends.

Today, though, he decided to visit me. It was late evening and I had just gotten home from work. The voodoo doll was sitting on my bed, right where I left it this morning. I started sleeping with it under my pillow as a reminder of what happened. I was sitting infront of my dark wood vanity, a first aid kit to my right and a pair of scissors in my hand left hand. I was just trying to cut through the gauze wrapped tightly around my head when a shiver went down my spine, as though something eerily cold had touched it. He was standing right behind me. My mouth went dry once more as he took the scissors effortlessly out of my hand, his own running through my short burgandy hair until they found the bandage. With a simple snip, he began to unravel it, gently as though I was going to break any minute.

"W-w-who are you?" I stuttered as the bandage was pulled away, revealing the stitches of the long deep gash in my temple. One hand slid over it, the cool skin against the healing wound caused me to flinch. He didn't answer my question, only continued to finger it carefully. "Then at least tell me your reason for being here." He stopped, then pointed to an empty spot on my vanity. He then grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me back, causing me to cry out in pain. My eyes landed on the green wastebasket, remembering what had once been there on that empty spot. A picture of me and my best friend once stood in that empty spot, but the picture frame had broke and I couldn't get the photograph out. I didn't want to, but I had to throw it away. How the hell could he known what was there before? The only person that knew was now six feet under in the cold earth that was walked upon. He threw me down on the hard floor, flinching when I winced in pain. He finally spoke, his words dripping with hurt and pain. " 'Ow could ya? 'Ow could ya thro' it away?"

That voice. That high-pitched, cockney accent, childish voice. Now it was my turn to be shocked as another voodoo doll was thrown to my feet. Neat azure hair with bangs that only covered one eye, white cloth that was to represent pale skin, and a goofy smile stitched on. I opened my mouth to scream, only for it to come out in a whisper. "St-Stuart? Is that you?" I fell to my knees, tears streaming down my face. "But, that's impossible. You died almost a year ago. How can you be here?" I was shaking, fear coursing through my blood. He reached for me, his pale hands covered in black fingerless gloves.

"No! Stay away from me!" I shouted, slapping his cold hand. He cringed, backing away til he was against my bed. I took the opportunity to run for the door, only for him to grab my outstretched arm. "Let me go, Imposter!" I screamed, swinging back with my fist and making contact with his face. I heard a his jaw crack and his hood slid down, finally revealing his face to me. Instead, he looked the direct opposite of the doll in my hand. His hair was the same color but messy, as though it hadn't been brushed in weeks and his skin was pale like death had grazed it with its' cold fingers.

His eyes...he had none. All I could see were two pools of black ink staring at me, so dark that it could've been the color of despair itself. I shook my head as I tumbled backwards into the wall, sobbing quietly. "No, y-you can't be him. He's dead! Stuart's dead! He's been dead since last October!" My sobs got louder, tears tumbling down from my eyes like rain. "He's dead! Stuart's dead!" I kept repeating, pulling my bruised knees to my chest and hiding my face. I felt his cold hands running through my hair again, gently pulling my face up to his. I bit my lower lip as more tears poured down, staining his black cloak with salt water. He pulled me into an embrace, his cold body against my feverish. I just kept sobbing, grabbing fisfuls of his cloak as he held me closer to him.

I don't know how long I had cried or how long I was asleep, but when I woke, he was gone.

I posted this on deviantART but it really hasn't gotten that much save fore a few views. Figured I get more from here. Yes I have others that need tending to, but they can wait.

Please R&R but be nice or no cookies for you!