Disclaimer: I don't won Eva, the wonderful people at GAINAX and Hideki Anno do, so don't sure me.
Creative Writing
by: Epyon Zero
Sitting in my class I was fairly bored. Class was almost over and I couldn't wait. The only problem was that the Sensei just had to give us an assignment. We had to write a piece of original narration that covered the topic of tragedy. Just great. As if my life wasn't depressing enough now I had to write about depressing subjects. I wasn't the only on who wasn't pleased by this. Asuka was ranting and raving about the assignment the entire way home.
Getting in the door I kicked off my shoes and trudged into my room to crack down and get the assignment over with. Turning on my SDAT I picked up my pen, and the story began to flow out of me.
The Tragedy of Life
by: Shinji Ikari
It seemed a very proper day for a funeral. The sky was dark and overcast, hung with black clouds that seemed like great sheets laid out for mourning. No light penetrated and a light drizzle fell like tears over the fresh grave. St least that was what it seemed like to Allan. The only person in the world that he had truly loved was dead, and he had been too gutless to even tell her how he'd felt. Now he never would. That shame would haunt him forever.
He had replayed every second of every moment he'd had with her in his head over and over, but it hadn't helped at all. He still felt like a marionette, not thinking, just reacting, like someone was pulling his strings. Would he ever get over this grief, he wondered. It seemed to permeate him, filling him in a bottomless pit of his own creation. Taking one last long look at the grave he turned and began the long walk home; he could've taken a car but he wanted to walk. If he got a ride he'd have to put up with the looks, the ones that said "I'm so sorry for your loss." or worse yet those filled with the piteous expression people somehow reserved for funerals. No, walking was better.
Allan trudged along the wet concrete. The only sounds greeting him were those of his footsteps and the passing rush of cars. He hadn't had all that many friends growing up, mainly because of his father's position. His father was a lifetime politician. Most of the kids he'd called 'friend' had been political brats themselves and he hadn't gotten along fairly well with them. It had only been when he'd reached high school that Allan had been able to make real friends, the closest being Mary, the girl he'd just seen buried. He still couldn't remember exactly how he'd met her, it had been either because of class ora mutual friend. What had mattered was that in the span of a year she'd become his closest friend, closer even than his own family.
Several times Allan had thought about asking her out, but each time he hadn't had the stomach to go through with it. he had feared that if she said no it would have ruined their friendship, and he hadn't been willing to risk it. "Oh no, that isn't it," the voice in the back of his head taunted, "You just didn't have the guts to ask her out, did you?" As much as he tried Allan knew that the voice was right. At least eight times he'd tried to ask her out and eight times he'd chickened out.
As he entered his house he was glad that there was no one there, at least they'd had the decency and courtesy to respect his privacy. All of Allan's friends had known just how bad he'd had it for Mary and they also knew he had to grieve in private. Allan collapsed into the nearest chair, a glass in one hand and a bottle of Scotch in the other. "That's right, drink your grief away," the voice taunted again, "Go ahead, see if that bottle will help any, you gutless coward!" In disgust he threw the glass and bottle into the nearest wall, barely registering the sounds of its breaking.
Allan was looking through the photo album, thumbing the pages until he found what he was looking for. 'It' was a picture of Mary he'd taken at their High School graduation. She'd been wearing a blue floor-length dress, and her long hair had cascaded down her back like a curtain. He smiled as he remembered taking the picture, how alive and happy she'd been. Then another image replaced the one of life. The one of death.
Allan had been there when Mary had died. She'd been hit by some drunk who had ten previous violations. He could remember her head and face haloed by the headlights. Allan squeezed his eyes to try to block the memory but it was no good. The halo around Mary increased and just like every other time he'd seen the scene she was hit, cracking the windshield and being thrown ten feet into the air. This time however, Allan could feel the hot tears running down his face. He cupped his face with his hands and wept for a full minute. Then he looked up, his red-rimmed eyes focusing on his father's desk. Reaching in he withdrew one object, put his coat on and headed for the cemetery. He knew what he had to do to get rid of his grief.
Allan stood in front of Mary's grave marveling at how the rain had turned the flowers into miniature prisms of light. He reached into his jacket and took out his father's old service revolver. Placing it in his mouth his last conscious thought was of the sweet face that would haunt him no more.
A few seconds later a single shot echoed across the cemetery, and then there was silence again.
I blinked several times after I laid down the pen. What I'd written had come straight from the heart. I'd changed a few things around but it pretty much gave a very brief synopsis of my life and one of my darkest nightmares. Every so often I'd wake up at night drenched in a cold sweat, having just finished a nightmare where someone very dear to me was taken away. Most of the time it was Asuka. No matter how much I tried to deny it, I knew that I was falling hopelessly in love with her. "I won't let what happened in my story happen to me!" Getting up from my desk I headed for the door I had to talk to Asuka right now.....
The End.
Author's Notes: This was surprisingly easy to write. All I did for it was take a Literature project and turn it into this. How is it for my first foray into first-person fic.
Epyon Zero