Nobo d y in Particular
AN: I do NOT own Kingdom Hearts, Disney (That's the Walt's, dummy), Final Fantasy, or any of their characters (I wish). I am nothing more than a fan and only have claim to my OCs (if any), this story, and three sevenths of my friend's soul. :)
I:Pil o t
Just about every person in the human race, if not all of them, has a nervous habit-something they do to distract their minds from whatever that's going on causing them discomfort. There are all sorts of them out there just as unique as the people who had developed them. In fact, some of them were downright weird forcing their patrons to put them into the status of a "closet" nervous habit as I call it. It's a real insulting downgrade; I mean, anyone or anything would feel hurt when someone they were so close to was too ashamed to be seen in public with them. Many could agree with those feelings; it reminds me of the day I heard that Pluto had been demoted to a dwarf planet. I was very peeved that day. Pluto was (and still is) my favorite planet. Anyway, I'm getting off topic.
My nervous habit was to make lists.
Isn't it something that mothers always say, a quote perhaps? "A clean home is a happy home"? That sounds like it; I'm too lazy to Google it. Isn't it amazing how something like a search engine could become so commonly used to get awarded with the status of verb-ship? Aw status: one of the few things I can honestly say I hate with the very fibers of my being. Things like that really got me. Again, getting off topic (I think I have a problem). Anyway, I'm an artist. When your mind is completely open and set free like a caged bird taking its first flap into the unknown world, is when true inspiration hits you. Like that bird getting shot by redneck hunters.
Oh, where was I?
Mothers; that's right. Well, I feel that wasting time in organizing my thoughts into "What I know" and "What the hell" categories helps occupy my time tremendously. I'm very tidy, you see; a real nit-pick. I wouldn't go and say OCD because I'm also lazy. Although, that just might be me embracing the ways of my country. It's also a comfort to know what exactly it is I know; I've learned in two years of advanced English that if you examine anything for too long that it isn't even the same thing anymore. You've analyzed everything good out of it like a seriously annoying critic pointing out every little fault like they're so damn perfect! So naturally, putting some order to something scary would dull the obvious horror of it all, right? Well, not with this. The only comforting fact I could get out of this was…
It's just a dream.
One, it's dark. And I don't mean lights out, "nighty-night" dark. No, it's more like the foggy kind of dark. There's no moon, no stars, and I had a strange feeling that it wasn't even night. The light, the life, had all been sucked away leaving behind a desolate gray world. Oh, what I wouldn't have done for even the littlest speck of paint to magically conjure into my grasp. That blank backdrop of a landscape was too much of a tease to the artist in me.
Two, I'm all alone. This place had once been a town. A very sad little town. It might have once been quite homey, cozy even, but something bad had happened. Now, it was just ruins. What once may had been three-story houses only had the very lowest part of the ground floor walls left, the rest blown into crumbs and ashes by whatever had crashed into the town. There was a lot of ash and it was all the same lifeless gray that made this scene the chilling nightmare it was. Yet for some reason, I wanted the whole world to see that obscenity. Everything had turned to ash. Everything. The people of the world had the nerve to judge others when one day they'd be no better than the rest of us.
We'd all be particles of ash.
Three, I want to leave as soon as possible. That's always the moment when the actual circumstances of the moment finally sink through my thick skull. That's when not even the most extensive lists can stop my eyes from darting wildly around in the gritty air taking in every gruesome aspect of the illusionary world. That's when I noticed the emaciated shapes coated in dust like untouched antiques left forgotten in the passage of time.
That's when I ran…I ran so far aw a y.
Oh great, now that song is stuck in my head. Strangely enough, The A Flock of Seagulls hit began playing as the background music like some TV show scene. If I didn't know already that this was a dream (which I did), I certainly knew now.
I walked along the aven u e.
