A/N: WUZZUP PEOPLES? All two of you! Yeah, only two people reviewed! What's up with that? Am I not good enough for your words? Huh? HUH? You meanies are lucky I'm even updating, but Maya Sushi (First review! WHOO!) threatened to throw a rock in my window, and with my luck, it would hit me in the head and I would die. So I'm struggling to live. And what are you doing? You're freeloading on my genius.
Don't mooch on my genius.
Thanks, Maya Sushi and oc-journey06 (check out their stories) for reviewing my genius. And thank you for loving my kick-ass ego. Who doesn't?
Disclaimer: With two reviews, all I own is the chapters of this story that will not be published. So suck it.
…
Eww! Get your minds out of the gutter!
Visits
Chapter One
Finally, the tears stopped coming.
He was surprised at how good it felt, how much weight seemed to be lifted from his aching chest (Still there), just by letting out a few tears. Okay, not just a few. A lot, probably all the tears he's been holding on to, the tears that, now that he let them go, tasted so bitter, but felt so sweet (Just bitter). He felt so much better, and almost regretted hiding them in the first place (No more tears). But he knows he had to hold them in, because if he didn't she would've gotten upset. And if she got upset, then she'd cry, and he hated seeing her upset and crying (Cry). But if he didn't cry and if he stayed strong, then she'd be proud of him, she'd be so proud of her big brother (No one's proud). And she had to be proud of him, because then he'd feel better, and she'd feel better, and everything just led back to her, didn't it? But he kept her proud by holding in the tears for a long time, for what seemed like forever (Forever in hell).
Or maybe it was forever, and he was just in hell (You are). This certainly felt like hell. After all, what kind of heaven or earth didn't have her (This earth)? How could anything function without her? And since no heaven or earth could ever survive without her on it, then he must be in hell. But what kind of hell would she ever show up in (This hell)? She could never deserve hell, and hell was a place for eternal suffering. She could never, ever deserve eternal suffering. She could never even deserve minor suffering; she could never deserve any suffering at all. If he was meant to suffer (and considering what he does to women, he probably does deserve eternal suffering), then he wouldn't be seeing her at all, or at least not like this. No, he'd be seeing her like… Well, he really didn't want to think of that (Think). No, he wouldn't think of it ever again. He couldn't think of it, because once he did he would start to cry, and he already cried in front of her (Bitter).
In front of her. He never thought he'd be sitting in front of her ever again. But he is, because she's here. Really here (She's not). Or maybe he's just crazy, but he'd honestly prefer that to not ever seeing her again (Crazy). And he missed her so, so much… How many times has he wished to see her again (Too many)? How many times has he begged her to come back (So many times)? How many times has he cursed at God (What God?) for taking her away? How many times has he asked why, why did she die? How could she have ever deserved to die like that? How many times has he begged to know how his family could ever deserve this pain, this heartache, this pure, unrelenting suffering (Your fault)? So many times… But he wanted-he needed- to know what they had ever done wrong to deserve this, what she had ever done wrong to deserve this. How could she have deserved that on her birthday, when she was supposed to be having fun and going to parties? But now, now he could see her again (A dream); he could just look up and see that face he has wanted to see again for what felt like an eternity in the worst kind of hell. He wanted so bad to simply look up and see her again.
But he didn't dare look up. He couldn't look up. Maybe he was crazy. Seriously, what kind of brother can't bear look at his little sister (You)? What kind of twisted reality-no, twisted hell-was he in, where he couldn't bear to even try to look at his sister? He had been looking at her seconds ago, but tears had blurred most of his vision… He was either crazy or in hell, he knew… But at the same time, he knew wasn't crazy, and he knew he wasn't in hell. He knew, because if he was crazy then… Well, he honestly wasn't sure. It's not like he's ever been crazy before. He'd probably see flashes of whatever asylum they're keeping him in, the white wall and the white floors, the people restraining him whenever he lost it… Or maybe that was just in the movies. But he knew he wasn't in hell (You are), because hell is not nice enough to let him see her. If he was in hell, he'd be seeing her like-no, no, don't think of it. (Think of it) But he still couldn't look (Look). What if it was still there? He honestly wasn't sure how he could handle it if it was. He wasn't sure if he could handle it. But he wanted to see her, he wanted to see her face again, how she looked when she was vivid and alive. Not dead (She's dead). And not blurred by more stupid, stupid bittersweet tears (Just bitter). Surely God wasn't cruel enough to send her to him looking like that? Of course he wasn't… He wasn't, right? No, he couldn't look, not until he knew. He took a shaky breath, and only then did he realize he hadn't taken one for a long while. Maybe he was dead too, he thought vaguely (Hell). But then his lungs burned for more air and he knew he wasn't, and the pang of disappointment didn't surprise him in the least.
