A/N: New ficcie! Yay! I have absolutly no idea how this will go, so far I
have a vague, very vague idea of where this is going to go but...we'll see
how it goes. I had fun writing the first chappie and I think I'm going to
enjoy writing this, because it's a little different to what I usually
write! Because this is so different, please review and tell me what you
think! Remember: Constructive criticism is good, flaming is bad.
PLEASE NOTE: This fic is rated R because content will be graphic and may
disturb some readers (in later chappies). Is you do not think you should be
reading this – don't!!
Disclaimer: I don't own Farfie – not at all, not even a little bit, not even a hair on his head...I'm just borrowing him!
Darkness Alone – Chapter 1
A freight train shatters the midnight silence that blanketed the dark hued landscape. The Emerald Isle slept as the train rattled and squawked on its rusty rails, carrying coal from the peat bogs and mines across to the ports in Dublin*. The driver doses in his cabin, there is not another soul around - save the crumpled figure atop the coal pile in one of the open roofed carriages, laid open to the cutting winds that rolled off the hills and the speckled sky that twinkled behind rolling, misty clouds.
The figure stirred, the wind's icy tendrils raked and ruffled his auburn, rusty hair. He rolled over a little, the gouging coal leaving black scars across his pale, slender arms that were laced with stringy sinew and across his equally pale neck. The train jolts violently upon its rusty rails, sending a sprinkling of salamander sparks spiraling into the ebony depths of the night with a grating scream of wheels and the sickening whiff of brake fluid, wafted by those drafty winds.
The youth was thrown brutally though the air for a split second before he awoke, slammed into his coal bed once more, which shifted beneath him and resulted in him tumbling down the gravelly mount to strike the steel wall of the carriage with a dull bell-like toll.
The youth lies dazed, his emotion filled amber eyes gaze up at the whirling depths of the cosmos above him, without seeing, before whisper of breath returns to his lungs and he focuses again. Slowly he raises a white hand, embellished across the palm by a few, deep pinkish scars. He flexes his fingers and watches the joints move before brushing his fingers across his short-cropped hairline. Sticky blood laces those pale fingertips and he looks at it for a moment, watching the silver moonlight and the wind warp it's colour and shape before thrusting the digits into his mouth and sucking the crimson fluid from them, ignoring the intermingled dusty taste of coal.
He chuckles, snickers with the satisfaction of a child who has been given candy. Slowly he rolls his eyes aside from the murky clouds overhead to the mountain of coal he had tumbled from, to lie next to. Upon it's noble, ebony side lay a knife. An ordinary kitchen knife. It was not large, nor particularly sharp or well crafted. Seeing it the youth's eyes flatten slightly, auburn brows furrow and his fingers, no longer graced with their crimson adornments, slipped from his pale lips.
He lunged upwards, throwing himself at the towering coal pile and the blade, as the coal slipped and churned beneath his feet. With a clatter and a cloud of grey dust he finally lost his balance and slid to the base of the pile once more. With a strangled gasp he scrabbled up the pile, only to meet the same fate.
A gleam of intelligence showed within deep amber coloured eyes and he slowly began his ascent, with the grace of a cat on a tightrope he placed each foot, each hand and tested it before putting his weight on it fully. Half a foot away from his goal his left foothold gave way and he felt the now all too familiar feeling of falling. As he fell, nostrils filling with the coals dusky, smoky scent and eyes glazed with lack of sleep, exhaustion and – something else. A flailing white hand alit on the blade, it's dulled edge still able to gouge a chunk out of his palm and release a trickle of silver-tinted ruby life-force to pool into the creases and folds of his hand.
With a satisfied sigh he clutched it to his chest as he bounced and tumbled down the pile. Warm blood slipped between his fingers to prick his white linen shirt with bright polka dots amidst the black coal stains. As if only just realising what he is wearing his eyes narrow again before he begins to hack at the shirt with a brutally meticulous manner, fibres ripping beneath the dull edge. Until a square of fabric had been removed from his chest. He read it one last time in disgust, before he hurled it over the edge of the carriage into the night.