Too busy focusing on the unimportant details, my natural clumsiness fought threw the walls I'd built against it and caused me to trip on the flat concrete ground below me. Yeah, I know, I've got mad skill to trip on a flat surface. I pushed my hands forward to try to catch myself, but they smashed into something breaking whatever it was into pieces that almost instantaneously disintegrated into even more ashes. Of course, this happened every time. No matter if I tried to take it slow and purposely calculate each step I took, I couldn't avoid the inevitable. The fear would always find a way in, even if it was just the tiniest crack, it could slip through.
Thumping loud and hard, like a base drum, my heart wouldn't stop. It was ridiculous really; I've had this dream so many times now, it was ridiculous (have I said that already?), but the fear never died. This wasn't like a book in English class, it would never get old, the pain and horror would never die…and it would never end. At least, that's what I thought at the time. That's why I couldn't stop my eyes from slowly, very slowly, slug-turtle hybrid slowly, from roaming to the new addition of the ruins.
Bones.
Or corpses to be precise. The skeletons of both man and animal who pointlessly tried to avoid their fate and run from the disaster that struck their little, simple town. Whatever that had happened must had been hot; the skeletons were charred into an unrecognizable state and semi-melted into the ground below. There were so many. Flinching, I clambered pathetically back up to my feet, but my knees wouldn't stop buckling and I was shaking all over. I just kept falling and falling and my desperation to escape only grew and grew. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore; the terror and anger with my own stupid body was overwhelming me and I just stumbled forward in a mix between a run and a crawl. I had to get away. I knew what was coming next.
I had to get out before he showed up.
And I ran, I ran so far aw a y…
I ran, I ran all night and d a y…
Naturally, whoever was in charge of dreams or just my dream in particular, maybe that Morpheus guy we learned about, had a fetish for seeing me petrified and sobbing uncontrollably with snot and tears running amok on my already second-rate face. Right on cue, the disoriented smashing of brittle bones by yours truly was suddenly joined by a much more refined clatter. I swear I was having a heart attack or something. My face flushed a shade of red that couldn't have been healthy, but at least the flow of mucous and tangy, salt water had stopped. Although, it was drying as a crusty new layer of skin on my face. My own limbs were aching, probably bleeding, and my breathing was out of control. I knew that the plain white dress I always adorned in the nightmare had to be dirtied and torn in quite revealing areas as if it wasn't skimpy enough.
The regular fall of footsteps continued getting ever closer until it suddenly halted. Silence rung out in the air giving me a false sense of hope that I really shouldn't been feeling. This was all routine and just like I foresaw, black combat boots crashed down on a skull in front of me, shattering it and sending a spray of ancient dust in to my already irritated, bloodshot crystal blue eyes. Reeling back, my elbows met the rough surface painfully most likely tearing flesh and my butt sat quite uncomfortably on what felt like a large femur. I let my flaxen bangs shield my eyes from the one crouching in front of me. Even though I knew it was pointless, I didn't want him to see me as such a wreck…even if he has dozens of times before.
I could feel him creep forward, moving onto my body. Again, I flinched and shivered at the sudden increase in weight, but still stubbornly refused to look at him. People were often telling me I was stubborn, not like a mule but a bull; I was born in April. The only sound that could be heard was the crunching of bone under our combined mass and the gentle swishing of his long black cloak. His covered, muscled arms pushed me down causing the shivers to abruptly stop. His touch was burning and I knew the time had arrived.
The kind of eyes that hypnotize me through,
Hypnotize me throu g h.
Those eyes-so beautiful, so blue, so utterly trained on my own that paled in comparison.
So pained.
These eyes haunted me for hours on end after the dreams ended and up until the next one.
I couldn't get aw a y.