He debated weather to look up slowly or just look fast and get it over with (Now. Do it now). Or maybe he should just sit like this for a minute or two and force his brain to get over the shock, to believe that she really was here. She was here, of course (She wasn't). He knew that. Or maybe he really was just crazy… But he couldn't be crazy, because if he was crazy he'd be in an asylum right now and not with her (You're not with her). He tried to ask her if it was still there, if she really was there, but he couldn't find the words. In fact, he couldn't find any words floating around in his muddled brain (Hell-bound brain). There was nothing in his brain but her. And he was okay with that, just as long as he looks up soon and sees her beautiful face again (Rotted, underground. Dead).
Finally, he makes the decision to just look up. It's easier then, right (No)? Because you just get it over with… Okay… One… Two… Three… Nothing. Again. One, two, three, nothing. He curses himself and tries again, getting impatient. One two three now! Now! For the love of God (What love, what God?), now, now, now! Still, he cannot look up. The dread rolling around in his gut is just too much; his willpower too little (Look now). Once more, he tries. Slower this time. One… Two… He pauses, gathering his willpower, his need to see her, trying to bury the dread of what might be waiting on her soft, pale neck (blood)…
Three…
…
For a moment, he did not move. He cursed himself yet again (Weak), and prepared to redo the count. Suddenly, as if his reaction had been delayed, he looked up. Surprised that he did not get whiplash from the sudden movement, he gazed at her neck. Nothing. No red, no hole, no… nothing. His shoulders slumped with relief. He couldn't see her like that again. There was no way he'd be able to see that. But before he could tear his watering (to his distress) eyes away, he noticed a round, silvery mark. A scar.
Unblinking, he stared at it, and when he was about to look away, the scar exploded with red and black. Now, it wasn't a scar. It was a bleeding, gaping hole, and the blood, so much blood… A scream nearly tore itself out of his throat. I'm in hell. I am in hell! Was the only thought running through his head. The blood leaked onto her clothes and dribbled to the ground. There were sickeningly black clots of blood, clashing with the horribly bright crimson liquid leaking out and nearly falling on him. But before he could run or scream or faint or vomit or cry, or probably all five, he blinked. He blinked and it was all over. Gone. Her clothes showed no evidence of what he just witnessed, and the ground was clean and dry. For a second he stared at the scar. Nor red, no black, and no hole. Just a small, silvery patch of closed skin. Just a scar (Maybe more).
But still, he quickly tore his eyes away from it, fearful it may happen again. He knew that if it did, he wouldn't be able to hold in the screams of fear, the vomit, and the tears. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from running away, running away from his own sister (His dead sister), andfrom dropping into a dead faint. So much blood… People didn't have that much blood. They just didn't. It couldn't be possible for one girl to hold that much blood in her (So red, so much).
Hands still shaking from the ordeal, he looked up at her face, half afraid that something else was going to spring out at him (Blood, red blood). But as his eyes took in all her features; the dirty blond locks, bright, grey-blue eyes, pale skin (Never see again), he knew nothing would.
A smile nearly broke out on his lips, but didn't, as he remembered where he was. Why he was here. Maybe this is all a dream he thought, maybe I've been dreaming this whole thing…
For a year? It was a harsh thought, as if someone else entirely had thought it up. But it still sounded like him. Maybe I'm in a coma, he thought back, maybe I got hit by a bus or something.
