Success
The young man shifted unsteadily from one foot to the other. His friend was late, and he had no intention of leaving until his friend had arrived. Just then, he heard a voice, smooth as silk, yet low and dangerous, call out to him.
The man was rather short of stature, with a head of messy auburn hair. He observed the young man from under long, delicate eyelashes, while two pools of muddy brown eyes sized him up. The young man smiled nervously before introducing himself.
"Hi, how are you?" the blonde man asked.
"Just fine, how about you?"the redhead answered, indifferently.
"Huh… me too. I was wondering about you!" the blonde stuttered.
Those were snippets of conversation, mainly small talk, thrown about idly, to pass time. Both men hid the very question they had long wanted to ask each other. The blonde man suggested that they grab some coffee and cakes. As they walked,they nervously avoided each others eyes. It was obvious that their relationship had long turned sour and the blonde was still trying to salvage bits and pieces of it while he still could.
There was an almost predatory tension in the air. The redhead lifted the coffee cup to his lips mechanically, like a robot while the blonde man stared at the redhead nervously. The blonde man fiddled with his hair while trying in vain to chat with the redhead who just stared coolly ahead. Suddenly, the blonde man stood up.
He glared sharply at the redhead. "All you do is just nod your head unh! You've never once invited me over to your house or talked to me often! You're so friggin' cold!" he said sharply. The scene seemed like a snippet out of a Korean drama, where the female lead would get into an argument. But what was happening then was not merely acting; it was a first-hand witness of a friendship falling apart while only one was trying to painstakingly piece it back together.
Back in the warm, heated confines of the young blonde's room, the blonde skimmed a bare Television for something worthwhile to watch; all the while sending hate messages of the redhead to his friends. The redhead however, sat in his cold room, heated by a dying fireplace, the symbolism almost ironic; writing a short yet hateful story about the blonde man.
During lunch at their school the very next day, the blonde and the redhead sat at separate tables for the first time. The blonde laughed to his friends about the redhead and how much of a loser the redhead was, while the redhead sat alone, staring indignantly at the blonde sycophant. The redhead ignored the blonde man,focousing on the blonde's angelic face, warped with monetary and foolish pleasures, using his charms and looks to milk sympathy and money from people, then backstab them.
The blonde caught the redhead's gaze for a split second during assembly. Never had he seen so much pent up hatred from someone. The mere gaze of the redhead sent shivers down the blonde man's spine. The redhead whispered three words that made the blonde man's face turn pale and beads of perpiration began to run down his face.
"I'll get you." The redhead's words reverberated inside the blonde's head, like a haunting echo. The blonde couldn't sleep that night; as he lay in his bed contemplating his actions.
'NAW! It can't be! Reddie's a total loser! He's basically at the bottom of the food chain! There's no way he can get me. Just relax…,'the blode reasurred himself.
As the blonde repeated those words softly, his eyes soon began to droop, and his mind drifted off into oblivion on a white boat that was his consciousness.
When he woke up, the blonde was not in his own bed. He tried to sit up, only to see a burst of fireworks explode in his head, temporarily blinding him and rendering him partially immobile.
When the fireworks cleared and the pounding in his head subsided, the blonde man took some time to scan his surroundings. He was in a dark room of some sort. The only light source was a minute crack in the ceiling where a single, almost holy beam of light shone through. He could detect the scent of mildew and sweaty clothes. He was lying on a faded pink mattress with tacky patterned sheets. There were rips in the mattress, and they seemed to have been caused by an animal. Just then, the blonde noticed something that made his blood run cold.
On the walls and floors, were pictures of him and Reddie stuck on with cheap glue. His face had been ripped out of each and every one of them, and a small doll lay next to him, smouldering. It had just been burned by a blowtorch. Insects skittered around, oblivious to the blonde's presence. The blonde man started to take in air in short, frenzied gulps. He didn't want to die, not now! Hot, salty fluid poured down his cheeks as he searched the room frantically for an exit. Just then, the door slammed open.
The redheaded man whom the blonde had ditched was staring at him. His emotionless brown eyes closely resembled cesspools. Gritting his teeth, the redhead slowly muttered, "I' .You," with a completely deranged expression, a flash of vengeance in his eyes.
When the redhead had finished, he slammed the door behind him, leaving the blonde, cowering in fear in a corner of the room. The blonde shakily hoisted himself up, blood and other fluids running down his body, with traces of tears running down his delicate, doll like face. Finding a rusty tap nearby, he began to wash off the blood from his body. 'Why did this have to happen to me? I never wanted anything to do with him! I was only curious to know what he was like!' he asked a god that he was skeptical of.