I couldn't escape them and I wasn't sure I wanted to. They were the only part of him I ever saw (the cloak came from months of mental decoding) and most certainly the part I was least likely to forget. And I didn't. It was both strange and creepy how deeply they fascinated me, drew me in, and refused to ever let go. A deep and overpowering bright blue embrace like the ocean swallowing me whole. Those orbs sent tingles up my spine and deepened my blush. He was completely on top of me, but I stopped fearing the possibility of being raped a long time ago. Ours noses were just millimeters apart, our mouths centimeters. Wisps of his hot breath bathed my pink lips, something that I'm ashamed to say made me force my thighs together embarrassedly. He was so close that anybody would think erotic things about the situation, but that didn't come. It never came. I could only play my part in destiny's twisted game.
"W-Who are y-you?" I breathed, you couldn't ever really call it speaking it was so soft.
He most likely cocked a perfect eyebrow and gave a fraction of one of the mostly dashing smirks. I really hated not seeing all of him, but I would never complain about those eyes. Eyes that darkened even more in despair, just like always, and just like always, my heart cried out for him. Who or what would possibly dare to make this perfect being so sad. They would feel a crazy artist's wrath one day, a freshly-sharpened pencil straight through their widened-in-utter-dread eye.
"Me?" he asked in a way that said he knew very well you were talking to him, but he just wanted to tease you. What a cocky bastard. "Me?" he repeated as if to remind you where they were in the conversation,
"Well…I'm Nobody in particular."
You're slowly disappearing from my view,
Disappearing from my vi e w.
I
Now normal people wake up from nightmares screaming, but I think we've already cleared up the fact that I'm not normal. My eyes eased opened to the waking world only to shut back down in a whiplash from the irritating morning light. Whoever first concluded that if you hate the light, you're a vampire, obviously lived in a very dark town. Groaning, I rolled away from the repulsive brightness trying to sink into my white, cotton sheets. Dad always said if you believed hard enough, then all your dreams would come true.
My bedroom door was kicked open on about the sixth "let it be Saturday".
"Come on, Nami!" a milky warm voice bellowed, "We've got like…10 minutes to get out of here in order to make it to school on time!" Without opening my eyes, I already knew the identity of the speaker and how could I not? Standing in my doorway was no other than my dear best friend and adopted sister, Jasmine "Jaz" Agrabah. Her silky ebony hair fell down her back in a waterfall only interrupted by the turquoise scrunchie holding it up in a perfectly centered ponytail and her matching headband. Her skin shone a rich cocoa brown and deep chocolate eyes glowed darkly through the shadows of long, black arches of eyelashes. Jaz was already dressed in their school's, The Radiant Garden Academy, uniform-a starch-white dress shirt, a light blue-and-white plaid skirt, a matching tie, navy knee socks, and freshly polished (most likely done by the maids) black Mary Janes. She stylized the drab uniform with large golden hoop earrings and a golden locket around her thin neck in the shape of a cat's head. She loved cats.
Her hands were still on her hips waiting for an answer from the drowsy blonde. This is what she got. "Uuuugh."
The exotic beauty rolled her eyes at the new morning ritual of her dear friend. Normally, the situation was reversed and performed at six o'clock in the morning, but ever since those dreams had been coming more and more often, the fair-haired girl had found her nights ending all too soon. After Jasmine announced her departure, I let out a sigh. Five more minutes, I'll only sleep for five more minutes, I told myself, but as soon as I let my eyes close off reality again, it felt like it was time to open them almost instantly. If that did anything, it only made my insomnia more prominent. Dragging yet another moan out, I painfully separated myself from the suddenly amazing feeling sheets and slumped down on the perfectly white carpet leaning onto my bed for support.
My hazy gaze grazed over my room and the rest of the house as I went through my morning tasks like a death march. My room and just about everything in it was stark white: my queen-size canopy bed, the bedside table next to it, the dresser pushed up to the left wall, the vanity mirror against the wall across from my bed, all the doors, all the curtains, and every other piece of furniture but the thin, round rug under the post of my bed. The ceiling was also painted a light blue with a portrait of simple clouds, but I couldn't stare at it for long; they made me even sleepier. In fact, every inch of the physical building of their grandeur mansion was made of pristine white marble trimmed with gold leaf and ice cream-like gold roofs reminding Father of his homeland.
