If: Well I'm back in the saddle again. I'm trying my hand at a story I've been thinking about for a while in hopes that it will help bring back some creativity to my life. This is inspired by two things: a song by the Dresden Dolls call "The mouse and the model" and a quote from a book which is written below. I should start off by saying that this story will be a dark one, it is my specialty after all. There might be a GaaSasu pairing happening later, but I'm not sure as of yet. Anyway, I'm hoping this might find its own audience somewhere on the net.
Necrophilic
While life is characterized by growth in a structured, functional manner, the necrophilous person loves all that does not grow, all that is mechanical. The necrophilous person is driven by the desire to transform the organic into the inorganic, to approach life mechanically, as if all living persons were things… Memory, rather than experience; having, rather than being, is what counts. The necrophilous person can relate to an object – a flower or a person - only if he possesses it; hence a threat to his possession is a threat to himself; if he loses possession he loses contact with the world…. He loves control, and in the act of controlling he kills life.
Getting out of jail was like stepping out of the ocean. When you first enter the water it's cold and scary and you can't see the bottom if you swim far enough out, but after a while you grow accustomed to the temperature and the danger that lurks below the surface. In time you have grown used to the ocean and when you are dragged from it like a fish from the sea you flounder upon the shore, gasping for breath. That's what it was like to step out from behind those brick walls, to venture passed the electrified fence and step onto the road again. Sure he wasn't free, but he wasn't a prisoner anymore.
The wind picked up, sending dust flying over the barren road. Green eyes surveyed the wasteland before him. Here in the desert there wasn't much to look at. There was sand and dust, there were several kinds of cacti, and off in the distance he could almost make out a mountain range. There were few clouds in the blindingly bright sky, from which the sun shone down with a power unrivaled, heating the earth and scalding those who came to close.
Lifting a hand up to his face he shielded his eyes from the light as he looked down the road. It wasn't like he was expecting someone to come for him, especially after all this time, but he had hoped to see some vestment of life. The clothes he was wearing were tattered and torn; he had been in the box for so long that he had outgrown what he had entered the system in. Faded jeans, a black button down shirt, and a small bag were his only vestments. His feet were bare and were paying for it on the hot pavement.
A roar of life flared from his left. He watched passively as a yellow taxi cab pulled up in front of the prison. The cab came to a stop in front of him. Turning his head to the prison he looked at the guard stationed at the fence. The guard shook his head.
"They must have sent a cab for you, knowing that no one would be here to pick you up. I hope for your sake that its already paid for, seeing as you just got out and it would be a shame to just shove you back in here for not paying the driver," was all the guard said before a loud buzzing sound cut through the silence of the desert. The fence parted just slightly, just enough room for the guard to pass through. The guard lifted his hat to the red headed man before he turned his back to him and passed through the fence, back to the inmates beyond.
The taxi driver had long ago stepped out of his cab and was standing and waiting for the red head to get into his car. Ducking his head, the red head pulled open the back seat door and climbed inside. Placing his bag on the seat next to him he pulled his seat belt on and settled in. The driver piled his bulk into the driver's seat and looked at his passenger through the rear-view mirror. He took note of the dark bags under the eyes, the chapped lips, and the blazing red tattoo on the man's forehead.
"Where to?" he asked, turning down the a/c to hear the man's response.
"Phoenix."
In all his life, Sasuke had never had to really work for anything. Since he had never had to work for anything, he had never cared about anything, and thus he had never really changed in seventeen years of life. At the tender age of six he had witnessed his parents murdered by his brother. From then on it was a downward spiral of hate, mistrust and apathy that had brought him to where he was now. He was a world famous model, and one of the most desired men that had ever graced a magazine cover.
Education, etiquette, and emotions had nothing to do with how he had gotten to where he was. He hadn't needed education. Sure he had gone through the motions of going through school until he graduated high school, but it hadn't mattered to him. He had aced all of his classes, and all of his AP tests, but none of the information had ever stuck with him, he hadn't needed it to. Sasuke didn't bother with trying to make people like him. People liked him because he was beautiful, so Sasuke found it superfluous to try and be nice or talk with other people. No matter what he did, or what he said people would still fawn over him like the Messiah. Emotion was an obstacle. If he cared about something it would only serve to draw him into the world, and he didn't want to be part of the world.
Sasuke was gorgeous. He knew it, and the whole world knew it. Big black eyes, black hair and skin so pale snow was jealous were only the first things that one couldn't help but notice. Plump red lips accented his face, along with a petite nose. He had a swan-like neck and would exploit the fact at any given chance. He was lithe, not at all muscular, maybe even a little feminine, but what did it matter if people were attracted to him? His legs would make any super model jealous, and his feet were perfect in every way. Sasuke was perfect in form, but not in any other way.
There were no rules in Sasuke's world, and he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. He could have any person, anything, and even any place for his own. He took advantage of this daily. He had a different person in his bed every night, a different drug coursing through his veins every week, and was in a new place at every chance he could get. Cost didn't matter, diseases didn't matter, heck even the law didn't matter. Sasuke was above the law, above everything. Upon his pedestal Sasuke was untouchable. He had always been, and he would always be unchanged.