One Last Chance by E. H. Crackers
DISCLAIMER:
Hello I am E. H. Crackers , author of this FanFiction.
I composed the idea of this story a long time ago and have only recently come across it again. It revolves around the characters Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky, while including other Glee characters as well. I planned this before the end of season two, and it follows the path in which I want, rather than how Glee actually panned out. This is a story of regret and guilt while still containing a small fantasy element.
I do not own Glee and this is purely my imagination, and is not intended to offend, bore or copy ideas off of any other writer.
Also, this is my first FanFiction that I have written, please be nice. And feel free to leave any reviews and follow me on Tumblr: blog/crackersandme
WARNIING:
This chapter may contain various triggers, if you are sensitive so material involving suicide, blood or depression; DO NOT READ!
Chapter One: The Storm
It was the last straw for David Karofsky.
The rain washed heavily over the cold, dark pavements outside William McKinley High School. He trudged his way along the path as the Gods soaked his body to the bone. He glared mercilessly at the school; it was the place that started everything, the pain, suffering, humiliation and jealousy.
"This is your fault, you ruined me!" Dave yelled at the building. It stood unheard in the storm.
His voice was silenced by the Gods above. Their anger splattered with intense volume against the concrete car park. Dave's warm tears mixed in with the cold winds and rain hitting his face. He pulled something small out of his jacket pocket. Grasped in his callused, rough, wet hands was the Swiss Army Knife. His father had bought it for him on his tenth birthday; Dave was then promptly told to use it against any faggots. Dave growled at the thought of that bastard. He looked back at the school and nodded to himself, he had made his choice. He was following his father's orders.
The Gods above mocked David Karofsky. They whistled and cheered their wind, glad to have taken another man ruthlessly from Earth. They stomped and pounded their thunder, encouraging him to pull the knife immediately. They laughed at Dave with the swaying trees, unable to stand with their amusement at Dave's struggle. Dave felt resentment to them; his entire life was a joke to please the sick minds of the God's above.
But really, as Dave knew not, they weren't mocking him. The Gods above cried, their tears poured onto the Lima roads and washed into the drains, they cried and cried at the tragedy unfolding before their ever-watching eyes.
To spite them, Dave pulled the blade deeply into his skin. The blood washed off quickly and he barely felt but a prick. The pain from within and the humiliation from above hurt more than any knife could. He let out a noise of satisfaction. The heat radiated and gave him the motivation and energy to thrust the metal once more into his pulsing arm. Despite himself; Dave could only think deeply of Kurt Hummel as he ran the blade along the length of his forearm.
The boy caused Dave so much pain, yet much less than Dave had caused him.
Dave fell to his knees, bones smacking against the hard ground. He looked to the God's above, their storm raged with anger as they protested his actions. He smugly grinned to them.
"You have me now. Is this what you want? Are you happy now?" He moaned.
He pulled the knife out and dug it into his other forearm. With vision was starting to cloud over, Dave could feel himself losing life. He tried to keep my eyes open and he could see the ground come up to meet his body. The Gods were giving him the pillow to rest upon for his journey to death. A great crescendo was forming to show to the world that the Gods take pity on every suffering human, the good and the evil. Dave took one last look at his opened arm and then thought about Kurt again.
He thought about his silky, umber locks, his wishful grey eyes and his porcelain, perfect skin. Dave remembered the way in which Kurt would move gracefully like the wind. The way his soft hair would fall, a waterfall cascading unto his gentle, angelic face. And finally, Dave remembered the look of utmost fear that plastered on Kurt when he laid his gentle eyes on the monstrous form of David Karofsky.
With a final clash of thunder, the instrument of the Gods, everything turned black. It was over.
David Karofsky found himself away from the storm. Pulling himself onto all fours and thence onto his feet, he looked around. Only one word in the entire English language could effectively describe his surroundings; white. The floor was white, the walls were white and the roof was white. They were all the exact same shade of white also; pure. Even when squinting, Dave could not find the end of the floor and the beginning of the walls. It made him wonder if they were actually there.
Dave tried to take a step forward. He either moved without feeling or felt without moving. He could not tell. He had difficulty comprehending anything to be honest. There was an eerie sensation throughout his whole body. He looked down and couldn't see his body, as if he weren't there. There was simply more whiteness.
I'm dead. David said to himself. He couldn't explain anything else. Since being kicked out, he had trouble with his faith. He still believed there was a God, but he believed that the God had nothing but resentment towards him. Dave was cursed with something much worse than pain or fear; it was a longing for something he could never have.
Dave looked to his arms, but they weren't there. So, I can't be bleeding anymore? David reasoned to himself. His thoughts were loud, as if they were actual words escaping his mouth. His thoughts didn't belong in his mind, because he had lost his head, they simply existed among the white, shattering the piercing silence. Another voice shattered the silence, and it was not Dave's.