Finishing up in the bathroom, I tumbled and twisted halfheartedly into my own uniform. It was the smallest size they had, but even that hung off my pathetically thin, flat chested frame, more like sacks than clothes. In recent weeks, my mind had been exhausted enough to see myself as a nearly invisible line from the side like that old singer cartoon with the tear-drop shaped head. You know who I'm taking about, right?
Downstairs, almost the whole family was waiting for me with a sight that tied me down to consciousness. The chefs had been outdoing themselves since I've developed insomnia, serving only foods that even I wouldn't choose sleep over. On the plate sat at my seat were four golden-brown pancakes, three five-inch sausages, plain scramble eggs, and pre-buttered toast spread with grape jelly. I certainly didn't eat how I looked that was for sure. Sliding my socked feet lazily across the slick tile floor of the dining room, I promptly took my place and dowsed all my food, but the toast in maple syrup. Don't worry, it's light.
Soft chuckling came from the head seat to my right. There was a young man with all the same features as Jaz-dark skin, long midnight locks, and dark brown eyes well the shade of the coffee he was sipping- dressed nonchalant in white pajama pants with yellow clouds and brown tightening string, a purple robe, and burgundy nightcap. Kneeling on the table completely out of place in the high-end home, was a little monkey like you'd see dancing for change with a tin cup wearing matching outfit in miniature minus the pants. The little ape, Abu, chattered merrily while taking huge chomps out of various colorful citrus fruits. His master and Jasmine and mines elder brother, Aladdin Agrabah, placed down his dark drink still chuckling as his adopted sister continued to stuff her face very uncharacteristically.
He chuckled, "For someone who really knows how to pack it away, you sure need to gain a pound or eight." He bit uninterestedly at a strip of bacon and continued to watch the flaxen hair girl pig out. I spat some unintelligible words at the man spewing chewed food on the mahogany table and threatening him with a real frightening slice of limp toast. "Aw geez," he continued to mock complain, "Now the sugar's already gone to your blonde head." This comment got a real nasty response, a sausage pointed from my light blue eyes to his heavily contrasting dark ones sending a very clear message. That only served to send Aladdin into a bout of real laughter joined by a leaping Abu.
"Now, now," cheerful giggle interrupted the sibling teasing, "Aladdin, boy-o, you shouldn't play with poor Naminé so much. She's got it rough enough lately." Sultan Agrabah was the one who had spoken from the head seat at my left and was, of course, my adopted father. The small, rotund man picked up another biscuit from his heavily boosted chair with the littlest of plump fingers. Though not the most attractive man with overgrown white beard-mustache combo and obviously dyed dark brown eyebrows, he was absolutely lovely and I adored him dearly. He took me in after…well, whatever happened to my real parents. Did I ever wonder about them?
Nope.
I gulped down my food in a hurry successfully nearing death a total of six times in two minutes. "Thank you-" I tried to tell Father, but was rudely ripped out of my chair before I could. I turned my head with an angry pout on my face to find a just as pissed Jasmine.
"Come on, Nami," she cried frustrated, "We're really going to be late, now!" To back up her statement, she pointed to her gleaming Rolex watch showing the time to be 8:08 am. Pale orbs widened in alarm, an "eep!" escaped my light pink lips as I rushed to grab my schoolbag, my art portfolio, and all the textbooks I would need that fateful day. Together, Jaz and I ran out to the family's awaiting limo and heaved simultaneous sighs of relief as it began the 10 minute drive to RGA.
I
"Oh come on, Naminé darling, you know you want to."
