::The Slain::
Warning: This chapter is definitely the most disgusting yet. Don't say I didn't warn you O_O;
Chapter Three: But Home is Nowhere…
I didn't see that.
Oh, God, please tell me I didn't see that!
Kara looked again, and Matt was still there, his blood-streaked, torn body a twisted, grotesque parody of what was once a boy - not just a boy, Kara's friend - not just a friend, her best friend in the whole world!
A fat, obscenely glistening fly crawled out of Matt's open mouth and made its way to the terrifying dark hole where his eye should've been.
Kara ran away, sprinting faster than when she had raced Matt to school in more innocent days, faster than she had ever gone down the basketball court, faster than ever before. As she ran, she wailed incoherent words, shouting at the school, the town. Shouting at Matt for not beating whatever unearthly demon had come against him. Shouting at herself for not getting to school in time to save him. Shouting at the world, at life itself for taking away nearly everything that Kara had ever held dear.
Kara's senses betrayed her as she once again traveled the school hallways, glimpsing things in her terror and sorrow that she hadn't noticed before. A bloody knife lying on the floor. Cockroaches swarming over who-knows-what. The changes became more pronounced as Kara neared the front of the school. Cute doodles hung on the walls, pet dogs and houses and families, metamorphosed into crude portraits of impossible, sharp-toothed creatures and gory, dismembered corpses. The walls themselves were now a rusty, bloody brownish-red, covered in stains of an origin that Kara didn't care to ponder.
Past the stains, past the blood, past closed classroom doors beyond which unspeakable horrors lay, Kara ran, pausing in her terrified screams only to catch her breath. Without pause she flung open the school's front door - whatever waited for her out there had to be better than what lurked inside. In other parts of the town there might be people, shelter, love, mercy. In the school there was only fear, pain, and terror.
Kara dashed out into the thick grey banks of fog and was suddenly assaulted by a cacophony of noise; barks, growls, inhuman cries coming from all directions. Dark shapes came at Kara, nothing but teeth and claws and dripping, exposed muscle, and all at once Kara knew what was going on--
--I'm dead, aren't I? I've died and gone to Hell to pay for what I've done, and I'll never see the light of day again--
--and the thought terrified Kara so much that she shouted again, her voice primal and full of rage, and her small fists relentlessly pounded the half-decomposed, stinking hellhounds. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the horribly dismembered creatures were gone. Kara whirled around in anger and confusion. Had she really seen such beasts? She couldn't be sure of anything. What was real and what was not? More distorted images came to her through the fog. Messages? Hallucinations? She didn't know. A badly rusted bicycle lying forgotten on its side, one creaky tire eerily spinning. A heap of black roses piled unceremoniously on a forgotten grave, their dark petals glistening with a dew of fresh blood. A child's musty skeleton lying abandoned in an isolated corner until some macabre puppeteer chose to make it rise in a slow, graceful waltz of death…
All at once, Kara found herself standing alone at her own doorstep. The world was silent but for the sound of Kara's own heavily pounding heart. She didn't recall making a conscious decision to return home, and she couldn't remember the cease of her half-insane shrieks. She felt oddly calm, and the sensation seemed fake, somehow forced, most certainly out of place. Looking around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary but for the fog. Now that the spawn of Hell no longer stared her in the face, she began to wonder if any of the day's events had really taken place.
The possibility that Kara was trapped in a nightmare had occurred to her more than once, but she immediately discounted it upon second thought. She had read stories about people who wondered if they were dreaming when something strange or seemingly impossible happened, but it wasn't like that in real life. During a dream, there really was no such thing as free will. A dreamer couldn't think of the possibility that he or she was dreaming unless the illusion commanded the thought. Dreamers are entirely controlled by their subconscious.
Unless maybe that's not true. Maybe I just don't remember how realistic my dreams are once morning comes. Maybe I'm trapped in this same exact nightmare, this…this prison of doubt, night after night for the rest of my life…
Kara shivered at the thought, and only then did she remember how cold it was outside. Taking deep breaths to maintain the state of calmness, block out hysteria, she racked her brain for other possibilities. I'm sick. That's it. I'm running a high fever and I'm seeing things. I'll go inside and call Dad, and then I'll go lie down. Dad will come home early and make me some nice hot chicken soup, and maybe this afternoon Matt will come to my window like he always does when I'm sick, and he'll act like a mime because he's scared that he'll catch my germs if he comes in. I'll even take that nasty herbal medicine that Dad calls his "miracle cure". I don't mind at all, because everything will be okay…
Considerably calmer, almost smiling, Kara reached for the doorknob and realized that she held something in each hand.