'Jei Farfarello. No: NS0673. Our Holy Saviour Hospital, Kilkenny – Mental Illness Unit'
Disclaimer: I don't own Farfie – not at all, not even a little bit, not even a hair on his head...I'm just borrowing him!
Darkness Alone – Chapter 1
A freight train shatters the midnight silence that blanketed the dark hued landscape. The Emerald Isle slept as the train rattled and squawked on its rusty rails, carrying coal from the peat bogs and mines across to the ports in Dublin*. The driver doses in his cabin, there is not another soul around - save the crumpled figure atop the coal pile in one of the open roofed carriages, laid open to the cutting winds that rolled off the hills and the speckled sky that twinkled behind rolling, misty clouds.
The figure stirred, the wind's icy tendrils raked and ruffled his auburn, rusty hair. He rolled over a little, the gouging coal leaving black scars across his pale, slender arms that were laced with stringy sinew and across his equally pale neck. The train jolts violently upon its rusty rails, sending a sprinkling of salamander sparks spiraling into the ebony depths of the night with a grating scream of wheels and the sickening whiff of brake fluid, wafted by those drafty winds.
The youth was thrown brutally though the air for a split second before he awoke, slammed into his coal bed once more, which shifted beneath him and resulted in him tumbling down the gravelly mount to strike the steel wall of the carriage with a dull bell-like toll.
The youth lies dazed, his emotion filled amber eyes gaze up at the whirling depths of the cosmos above him, without seeing, before whisper of breath returns to his lungs and he focuses again. Slowly he raises a white hand, embellished across the palm by a few, deep pinkish scars. He flexes his fingers and watches the joints move before brushing his fingers across his short-cropped hairline. Sticky blood laces those pale fingertips and he looks at it for a moment, watching the silver moonlight and the wind warp it's colour and shape before thrusting the digits into his mouth and sucking the crimson fluid from them, ignoring the intermingled dusty taste of coal.
He chuckles, snickers with the satisfaction of a child who has been given candy. Slowly he rolls his eyes aside from the murky clouds overhead to the mountain of coal he had tumbled from, to lie next to. Upon it's noble, ebony side lay a knife. An ordinary kitchen knife. It was not large, nor particularly sharp or well crafted. Seeing it the youth's eyes flatten slightly, auburn brows furrow and his fingers, no longer graced with their crimson adornments, slipped from his pale lips.
He lunged upwards, throwing himself at the towering coal pile and the blade, as the coal slipped and churned beneath his feet. With a clatter and a cloud of grey dust he finally lost his balance and slid to the base of the pile once more. With a strangled gasp he scrabbled up the pile, only to meet the same fate.
A gleam of intelligence showed within deep amber coloured eyes and he slowly began his ascent, with the grace of a cat on a tightrope he placed each foot, each hand and tested it before putting his weight on it fully. Half a foot away from his goal his left foothold gave way and he felt the now all too familiar feeling of falling. As he fell, nostrils filling with the coals dusky, smoky scent and eyes glazed with lack of sleep, exhaustion and – something else. A flailing white hand alit on the blade, it's dulled edge still able to gouge a chunk out of his palm and release a trickle of silver-tinted ruby life-force to pool into the creases and folds of his hand.
With a satisfied sigh he clutched it to his chest as he bounced and tumbled down the pile. Warm blood slipped between his fingers to prick his white linen shirt with bright polka dots amidst the black coal stains. As if only just realising what he is wearing his eyes narrow again before he begins to hack at the shirt with a brutally meticulous manner, fibres ripping beneath the dull edge. Until a square of fabric had been removed from his chest. He read it one last time in disgust, before he hurled it over the edge of the carriage into the night.
'Jei Farfarello. No: NS0673. Our Holy Saviour Hospital, Kilkenny – Mental Illness Unit'