I couldn't help, but chuckle darkly at the utterly ridiculous notion. Marluxia Farron, pink-haired, sexist, possibly a transvestite Marluxia Farron, just couldn't take a hint. Here we were over three hours since the happenings of the morn and the day had only decayed into an even more despicable one thanks to Pinkie leaning in too close on my right. The freak had been after me since our ill-fated meeting back in seventh grade and has refused to back off ever since. His "claim" to me has scared off all other suitors, especially the ones I actually took interest in, and was acting like he owned me or something. Apparently, he had connections with the military so the story goes, but I really couldn't care less. This lame-o was the bane of my already second-rate existence.
It was currently lunch time and Jaz and I had taken up our regular eating spot on the lawn outside our next class in the art department. Said Mr. Farron didn't waste any time in ruining our day with his posse from the tennis team. A whole pack of trannies. Pinkie had his chin rested on my shoulder with what he most likely thought was a seductive look on his face, but really more closely resembled a chimp (minus the brains). His skinny goons had us surrounded.
I sighed again ringing a hand through my flaxen tresses, "Look, Marluxia, I'm really not in the mood to politely turn you down today so if you don't want a scene occurring I suggest you move on to a different lamb." Finally, I thought exasperated with the impossibly persistent teen. I couldn't stand him on a regular basis, but the lack of sleep was pushing me into a whole new shade of red that had rarely been breached before.
He scoffed, "You say that now, but I can tell that you're finally starting to come around." I snorted at his arrogance, As if, bucko! It wasn't like him to quit so early, but he was very far from being a fool; he could tell his blondie had gotten a bit more bitchier lately and he wasn't about to be the one she finally snapped at with those manicured nails. The nuisances left the premises acting as cool as ever allowing for the sisters to eat their lunch in piece and discuss aimless gossip around the campus instead before the bell tolled for the end of their lunch period.
We entered Mrs. Potts art class not even caring that there plenty time to spare and immediately began working on our individual projects. For Jaz, this meant continuing to paint the clay sculpture of a Bengal tiger she made and for me, this meant-daydreaming in my chair.
Hey! Don't look at me like that; I don't really have a choice in the matter. As you might have noticed I've been a little preoccupied and let's just say the muse of my masterpiece isn't making things easy, either. If you haven't figured it out by now, the focus of my painting is no other than my dream boy. Around an agonizing blank spot was the monochrome landscape of my nightmares: bombed buildings, skeletons, and all. The sky, though clouded by dust in ash, gave off the gradient of a forever twilight. My body gave a spastic shiver at my subconscious's word choice; the imagery rubbing at something buried deep in the back of my memories and with it came a condensed, searing burning from within my cranium. I groaned rubbing at my temples trying to ease the pain. It was getting worse; the first time I had felt it was the first time Pinkie tried to come on to me physically, the next was when I was just too lazy to get up and reach the TV remote. I got it, but still don't remember ever getting up or anyone being around to help me. Strange.
Some time during my intense inner dwelling the bell had rung. When I finally came to, Jaz and Mrs. Potts were the only ones left, the former waving a sea foam colored, manicured hand across my face. I gave her a weak smile to reassure her I was ok though even I was starting to worry. The burning had started out as just a minor buzz through my brainwaves and had gradually increased to the point of causing headaches at its worst. Just now it had felt like a tiny, boiling sun in my head's axis waiting impatiently to go supernova. I hoped it wasn't anything serious; I might need to schedule a doctor's appointment to at least get some pain meds or something.
I
Suppressing another whimper of pain, I ground my nails into the white wooden sides of my full-body mirror ruining my new light green paint job in the process. A squeal escaped my clenched teeth breaking my vow of silence as I was constricted by cruel elastic and soft fabric.
You're probably wondering how the situation had changed so quickly, right? Well, here's the short version: brilliant me had completely forgotten(or just ignored) the fact that today's date was none other than October 31st. The holiday more commonly known as Halloween had come from having my absolute adoration back during my trick-or-treating days to becoming the most heinous day of my teenage existence.
