HEllo readers, MIdnightEdeness hear. This is my second attempt at fanfiction, my first i disliked and discontinued. BUt i have confidence in this one, i love the plot and there is no risk of discontinuation!! I was inspired to write this after i read THe Kite Runner. Enjoy and review tell me what you think.
I am working antoher fiction that will considerbly less despressing and angsty. Its a comdey, be on the lookout! (more info in my profile)
Disclaimer: the only thing i own is the plot.
He remembered the smell of honey suckle and wildflowers. He remembered the cool spray of water, the exhilarating wind blowing through his hair, the exuberant laughter. He remembered his mother's bright smile, his father's hearty laugh, and the look of pure joy on their faces. Then, the perfect memory was shattered by the harsh wail of sirens, the sirens that signaled the arrival of a nightmare. His parents faces drained of color; they became icy human sculptures with terror carved into their faces. Then they changed again, like the sculptor has changed his mind, and his fathers dark eyes turned serious and angry and his mothers green eyes burned with something he'd seen few times before: protectiveness. Duty.
Running, feeling the wind in his hair, the pumping of his limbs, the pounding of blood through his veins, and his heart. Only this time, there was no exhilaration, no joy. Only fear. Fear in every cell of his body, fear that sucked the air from his lungs and overtook every sense.
No thought: only the instinct telling him to run.
No smell, but that of the putrid stench of smoke and death.
No touch, everything felt numb. But this fear, even as it strangled him, was why he was living.
This fear was pushing him to run, despite his exhaustion, the way his leg s felt like jelly. This fear cleansed his mind, making him think sharper and clearer than ever before. He glanced up at the sky. No longer was it the smooth black sea with sprinkled sugar stars it was before. It was now a raging tempest of darkness with fiery swirls of red and orange. Over the angry clouds he could see ht e shadows of war planes: metal and steel angels of death, harbingers of death, invading his world and plummeting it into darkness. The angels sang a song of death, with notes on the form of the rapid snap of machine gun fire and the ear-drum shattering wail of shells. His eyes snapped back; he ran through a black world of death following his guardian angels, his parents, to deliverance. He tried to ignore the destruction around him: to ignore the lifeless bodies littering the street, the roaring columns of flame that were homes, the screams of fear and sorrow. How could his world transform so suddenly, he wondered. How could his peaceful dream so quickly turn into a nightmare? One minute his world was smooth and clear, peaceful like a gleaming piece of glass. Then the next minute, his world shattered into a million pieces of jagged pain, like someone and dropped a heavy weight onto the glass. His friends were dead. He'd seen his best friend's body in the street, arm missing. His home was gone: minutes after they left it a shell hit and everything went up in hungry flame. How? Why? He felt wetness on this cheek, which he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand. He couldn't cry he had to be strong, like his father.
His angel stopped and crouched to ground. A trapdoor was there, their doorway to the light, which his father quickly opened. With a frantic gesture of his hand he beckoned and Misaki quickly ran toward him, his mother at his heels. As soon as he reached him he felt a hand at his back, and he was suddenly tumbling into blackness.
There was the brief rush of air before he connected with the dirt, hard, where he stood spitting and sputtering, dusting himself off. Suddenly the young boy froze, and patted his chest in confusion. Nothing. He patted again, this time in slight panic. Nothing. It wasn't there.
The trap door was closing.
"NOOO!" he dove toward it, but a felt a small but strong hand pull him back.
"Misaki! What are you doing!" his mother yelled.
"It's gone! I have to go back for it!"
"What's gone? It can't be more important that you life!" His father snapped, stepping in this path.
"I need it! It's Kaa-san's! I promised id protect it! I have to go back" the eight year old began to kick and scream, arms and legs flailing I his mother's arms.
:" You are not going back out there. I am not losing you!" his mother said firmly.
"I have to keep my promise!" Misaki wailed, breaking free from his mothers arms and grabbed his fathers arms, he began to beg him to let him back out, till his father held up a hand for him to stop. The young boy was instantly silent.
"Ill go back." He said with a weary smile, "After all, we can't break a promise." He ruffled his son's hair with a large hand.
"You can't." His wife protested, "I won't let you. IF you go I go."
His father did not reply, only climbed up the stairs and out into the chaos.
His mother stood frozen for a moment and Misake felt a light touch on his head. Then his mother too was gone.
Misaki stood, unsure, now feeling guilty. His parents, out in the storm because of his childish selfishness. HE could not allow it. He had to tell them to forget it and come back. With that mind the young boy ran up the stairs and joined his parents in the storm.
The last memory.
Outside the world was still a shattered pane of glass. The home Miskai knew was gone, replaced by a nightmare of flame and death. He coughed; the air was suffocating thick with smoke. He scanned around for his angels and found them. They were running toward him. In his father's hands was his leather bound treasure. He was aware they were waving him back, and shouting, but their words were lost to the screams of the death angels above them.
The climax of a nightmare.
The scream of a shell, the violent shuddering of the ground. Falling backward, tumbling, the rattling of bones and brain. The metallic taste of blood, the fell of it trickling down his chin and limbs. The silence that followed. Then the clearing of the dust and the horror behind it.
His angels mangled on the ground. His angels, warped beyond recognition. The painful clenching of his heart as he fell to his knees. Him, clutching leather bound treasure to his chest. Finally, an agonized scream, the dying note of a chorus of pain.