Throughout the next few weeks, the process was repeated almost daily. The redhead would enter, and then the young man would curl up and pray for him to leave without hurting him in any way. Finally, after some time, the redhead would leave. Sighing with relief,the blonde man would then cry softly to himself.
It was three weeks into his confinement, when the blonde noticed that the redhead had been leaving a small bottle of poison powder on the bedside table next to the mattress when he came to visit the young man. He would take it take after he was done. It was as if the redhead was taunting him; it seemed that he was daring the blonde to kill either him or himself. The blonde decided to leave the bottle of poison alone. He would escape one day, he would. The only thing that kept him going was the small beam of light that filtered through the hole in the ceiling.
It was one day, two months into his confinement when something snapped in the blonde man's head. He looked at the bottle of poison powder. The redhead had grown to trust the blonde so much that he had not bothered to take the poison bottle away when he left. The blonde reached out to the tiny bottle with hands cold and clammy from the freezing autumn weather. One drop would mean freedom; the blonde gulped down a sudden burst of fear as he heard the familiar footsteps of the redhead.
The redhead smiled as he approached his prisoner, who was lying in a defeated heap on the ground.
Three minutes, three minutes of your time my dear god; that is all I need. The blonde man mouthed as he hoisted himself up, his long, but matted tresses falling in a curtain over his eyes. the redhead smirked.
"What? What is it? Still trying to impress the roaches huh?" the redhead sneered, but the blonde man paid no heed as he rose from his sprawling position on the round. He lifted up his head. The redhead flinched when he saw the blonde's expression.
It was clear from the blonde's blank stare alone that he had lost some, if not all of his sanity,and his mouth was molded into an oddly creepy, yet incredibly cute smile.
"Come here, come here. I want to be friends again, you're, forgiven."the blonde man muttered, dropping to a kneeling position on the floor, looking incredibly small and fragile. The redhead started at the blonde for a few seconds before embracing the blonde.
You too kid," he uttered as he rubbed the blonde's back. Just then, the blonde went limp. The redhead recoiled sharply, surprised. The redhead gritted his teeth. How dare you! These three words reverberated in the redhead's mind. Raising his fist before slamming it into the blonde's stomach.
When the redhead was exhausted, he stepped back to survey his handiwork. The blonde was covered in bruises from head to toe, and he appeared to have broken a rib or two. He then shifted the blonde into a lying position before kneeling over him and brushing away the hair from his face. He would have plenty of fun today.
When the redhead was done, he sauntered to the door, before opening it, and for the last time, slamming it. The door made a firm resounding 'THUMP' as the room was, once again, shrouded in darkness.
But the blonde was a resilient person, who would not perish. With great effort, he pulled himself up from the ground. His whole body felt like he was on fire. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to walk to the door, before opening it. He carried along the corridor, smearing the stairs and walls with blood. Initially, he had expected to encounter his tormentor along his long and slow walk, however, to his relief; his tormentor had left a long time ago.
The blonde man shielded his eyes from the burning glare of the sun as he gritted his teeth; a flame of pain gushing into his body, welling up inside of him. It was almost unbearable, but he continued to drag his feet forwards. There's no way I'm dying out now! Not now! He thought.
If you looked at him from a distance, you would see a grotesque piece of art; a person with matted blonde hair, bruises of varying colour and blood smeared over him like a morbid painting. Fortunately, some kind Samaritan found him wandering along the road, and brought him to the hospital.
The police interviewed him a few days after he was admitted to the hospital. Of course, by then, he was up and moving just fine, despite having breathed in a small amount of antimony. However, when asked to give a statement, everything rushed out of his brain; like a balloon suddenly let go of. In the end, he gave then the redhead's home address and which class he was in.
To the blonde man's and the public's relief; the redhead was arrested a few months later. When asked to give a statement, all he said was "I don't regret it." This angered the blonde greatly. It was only those bars and the barbed wire fence then stopped him from strangling that redhead…
The blonde man, fortunately received only a small scar on his right cheek and suffered no internal injuries. He decided to keep his hair long as a harsh reminder to treat his friends well.
It was a pleasant spring evening, and the soft hooting of an owl could be heard nearby; the street was silent, except for the occasional small cake shop was almost desolate, except for a feminine looking teenager, typing out his college essay on a battered laptop. If you looked closely, you could see a man behind the counter. The man ruffled his red hair with his fingers, looking at the teen through muddy brown cesspools; almost like a wildcat ready to pounce.
School essay, mild hints of shonen-ai; kinda morbid though. ANYWAY, I decided to take a hiatus for'Lovesick?Drown it in pills' cos I have had writer's block for a while. Antimony is deadly, but only in large correct errors in writing or wrong facts but please, no flaming!