The Radiant Garden Academy held an annual "All Hallows' Eve" celebration for its student body-basically a big costume bash. Since, as I had previously stated, I had no love for the day anymore, I always let Jaz do her thing whenever the time came up, but I don't think she ever noticed. She has now. Currently, my ex-best friend was tying in place the vilest torture device ever to be created by out fellow man, a corset.
It was forest green and grudgingly went nicely with the short lime dress underneath it. The dress had a sweetheart neckline dipping lower than I like and a wavy hem. The whole reason for the torture device was that the back was equipped with a set of battery-operated fairy wings that shed glitter with every flutter. They were fortunately turned off and I was glad because I was sparkly enough as it was. Spray glittered had been plastered to every inch of my pale, revealed form making me sicker every minute. So much skin, I thought, Ugh, as if I'm not green enough as it is…
"Oh no," Jaz chided, "No getting sick in this beauty; you'll never meet anyone good pinned as 'Tinker Puke'." Yeah, I was supposed to be Tinker Bell, a very slutty Tinker Bell. Her signature slippers-turned-stilettos were waiting for me beside my bedroom door where I wish I could just leave the little death traps. I could never walk in hills and still can't well to this day.
"Good," I muttered bitterly, "That'll teach you to turn your sister into a whore…" She rolled her eye. No, I said that right. Eye. A black leather eye patch shielded the other one matching her tricorne hat, belt, and knee high, heeled boots. A billowy, white, cotton cropped top with ruffled cuffs and collar held loosely to her form and a red sash sat lazily under the belt atop her black skinny jeans. A fencing sword, little gold hoop earring, and fake hook-hand completed her tricked out Captain Hook getup.
"Arg," she teased, "Ya' best be shuttin' that purty lil' mouth of ya's before I force ye fair damsel to walk the plank." She pointed her hook "threateningly" at me and scrunched up her face messing up her one good eye.
I brought a hand to my forehead dramatically and smirked fearlessly. "I do not fear you, Hook," I said trying to imitate an innocent English maiden's tone, "I believe." We shared a good laugh at our ludicrously and finally got ready to face my doom.
I
I had been on the planning committee for the dance (yet another reason for me to NOT forget about it) and had an inkling of what to expect, but everything is always thrown out the window when it comes to the finished product, that's why I don't show my artwork 'til it's done.
Fairy lights of purple, orange, and electric yellow were hung in gracing arches like dive bombers from the ceiling and dark purple and black streamers on the wall gave the illusions of a shadowy forest setting the mood just right. Jack-o-lantern balloons were scattered across the floor and virtual bats, spiders, ghosts, black cats, and other fowl creatures lurked about. Tablecloth made to be cobwebs was strewn across the stage, where the band Disneyland played out the chords of "Dance, Dance", and atop the snack tables. A giant skull was flipped over to be the punch bowl(probably already spiked) and there was an assortment of festive treats to accompany it. Although, my eyes were glued to the satisfying display of my hard work, the male population's was glued to us.
Guys openly ogled us as Jaz dragged me through the crown smiling sexily back at each flushing face and glared at those who dared turned their heads to her blond bestie. When I finally realized the attention hog I had suddenly become, I became especially grateful to a band of giants babies that jostled around us towards the bathroom (maybe to change themselves) blocking off the demeaning, horny looks of hormonal juveniles. Gosh, do I have a vocabulary.
"Dance, Dance" played out and was replaced by a different song I didn't recognize and was followed by more and more as I just tuned them out. Though I had worked diligently to make this night special for my classmates, I had never really wanted to come myself. Parties were not my scene and there were just too many things to worry about. I swayed absentmindedly to whatever was playing listing out all the things that could go wrong in a situation like this to calm myself when number four on the list snuck up behind me and pulled me to his chest. Yeah, only number four.
