First off, I'd like to thank all of those who reviewed and favorited The Final Chapter. I extend my gratitude to thank all those who have clicked on this title.
Author's Note: No reunion of Ib and Garry, just telling you that much. Well, not in the physical sense.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
Ashes stuck to the soles of her shoes as she crunched through the charred remains of the art gallery. The bitter, pungent odor of soot, scorched stone, and burnt paper filled her nostrils. All around her lay bits of broken sculptures and blackened remnants of once quality paintings. Sorrow made her chest hurt, but she trudged on, brushing piles of ash, paper, and wood aside with her foot, looking for a particular painting. It had to be here, she just knew that somehow it had escaped most of the damage taken by everything else in the gallery. Swallowing her apprehension, Ib kept her eyes glued to the ground. During her search, she kept cursing herself for not coming back sooner.
She had gone straight home after Garry had told her to leave, all the while trying to devise a plan to get him out of the Fabricated World. Somehow, in the midst of her scheming, she had fallen asleep. The next thing Ib knew, her mother was shaking her awake, telling her to go downstairs and look at what was on the television. The moment Ib laid eyes on the television screen, her heart stopped. Standing in a swirl of red flames and charcoal colored smoke was the art gallery-or what was left it. In front of the camera, a frantic news reporter gave the story.
"Although the fire is believed to have started a few hours ago, shortly after two p.m., we have no idea how it happened since there is a strict ban on anything fire-related and all the electrical systems are up-to-date. All patrons have been evacuated, and behind me you can see fire fighters desperately trying to put out what's left of the blaze."
"How awful." Ib's mother remarked.
Ib just stood there. How could this be? How was she supposed to save Garry now? Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor. Tears poured down her face and she bought up her hands to hide them. She felt an arm around her shoulders and was pulled in close by her mother, who stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her daughter down. As she tried to get her sobbing under control, she glanced up at the television. The news reporter was talking to the caretaker of the gallery.
"And you're positive that there's no way the fire could have been started by any one of the patrons?"
"Absolutely not. There's a strict ban on fire starting implements, IE, matchers, lighters and the like..."
He continued going down the list, but all Ib could focus on was the word "lighter". Images flashed through her mind: A violet room. Utter blackness. Words scrawled on the floor and walls, and the message written just outside that room of how fire-related devices were frowned upon. Garry. Somehow he had been the one to set the fire
Without another thought, Ib jumped up and ran out of the house. Ignoring her mother's shouts, Ib ran full-force out the door, down the sidewalk, and straight towards the gallery. Twice she had to stop and catch her breath. Each time she cursed her parents for choosing to live so far away. By the time she had reached the gallery, the fire had been put out, leaving a large pile of ash in its wake. Cleanup crews were scattered about, trying to make order of the chaos. Ib sucked in a breath and tried not to collapse to her kness for the second time that day. Seeing it on the television had been bad, but up close and personal, the sight was unbearable. When she took her first look at what was left of the gallery, her eyes once more became geysers from which tears poured. Why, why, why? Why hadn't he just waited for her?
Now, crunching through the rubble, the only thing she could do was to try and find his portrait. She couldn't explain why, but she had a strong feeling that it had escaped the damage. Suddenly, the sound of her foot stomping on glass caught her attention. Looking down, she saw the toe of her shoe planted upon a corner of glass. Curious, Ib knelt down. Upon closer inspection, she noticed it was nestled within a wooden frame. Her heart began to pound in her throat. Was this it? had she found it? Frantic, Ib cleared away ash, bits of insulation, and small pieces of concrete and marble. When she had enough cleared, she pulled the portrait free.
Her heart stopped when she saw the scene depicted.
Sitting against a wall with wavy, lavender locks hanging askew, and wearing his trademark ratty coat, was Garry. Hands trembling like a couple of frightened kittens, Ib clutched the portrait to her chest and tried to fight down the newest and most persistent wave of tears. Her efforts were in vain as her eyes welled up and spilled tears down her cheeks. With the dam broken, her heart broke as well and she collapsed to her knees, cradling the portrait and sobbing.
"W-Why?" she whimpered, "Don't you remember that promise you made to me? You said that we'd both get out and go for macaroons. You said that we'd be together...Garry, why did-" the rest of her question dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs. For what felt like an eternity, she knelt on piles of ash, sobbing. When she felt the last of her tears dry up, Ib wiped her eyes and rose to her feet, still holding the intact portrait within her arms. Heaving a heavy sigh, she looked around at the world of black and gray that had once been the colorful gallery.
"Excuse me, miss!"
Ib whipped around to see a volunteer worker walking towards her. He wore a white t-shirt and blue jeans. The young man looked rather surprised to see a young girl in nice clothing standing amidst the piles of ash and rubble. He stopped a few paces from her, resting his foot on a precariously balanced wooden beam.
"My apologies miss, but civilians are restricted from entering this site until it's cleaned up," he smiled at her, then noticed the portrait she held, "what's that?"
Ib handed it to him, looking at the painting on the trapped canvas. As the portrait changed hands, Ib tried to commit everything to memory; The wavy lavender hair, the rugged jacket, the pale skin, and the way his lips curved upward into a small, reserved smile. When the worker turned it right-side up, his mouth dropped open.
"No way! This portrait's completely undamaged!" he exclaimed, turning the priceless piece over and over in his hands. Ib simply nodded and tried to fight down the returning lump in her throat. The young man looked at her, gratitude shining in his eyes, "Thanks so much miss. I can't tell you how glad I am that you found this," he raised his head and looked out over the gray and black splotched art-graveyard, "I wish the rest of this place was as intact as this portrait you found."
"Don't worry," Ib said, "the only thing of value here is something that can never be destroyed by fire."
Without waiting for a reply, Ib turned and left. Confused, the worker watched her depart, a bright flower in a barren landscape.
Stepping off the pile of ash and back onto firm sidewalk, Ib turned around to take one last look at the former gallery. The pile of marble, concrete, ash, wood, and soot stood silhouetted against the now setting sun. Rising black and gray out of the bright backdrop of the city, the remains of the gallery looked like a festering wound. Stray winds blew wisps of soot into the indigo sky, tainting it. Ib frowned. Still not satisfied, she thought, burned to death, and the Fabricated World still wants to corrupt everything around it. The girl heaved a sigh and freed her mind of bitter thoughts. Garry had sacrificed himself. He had thrown his own soul away in order to seal the open door that was the Fabricated World forever. As her eyes roamed over the former gallery, a figure standing amidst the rubble caused her heart to skip a beat.
Outlined in the golden light of the departing sun was Garry. He gave her a gentle smile, a small wave, then faded out.
In the gathering twilight, Ib stood, staring at the spot where she'd seen her friend materialize. A smile settled upon her lips. Garry was okay; and because of that so was she. Smiling to herself, Ib walked home.
A little shorter than my first one, but still good in my opinion. What about you guys? What do you think