Title: Darker than Black

By: RayOfDarkSunshine

Summary: During the day he can escape it. During the night he can't hide it. (Dark!fic)

A/N: This doesn't have anything to do with the anime 'Darker than black' okay. I am disappointed with the lack of dark fics on this fandom. The Outsiders isn't, generally, a light book. Damn, it deals with death and thoughts of suicide. I'm trying something different here and probably won't be noticed but enjoy it anyway.


An empty bottle of cheep bear in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He sat at the end of the worn out bed, breathing out a stream of smoke. Blue eyes unfocused and dull, different images dancing in and out of his vision. Black patches appearing momentarily only to burst into light. Letting out a small laugh, he dropped the bottle to the floor and fell back on the bed. The coarse cover scratched his bare back but it felt numb on his ice cold skin. The noises of music, laughter and screams of delight and pleasure fell on deaf ears as the teenager, who'd aged to fast closed his eyes.

During the day he could fight it. He could fight the images of a different life, one he had formally knew away from the one he lead. Something that was now only formed in bits and pieces he could remember, the stories he told. It was easy to get others to believe him, they didn't know better. Those other people who knew nothing but the desolate town they lived in. Anything beyond it was foreign land, something to wish for. Never getting there though, hopeless longing that was spoken about but never done. He'd done it though, been beyond the borders. A whole different world. A world of blood and fights, cold cells and endless nights. These nights were the worst. Nothing to take away the pain, nobody to pretend to. During the night he can't hide it, can't forget and can't fight it. He can't fight the fear that he's meant to have rid himself of.

In his dreams they haunt him. Faces he once knew and people he once trusted. Every one of them gone, never coming back. Lost in a sea of regret and guilt. A rough sea that he can't swim against, the power of it rushing over him, drowning him in it. The shouts are loud in his ear, mute to the outside world. Nobody can hear them, sometimes they shout so loud he can't help but look around and wonder why that nobody else notices. Then he remembers, they can't hear the cries and then the memories are like a punch in the face. Painful for a short time but leaving a lasting affect. That's when it comes, he wants to scream loud. Fall to his knees clutch his head and scream for it to stop. Beg for a blow to end his life, take away the memories, take away the pain. Nothing comes though. These actions. Never executed. These pleads. Never vocalised. His face, impassive. That's how the world sees him.

Not always. In the nights where it hurts to open his eyes, to face the memories sometimes he can get through it. Remember that he wasn't always like that, cold and uncaring. Frightened of a past that threatens to consume him. He used to care. Innocent and untouched by the world. A little boy who only had the best too look out for. That changed though, the world infected him. It changed him. Tortured a soul that had once been so pure. It was gone. He was gone. Somebody who had once been was no more. Lost in a sea of darkness, blood and a cold cell. Curled into himself, searching for something more. He was Dallas Winston and nobody saw what was behind his eyes.