"Hello, beautiful," Marluxia attempted to charm me, "Don't you just look ravishing…good enough to eat, really." The last line was whispered huskily into my ear and it also fit. Someone (*cough*Jaz*cough) must have leaked our costume choices out because he was dressed in his own fashionable restyling of Tick-Tock the crocodile. His awful, tight lips were pressed to the shell of my ear sending a disgusted shiver down my spine all the way to the tips of my toes. The blistering heat came back to my brain awakening a headache like no other. This is bad, I stated the obvious. Pinkie had me pinned up and was taking us to the secluded balcony off of one wall. The dance was being held in a classy three-star hotel just down the street from the main school building and was often rented out for such occasions since the hotel had a larger stage and auditorium. As he closed (and most likely locked) the balcony doors, the burning little sun finally seemed to have reached the end of its lifetime because for the first time, I could feel the fire leak out of its condensed form and spread-not to the rest of my head, but down the spinal chords in my neck.
"Now then," he hissed, "Where did we leave off again, Love?" He stepped closer to me taking his sweet time believing that nothing could get in his way now. He was wrong. Every inch that disappeared between myself and him pushed the warmth through my veins overpowering my very being. I felt hot all over on the inside, but not a single bead of sweat showed up on my skin. That's when I realized it wasn't just heat…it was light (creating heat).
A beam of light comes shining down on you,
Shining down on y o u.
I felt light brimming inside me ready to shine through like in a bad TV-made singer's song. He was standing right in front of me now, smirking in victory.
Something snapped inside of me, the light still circulating through my body. I never truly delved into my real feelings towards this jackass. Sure, I've called him a loser, moron, idiot, Pinkie, fag, tranny, and plenty other colorful titles, but no; that wasn't enough. I suddenly realized the volume of my sheer hate for Marluxia was more than just a word you'd throw around when you were mad; it was real, angry, raging loathing far beyond my innocent, naïve years.
He raised a hand to touch me, where doesn't matter, he would never touch me again. "Don't you dare," I hissed, putting venom that I never knew hid inside my soul. He snorted at my "cute" resistance ignoring every negative sign I sent his way. He was so confident…and that was his downfall.
The very littlest touch of his crass fingertips to the baby soft, peachy skin of my revealed shoulder was what finally broke through my walls. The light took full advantage of the first crack and exploded out of me. The sun rushed forward and split igniting my eyes with intense heat. I could make out their blue glow on my cheekbones from my peripheral vision. The light surged forward in an invisible forced that smashed brutally into the pink-haired tennis player. His fairly handsome face contorted as a strange feeling washed over him and he was jerked back so violently, he got whiplash. It wasn't the force itself that got him; it was the crash through the glass balcony doors and final impact with the opposing wall on the opposite side of the room. The room fell deafly silent as the bricks crumpled onto his limp, crooked form.
The initial collision with the doors had backlash some of the invisible light force along with large chunks of glass breaking into the linoleum of the balcony and the suddenly paper thin skin of the young girl who had released them. The broken angel was sent tumbling backwards both from the sudden massive blood loss and the extreme pain throbbing from within her skull. I could almost feel the coma coming on if not worse. I coughed spitting up a splutter of blood before finally losing that comforting feeling of ground beneath my feet.
I fell.
Aurora borealis comes in view;
Aurora comes in vi e w.
Just as I thought the ground that had dropped would catch me again, I was met with a different embrace. This one was warm, strong, and…muscular. My eyes never closed, mostly because they really couldn't see anything anymore, but even in the state I was in, I could never miss it.
Those ethereal blue eyes.
The kind of eyes that hypnotize me through,
Hypnotize me throu g h.
I couldn't get away…
Yay, Naminé meets the boy of her dreams, but is he really her dream guy? Are you smart enough to realize who this guy is? Is Pinkie dead? How will Jaz react? What happens now? Coke or Pepsi? Answer my questions in cute little reviews, please.
Note: I do not own the song "I Ran (So Far Away)"; it is property of A Flock of Seagulls and their people.