After Ken moved in, that first conversation with the statue proved to be a
daily rutine. You see, he was a rather social boy and missed some of the
crowds from his former life, but he was tierd of the spot light and no
privacy what so ever, he was tierd of the over active fans and the scandles
that the tabloids and his other team mates produced, so the silent statue
became his new friend, or at least sounding board.
He would talk about the latest sports, the friends he missed, the most embarrassing times in his life (of course, he only told the statue stories like that when he had sampled the wine cellar a little too much). Ken could blabber about the weather, the wind, the songs that played on the radio and much, much more. But there were some days he didn't talk, but would just sit in the library in the closest chair and read whatever book happened to fall into his hand that day.
Sometimes Ken would do something completely different. He had set up his state of the art stero system in the library (which had rapidly become his favorite room) and sometimes he would just play CD's or listen to the radio as he sat on the pedestal of the statue and just lean against the solid leg foundation. For some odd reason, he found it soothing when things just got too tough. Often, he would fall asleep like that.
It was late one night, and he was just relaxing leaning against the statue when the door bell rang.
"Hmm, wonder who that could be," Ken mutterd as he got up, "Its too late for any deliveries." he said, as he opened the door. Big, big mistake, and he knew that quite clearly from the business end of a Winchester rifle that was pointed strait at him.
"Back into the house." A rough voice growled from the darkness, nodding frightendly, Ken complied, backing slowly back into the house. He watched with wide eyes as 3 men stepped in, each holding a bag and a weapon. "Ok kid, hand over all the money in the house, and all the bank cards." One of the other men demanded, as he motioned for the other two to spread out to look for valuables.
Ken of course complied, and was shoved into the library as the men searched the house for anything they could take with them. The one standing guard over him had bright red hair, hard jade eyes and was tall and lanky. He stood leaning against the door frame, gun trained directly on the younger boy. The brunette's thoughts turned to the other two, one standing taller then the red head with black as his heart hair, silver glasses framing cold eyes, and the other, white headed with scars running along his skin. Each terrifying in their own way.
Presently, or what you could call an eternity later, all three of the robbers were gatherd in the library with they're victim. The red haired one turned to the others and said "Well, the kids seen our faces, what shall we ever do with him." He smirked with a sinister playful tone. It was the palest one who answerd, hoisting his gun meaningfully. "Simple," he rasped, "We kill him." With that, all three raised they're rifles and fired, each bullet striking true.
Sharp pain rang through Ken's chest at each hit. He fell listening to their laughter as the raiders retreated. Somehow, he managed to roll over onto his stomach and pulled himself across the floor, but not towards the telephone, no, even if it was closer, no, he was heading for the statue. Ken knew he was going to die, but he was determined to die near the one thing he truly loved. Just when his strength was about to give out, strong arms wrapped around him, and gently picked him up. A soft, warm voice whispered in his ear as Ken felt him self being carefully carried.
"Stay with me." the voice said. Ken wasn't afraid, he knew who it was. "Forever." he answered. The last conscious sound the boy heard was the steady beating of a heart.
Years later, the house was resold and turned into a museum. Its crowning glory being a mysterious statue in the library. Perhaps you know if it, it's a marble statue of two figures, the taller one cradling a smaller figure in his arms, both only tinted with colour to make you look. One draws your eye with striking red hair and black clothing, the only color on the skin being a streak of blue running down from the closed eyes representing tears, the other's eyes are closed as well, his messy brown hair resting against the others chest as his hand folds over a wound that bleeds red. A sword is laying uselessly to the side of their feet, and below, stands a plaque. It says,
'Ran Fujimya and Ken Hidaka, the two wounded lovers, sealed together in marble, bound forever in skin of stone.'
He would talk about the latest sports, the friends he missed, the most embarrassing times in his life (of course, he only told the statue stories like that when he had sampled the wine cellar a little too much). Ken could blabber about the weather, the wind, the songs that played on the radio and much, much more. But there were some days he didn't talk, but would just sit in the library in the closest chair and read whatever book happened to fall into his hand that day.
Sometimes Ken would do something completely different. He had set up his state of the art stero system in the library (which had rapidly become his favorite room) and sometimes he would just play CD's or listen to the radio as he sat on the pedestal of the statue and just lean against the solid leg foundation. For some odd reason, he found it soothing when things just got too tough. Often, he would fall asleep like that.
It was late one night, and he was just relaxing leaning against the statue when the door bell rang.
"Hmm, wonder who that could be," Ken mutterd as he got up, "Its too late for any deliveries." he said, as he opened the door. Big, big mistake, and he knew that quite clearly from the business end of a Winchester rifle that was pointed strait at him.
"Back into the house." A rough voice growled from the darkness, nodding frightendly, Ken complied, backing slowly back into the house. He watched with wide eyes as 3 men stepped in, each holding a bag and a weapon. "Ok kid, hand over all the money in the house, and all the bank cards." One of the other men demanded, as he motioned for the other two to spread out to look for valuables.
Ken of course complied, and was shoved into the library as the men searched the house for anything they could take with them. The one standing guard over him had bright red hair, hard jade eyes and was tall and lanky. He stood leaning against the door frame, gun trained directly on the younger boy. The brunette's thoughts turned to the other two, one standing taller then the red head with black as his heart hair, silver glasses framing cold eyes, and the other, white headed with scars running along his skin. Each terrifying in their own way.
Presently, or what you could call an eternity later, all three of the robbers were gatherd in the library with they're victim. The red haired one turned to the others and said "Well, the kids seen our faces, what shall we ever do with him." He smirked with a sinister playful tone. It was the palest one who answerd, hoisting his gun meaningfully. "Simple," he rasped, "We kill him." With that, all three raised they're rifles and fired, each bullet striking true.
Sharp pain rang through Ken's chest at each hit. He fell listening to their laughter as the raiders retreated. Somehow, he managed to roll over onto his stomach and pulled himself across the floor, but not towards the telephone, no, even if it was closer, no, he was heading for the statue. Ken knew he was going to die, but he was determined to die near the one thing he truly loved. Just when his strength was about to give out, strong arms wrapped around him, and gently picked him up. A soft, warm voice whispered in his ear as Ken felt him self being carefully carried.
"Stay with me." the voice said. Ken wasn't afraid, he knew who it was. "Forever." he answered. The last conscious sound the boy heard was the steady beating of a heart.
Years later, the house was resold and turned into a museum. Its crowning glory being a mysterious statue in the library. Perhaps you know if it, it's a marble statue of two figures, the taller one cradling a smaller figure in his arms, both only tinted with colour to make you look. One draws your eye with striking red hair and black clothing, the only color on the skin being a streak of blue running down from the closed eyes representing tears, the other's eyes are closed as well, his messy brown hair resting against the others chest as his hand folds over a wound that bleeds red. A sword is laying uselessly to the side of their feet, and below, stands a plaque. It says,
'Ran Fujimya and Ken Hidaka, the two wounded lovers, sealed together in marble, bound forever in skin of stone.'