(Look at you, Barney Stinson, two seconds away from talking to yourself. You're crazy. You should be locked in an asylum somewhere, you pathetic disgrace of a man…)
He clamped down on the voice- no, that sounds crazy. The thought- and clenched his fists hard. That voice had sounded different than the others, like a cross between him and something crueler, some strange shadow lurking within…
Now I am thinking like a crazy person… He dragged his thoughts away from insanity and asylums, and back to her. Back to here.
She had not spoken this whole time, but no words were needed. He could always read her face, and she could read his. He could read the sorrow and sadness in her face, but also the joy. The pure, childish joy that had almost always been fused to her face, her eyes (Not anymore). And God knows what she was seeing in his face. He didn't even know how he felt. Not anymore.
Finally, he spoke. He planned to simply smile, and say her name, just for the sake of feeling it on his tongue, on his lips, ringing in his ears. It's been so long since anyone spoke her name. But he simply could not force a smile onto his lips, and once he said her name, and how glorious it was, saying her name again (one you will never say again), he could not hold down all the questions. He asked her how she was here, and why now, why not sooner? He asked how long she could stay and how far from this place she could go. He asked if she left, would she ever return? And for each answer he got, another question sprouted from his lips.
She was here because it was her birthday, the day she came into the world. (And the day she left it)
She could not come before now because she can only come on her birthday. (The day she died)
Since she could only come on her birthday, she could stay with him no longer than midnight. She will be gone, just like before.
She could not exit the graveyard. (The place her body is, where it rots in the ground)
She could come every year on her birthday, November 11, after dark. (Too much waiting, too little time)
He did not dare ask what happened to her. He did not dare ask if it hurt or what it was like. He did not linger on the subject (Murder).
He tried to smile and act like he normally would, like he would act when she was alive (No life here). But it was hard; hard to talk like normal people when you're sitting in a graveyard, talking to someone you know is dead. Talking to someone who you can see through, who is sitting next to their own grave. It was hard talking to someone when you know their body is buried (rotting) under your feet.
A body you saw, a body you stared at. (Blood, so much blood)
A body you tried so hard to wake up, but couldn't. (She will never wake up)
But he couldn't just sit here and waste (You wasted so much) this precious time. The only time he could ever see her (Never enough time). But he had no idea what to say. What could he possibly say? His mouth opened, then closed, his mind lost for words. There was so much to say, so much he had saved up in his mind to tell her once he died (You'll be in hell), but now, he remembered none of it. There was nothing he could possibly say.
But he was saved from his struggles by her. She could read his face, and knew his mind. She had a lot to say. So she said it, all of it. And with each thing she said, each heartfelt, tender sentence, words burst from his lips as well. His words were different. They were not tender or sweet, at least, the feeling wasn't. She wasn't living (Dead). He couldn't pretend, and he hated himself for that. She would be able to act joyful (She wouldn't visit you), and she would start up the conversation and never let it end. But she was doing that now, so was there really a difference? Did it really matter if he still lived (No).
But it mattered to her (It didn't), so he would live, he'd live for her, even though she does not (Rotting and dead).
Still, should he tell his family? His friends? No, his friends wouldn't believe him. And his family, they already think he has issues. They'd lock him up in an asylum. That would be hell (Already there). No, it wouldn't. He was in hell, in it right now (Forever).
But she was here (She wasn't), and that means this is not hell, no matter how awful it is. He was not in hell (You will be).
A/N: Yeah, I know that ending sucks, but I'm having major writer's block here. There is too much perfect in my brain. Anyways, my faithful minion worshipers- what? Not anymore? Why, cause I haven't updated in eternity? I have an excuse. I was in Disney. Yeah, I was having fun in a place where dreams come true. Now I have a lot of work to make up. School sucks. What? You still hate me? Fine, no updates for you. I will update sporadically, but this story will get done. Eventually. If you review.
Which reminds me, all of you but two are dead now. You meanies never reviewed. But I revive you so you can. And so you can bow and remain eternally grateful to my awesome.
REVIEW NOW OR MY ETERNALLY GRATEFUL MEANIES WILL MURDER YOU.
Because they're eternally grateful. So ha.
~CNoel