"David Paul Karofsky,"
Dave looked around, there was nothing but white, he couldn't tell which direction the voice came from because it swallowed the whole room as a whole. It was a deep voice, a commanding man's voice. It immediately reminded Dave of his father, which caused him to shudder with revulsion.
The silence held the room again. Unlike a pond which continues to ripple long after the stone hits the bottom, the water of the room was completely still as soon as the voice ended.
"Yes, who's there?" Dave asked uncertainly, his voice had the same effect. He waited a lifetime, or merely a second without an answer. "Am I dead? What's going on here?"
"You are not dead yet," The voice said simply.
"What do I have to do? I just want it to end!" Dave said, frustrated at his inner pain.
"You have one more chance. One chance to change, one chance to fix everything, one chance to have no regrets," It sounded.
"What are you talking about? What is this?" Dave asked again, the voice must be God ... or my conscience, he thought ... Maybe John Lennon.
"Do you have regrets; do you wish you could change?" The Gods asked, yet Dave still knew not who they were. "Are you brave enough to be a better person?"
Dave nodded. He had so many regrets. He chose the wrong friends, the wrong group, the wrong lifestyle and the wrong side of the fight. He regretted not coming out by himself and he regretted not saving Kurt from his terrible fate.
"You have deserved your fate David Karofsky, only your pain has saved you. You have the chance to make all right with your life."
Dave looked down, his body was still missing. Killing his self selfishly, rather than letting the Gods end his life had saved him? He was astounded that using a knife had given him another chance. The moment in his life was surreal, like a dream Dave knew exactly what was being told to him and exactly what would happen in the near future. Yet, unlike a dream, it was his mind making the decisions of what to say, not the mind of his slumberous counterpart.
"No David Karofsky, the pain of your guilt. Only a man with true regret would feel such torture. And only a man with true regret deserves this chance." The Gods said. "Unto your arm, are the scars from your own selfish indulgence. A death would have been just, had you not killed yourself for another."
Dave knew how they had heard his thoughts; he had practically been screaming them at the top of his lungs. However, he did not understand much of what the Gods had just told him. So they continued.
"We know David Karofsky, that in your time of need, you turned away from us. Rather punishing yourself with pain, fear and regret, than coming to those who may help you. To remind you who gave you this opportunity, after you tried to rid yourself of your life, you will bore scars forever more on your arm."
Dave looked down again, the sight of his arm faded gently through the white of the room. In bright red, the scars he recently cut into himself were visible. A long line down his left forearm with another crossing it, forming a letter T shape. The more Dave looked at the scars, the more they moved. Around his arm the red lines swirled and split until they formed the word 'COURAGE'. The lettering started at his elbow and ended at his wrist.
Shocked and horrified, Dave leapt back.
"Until you know who to trust, and who may guide you David, a reminder of what you must feel in order to succeed." The voice said. It was getting dimmer and less powerful. Dave nodded as a response, until he realised he still didn't know what the Gods meant by 'succeed', 'one chance' or 'regret'. He knew the words, but didn't know what they were referring to. It was becoming more like a dream; he began to wonder where he actually was. He hadn't before this moment. He was waking up.
"Wait, I need to know –" Dave was cut off by the familiar roar of wind. He began to feel a tingling sensation over his body, removing the serene and lifeless feel of his limbs. The wind was pushing him backwards, he was leaving the room.
"Wait! What am I supposed to do?" he asked frantically, being dragged by the wind.
"You must make things right, fix your regrets. More than your life will be saved." The voices of the Gods were almost gone. Dave was being pulled faster and faster, his feet dragged along the nonexistent floor he stood upon. He reached his arms in front to attempt to grab something on his way past, but there was nothing but white. Trying to resist, Dave tried to turn his head and torso around, to see in which way he was headed, however the intense force was keeping him from doing so. Dave closed his eyes, he was about to crash. His back hit something hard. The back of his body, head, neck, arms and legs all his at the same time.
His knees buckled and his eyes shot open.
He sat up straight. Then he looked around and realised that he didn't hit anything in blinding white light, he was just dreaming. It was the dream in which you take a fall and land on your bed. He rubbed his eyes.
I didn't go through with killing myself after all, Dave thought. He looked around his room and realised that he was in his old house. The dusk green and woodland brown of his wallpaper was gleaming in the morning sun, as it did before. The wood floor was littered with shoes, clothes, magazines and discarded papers which did not make it into his overflowing bin. The sun shone through the green curtains, giving the light of the room a murky, underwater emotion. The same old laptop stood open, yet turned off, on the paper covered desk which stood by the open closet door. There was even the old cactus standing dried up on the window sill, its silhouette reflecting on the opposite wall.
"This isn't right," Dave whispered. His voice came from his mouth and it came softly. He remembered the loud voice and tried to capture his dream from his mind. It was slipping away like sand from open fingers. All he remembered was the white light. He racked his brain, trying to bring back the dream, yet it was already gone.
