Rights belong to the Supernatural people.
This is insanely short, but I hope you enjoy! If you have any feedback, I would love a review!
Dear reader,
Over these past years, I have written many novels. They are about other characters, living their lives. They are about monsters and angels and demons, and they are a way that I can hide.
This is my last story. The last novel I will ever write. I am old, and I am no angel granted with immortality. And so I wanted to show you who I am.
When I went back to my small town in rural Yorkshire, I remembered him like it was yesterday. It was like every part of me was humming with the memory of him, and twice I turned too sharply and caught him out of the corner of my eye. The aches and pains in my knees were replaced with scuffed trousers and the weight of The Rise And Fall Of The Roman Empire Summarised In Poetry tucked into my backpack. When I stumbled upon my old diaries, in which I documented every word that was spoken, I realised that I must say goodbye to him. This is my goodbye.
I know I'm not making sense. I can only hope that it will all become clearer as you read. This story isn't about a shining Impala; cigarette smoke carried on the breeze; textbooks with yellowed pages and crude doodles; or even the lake with the rusty trolley in the middle of the woods. And this story isn't about me. It's about Dean Winchester.
Publishing note:
This novel was found in the drawer of Castiel Novak's office. We assume he wished for it to be published upon his death. Mr Novak passed away quietly in his sleep.
The night before the final exam that would change my life forever, I spent an hour jittering in the library. My final A Level. Bloody hell. These exams would be my ticket to Oxford University.
Oxford was where High Flyers were told that they could maybe, just maybe, get into. If they worked hard enough, long enough, they could get there. And once you were there, the poverty in the Yorkshire town you were raised in would fall away. You could go to London, Paris, America; you could go places were food parcels weren't needed; where nobody spat curse words from their porches; where people didn't spend their days complaining about the way things used to be. Oxford University. Where the sun always shone and the people were astute, where people worked hard and achieved amazing things. Where my aunt thought I could never go. Where I could prove her wrong.
"Castiel, it's closing time." The librarian had said, and I had walked out with a leather-bound book bumping into my back with every step. Everything was buzzing around my head - Frankenstein quotes mixing with the Great Gatsby and Christmas Carol into a cacophony of English lit quotes. By tomorrow afternoon it would all be over.
Everything was deathly silent, and the roads devoid of cars. Something prickled on the back of my neck, and a bead of sweat formed. I'd walked this route a thousand times before. What was different now? Then a twig snapped from the looming darkness of the woods.
The knot in my stomach twisted tight. My limbs froze as a hand landed heavily on my shoulder. Everything slowed down, and the clouds drew tight and blocked out the moon.
Suddenly something was over my eyes and over my head, something course and rough as sandpaper. It was drawn tight around my neck and hands closed around my arms, twisting them. Wet breath on my neck made every hair stand on edge. They were jeering and yelling as they circled, each laugh echoing like a hyena's. I couldn't scream. It was like they'd ripped my throat out and the more I gasped the more the sack flattened against my mouth and stole my air. It tasted like old flour.
Another twist of my arm and my shoulder screamed as my knees buckled. That's when a boot smacked into my ribs and pain exploded. Then I was dragged, fireworks of agony fizzing across my shoulders and erupting from my chest. Something rough - rope, could it be? - was wrapped around my wrists. I had stopped struggling.
One of them leant close, and a hand grabbed my shirt collar. The ripping sound was harsh and cruel and I felt the ice in the wind hit my chest. Adrenaline was coursing through me, and rushing all rational thought from my head. When the kick came it exploded out like liquid fire.
And just like that, they all walked away. Both? Was there two? Leaving me right there, in the middle of the woods. Fear exploded beneath my skin like a nightmarish firework. I started retching, and my sick splattered everywhere inside the sack. The stench was revolting.
This couldn't be happening. Oxford was getting further away every second, as my A Levels only loomed closer. I can't remember what I thought in that hour, tied up and blind. I just know that it was dark.
The Lord is always with you, and he is with you in times of hardship. The Lord loves you, and if you love him you can overcome any adversity you face. That's what my aunty would say. I closed my eyes and tried not to focus on the spiderweb of terror wrapping around my mind.
I think I'd lost consciousness by the time another boot nudged my ribs. At first I thought it must be the monsters from before, and as I flinched away every aching muscle tensed up.
"What the hell?" The voice seemed to be a million miles away and right up close at the same time, and my head pounded and pounded. "You okay? Fuck. Fuck!" It rose sharply, and I tried to duck my head. Then slowly, slowly, I felt him coming closer. Strange hands tugged slightly on the sack , and then pulled it up. Lights erupted from the darkness and burned themselves into my eyelids. "Sorry. Crap! Sorry. Easy now, easy." Still blinded, I turned my head towards the voice. That's when a white fire ripped through me, and everything turned black.