Disclaimer: The disclaimer may be just as tragic as the story. (takes a deep breath to gather strength) I, Mickis, who is in every way a TMNT addict, do not own the ninja turtles. (tears surface in Mickis eyes, and her nose turns red from trying to restrain them) "There, there," another TMNT addict tells her, patting her supportively on the shoulder as Mickis once again takes her seat in the circle. "It's never easy to admit," the fellow TMNT fanatic continues, stroking a bawling Mickis on her back. "Just let it all out. We're all in the same boat, and we're here for each other no matter what, remember?" Mickis nods pitifully, sniffling through her tears.
There. Clear enough for ya?
A/N: Can ya believe it? I'm starting a new story! Since 'Cutting Edge' is just about finished, I figured I needed a new 'dark story' to play with. I feel like the darker ones mature me and learn me so much more, both when it comes to skills in writing and personally learning to handle the characters better. And since I've recently fallen in love the 'The Phantom of the Opera' movie (plus I'm reading the book now, too) the bunny for this little plot was pretty much impossible to miss. It's all pretty blurry right now, but I figured I knew enough to write and post this chapter, so I did. Before we start, I thought you might wanna know what's up with the timeline.
Okay, since the TMNTs were 15 in the very fist issue of the comic book released in 1984, I figured that if they really had been born - 1969 would be the year. And, like they say, the rest is history. Of course, in this case, I'm the one writing it, so there will probably be a few surprises along the way. Oh, and I can tell you right away, that if you don't like character death - don't read this. If you want sunshine and rainbows, I have other stories for that. But this one ain't one of 'em. But if you really do like the dark and the painful, feel free to get settled, cuz I think this would be just the place for a morbid dude/dudette like yourself. Enjoy your stay and, as always, don't forget to review.
VIRTUE, FORSAKEN
Genre: Suspense/Tragedy
Language: English
Rating: T
Summary: Below the streets of New York City - enveloped in a lifetime of darkness - a lonesome creature hides, mourns. But what if someone was to once again flicker his flame to life? Would it then break free and consume everything?
Prologue
December 2027, North Hampton
Slowly, sporadically, the wild flock of snowflakes sailed down towards the pale ground, becoming one with the countryside landscape. Behind their thick fog of whiteness, the first rays of the sun began to shine, reflecting the frost on the flakes, making them glisten in the morning sky like a rain of diamonds sent from above. However, there was one flake that parted from the rest of them and, instead of falling towards its destiny on the crystal white earth, it landed on the face of a wandering form, unavoidably melting on the green surface of his rough skin.
The odd creature aimlessly walked onwards, his hands hidden in the warm pockets of his trench coat, his worn boots remorselessly tramping through the hard snow, crunching beneath the weight of his being. His identity was safely veiled in the shadow of his tattered fedora, only the determination in his dark eyes visible under the looming parasol.
Steady steps led him through the sparse forest, where the towering trees had gradually been replaced with smaller ones, until there were only a few twigs surrounding him. Past them, before him, laid a silent clearing, the blanket of snow much thicker and smoother there than compared to in the forest behind him.
Unconsciously, he timidly quickened his pace, his eyes fixated on the naked skeleton of a majestic oak tree, its grey limbs pleadingly reaching for the sky, as if asking the sun for its light. Each step brought him closer to the enormous plant, each step a little stronger than the one before it. Finally, he found himself right before the oak, guarding it with such intense, it would appear he feared it might pull its roots right out of the ground and leave him.
Slowly, wordlessly, the figure went down in front of the tree, his two knees buried in the cold of the snow, and took a moment to compose himself. Then, with a three fingered hand peeking out through his sleeve, he reached out for the lower part of the trunk, brushing off the thin layer of snow that covered it, the touch of the frozen bark irritating his cold fingertips.
Below his sweeping digits, a frosty list of numbers appeared, permanently carved into the solid skin of the tree.
1933 - 1987
1969 - 1988
1969 - 1988
1969 - 1992
Removing his hand from the trunk, he left the numbers uncovered before him, along with the hurtful memories they represented. Unwanted tears surfaced in his brown, worn eyes, quickly welling up along the bottom lid because of his stubborn refuse to blink.
Nevertheless, it wouldn't make them go away. And if he was to be painfully honest with himself, he didn't even want them to. Because he had known a life without them, an existence breathing only tasteless, numbing air; and if it was one thing he was certain of, it was that he would never go back.
Never.
Knowing this, he allowed the first three tears of grief to trickle down his cheeks, leaving their moist trail of torment behind them.