"Davey honey, time to wake up now," Dave's mother called.
Dave's thoughts paused. He was definitely kicked out a month ago. At the time of the funeral, he was outed and was given two hours to retrieve his belongings, everything else was mercilessly burned. His mother hadn't called him 'Davey honey' for quite some time, since everything in his life unravelled like a knitted sweater.
"Davey?" his mother called again.
"Uh, yeah, coming," Dave replied bewildered. He flung his arms to his head and shook it, trying to remember what was going on. Was the entire past month a dream? Then Dave saw something out of the corner of his eye which hit him like a truck; a red mark on his forearm.
Dave immediately pulled his hands down and pulled his pyjama sleeve up from his left arm. A scar was there; it looked faded, as if he acquired it weeks ago. To an average eye, it would have looked like a regular scratch, but Dave saw the truth. It was the letter C, right at his elbow on the inside of his forearm. And with that letter C, the entire dream came back to him. The Gods were giving him a chance to –
"Have no regrets" Dave finished his thought in a whisper.
Dave leapt across the bedroom in a fury, as if electrocuted, towards his calendar. The page was turned to November, yet he had no idea what day it was. At last, Dave had realised where he was, and what he had to do. He firstly pulled on a pair of jeans, a tee shirt and a winter jacket to go downstairs. He felt unnerved, out of place, in his house. As he sat down at the table, his mother's hazel eyes glowed brightly down at him.
"Davey, are you alright? You look a little ill," She said. Dave shrugged and grabbed a piece of toast. It had been so long since he had eaten his mother's cooking, he was simply savouring the taste of non-rotten food. He couldn't help but notice his mother's appearance. She was short, plump with thick brown curls and a winning smile. She wore her usual yellow apron with pink mushrooms on it for cooking and she wore it over her usual suit for work. She had not yet lost all the weight. She looked healthy, happy and completely unaware that her son was exactly what her husband hates.
"Sweetie, are you okay? I'm sure you look ill, would you like to stay home?" She asked in her gentle voice.
"No Mom, um, do you know what date it is?" Dave asked.
"It would be November ninth today, why do you ask?" She replied.
"No reason, I just lost track of time." Dave said at attempted causality.
"Do you have an assignment due?" She asked, concerned, as Dave was renowned for not completing assignments on time and therefore getting increasingly low grades. Dave shook his head and looked down to his toast, he saw his hands and arms and realised exactly how thick they still were.
So I haven't lost weight yet either? Dave thought.
Dave racked his brains, he had no idea why the Gods had chosen this particular date, it wasn't the date he was kicked out, and it wasn't the date of the funeral. It hit him, today was the day that he kissed Kurt Hummel. It was the day his life turned for the worse and never recovered. Dave's mouth gaped open like an unintelligent ape and he dropped his toast.
"Wait, I do have something to do," Dave said as he sprinted upstairs without another word.
He caught his reflection in his mirror in the passing and realised why his mother thought him ill. His skin was a pale green, his hazel eyes were bloodshot, his lips cracked and his hair a mess. He splashed cold water onto his face and tried to calm himself down, hopelessly assuring himself that many other people are sent back in time by the Gods to fix their personal wrongs before they die.
Dave pulled out an unused notepad from his desk drawer; it was orange with yellow stripes over it. He flipped it to the foremost page and held a pen in a shaking hand. He scribbled in his usual teenage male handwriting and created a list. After squinting at the page for what seemed like hours, deciding for any more to add, he finally accepted his list and gave it a title; My Regrets. The list was as follows:
1. Kissing Kurt
2. Bullying Kurt
3. Lying about my sexuality to Kurt
4. Getting poor grades
5. Lying about my sexuality to my friends
6. Choosing wrong friends
7. Lying about my sexuality to my parents
8. Not admitting my feelings to Kurt
9. Ignoring help
10. Not saving Kurt
Finally happy with the list, Dave dropped the notepad into his backpack and turned to leave his bedroom, but before he did he heard a noise. There was a tapping on his window. Throwing open the green curtains, Dave saw a dove sitting on his window sill. It stopped pecking at the glass and looked Dave straight in the eyes. The green of the pure white dove hit the hazel of the anxious, downtrodden teenage boy.
"Since when are there doves in Lima?" Dave asked himself out loud.
The dove flew off, leaving Dave perplexed. Then as he turned he saw something sitting on his desk. It wasn't there a minute ago when he wrote his list; a piece of paper. He picked it up and opened it.
A selfish man holds no doors open for anyone but himself.
It was quite a strange thing for Dave to read; however he was having quite a strange morning. He put the paper in his pocket and exited the room. He walked his way to school. What he didn't know was that the Gods above told the dove to give him the letter specifically before he arrived at school.
And they gave it to him for guidance.