All traces of happiness and complacency vanished from Kara's expression and thoughts. She didn't know how these small round objects had nestled themselves in her palms, but she knew exactly what they were. Kara wished with all her heart that they would somehow disappear so she wouldn't have to look at them and see the finality, the proof. But they remained there, wet, sticky, and warm, and they seemed to burn twin holes through her hands as she held them.
Ragged, anxious breaths tore from Kara's throat as she held her hands out in front of her, and she let out a strangled cry as she saw what lay there. Exactly what she'd expected, what she had known, but now so final, so real
Even in death they were lovely, the whites pale and glistening, luminescent as the full moon on a clear summer's night. The circles of deep, mysterious blue-grey were as beautiful as ever. Kara had never seen another pair of eyes quite like Matt's, and she had often stared into them, filled with longing that she didn't quite understand. Every day she had prayed that one day those amazing eyes would look back at her with the same intensity and passion she felt when looking into them. Now, here they were, snug in Kara's hands, under her control. She could almost imagine them as they once had been, sparkling with the pure, essential vitality of innocence, youth, life. Kara uttered a short, shuddering moan in mourning for all that had been lost. This was all that was left of Matt, the sweet, wonderful boy who had always been by her side. The boy she loved. The boy who loved her. She carefully raised one shining orb to her lips and kissed it softly.
Then Kara lowered the eye from her mouth and stared at it incredulously for a moment. These eyes may have once belonged to Matt, but no longer were they anything but a sickening mockery of what they had been in life. How could she have possibly been fooled? The whites had turned a milky yellow, laced with broken veins of red. The once-perfect irises had seemed before to change with Matt's mood, dark and stormy when he was mad, but more often alight with happiness. Now, they had gone dull in the inescapable grip of death. Stringy, bloody pink nerves trailed disgustingly from behind.
Was I only seeing what I wanted to see?
With a startled cry, Kara hurled the ruined eyes into the darkness. A stomach-turning urge to find them, keep them, preserve them forever, clutched at her heart, but she refused to give in to it. Matt was dead, and nothing would change that. His broken body, his poor empty shell was lying abandoned in a dusty classroom, decaying and squirming with plump, revolting maggots. He had died alone, in agony, and Kara would never see him again in this life or the next…
For a moment Kara stood there alone, frozen in shock. Then she rushed into the house where she might be safe from the darkness of her own soul. She collapsed on the floor, weeping and praying for the boy who now sang in a chorus of immortal, ethereal light…he had been too good for this world, and now he was finally where he belonged…finally home. Kara imagined the fate that lay before her, and cried even more, though she knew that eternal damnation was exactly what she deserved.
A/N: By this point, no one actually expected me to update again, I'm sure…I wasn't going to, I had no idea where the story should go next (meaning I'm very open to suggestions), but then I had a creepy Silent Hill dream, and it inspired me. So, here you are, chapter three, and if I keep having freaky dreams like that, maybe I'll actually finish the story…eventually. I named this chapter for an AFI song, by the way, and I don't own AFI…oh, and I just realized that Kara sounds similar to Kira, the main character of the fabulous Autopsy Report. Well…it wasn't meant to be that way, and my apologies to Rumer ^^; I didn't really like the ending of this chapter, but what I have planned next should be good. Now, to find a way for everything to make sense…I want to make the story feel more like a Silent Hill game, less blood but more terror. Tell me if I'm being repetitive...there aren't a whole lot of ways to say "she was scared". Don't give up hope, more updates coming…soon, hopefully!
Warning: This chapter is definitely the most disgusting yet. Don't say I didn't warn you O_O;
Chapter Three: But Home is Nowhere…
I didn't see that.
Oh, God, please tell me I didn't see that!
Kara looked again, and Matt was still there, his blood-streaked, torn body a twisted, grotesque parody of what was once a boy - not just a boy, Kara's friend - not just a friend, her best friend in the whole world!
A fat, obscenely glistening fly crawled out of Matt's open mouth and made its way to the terrifying dark hole where his eye should've been.
Kara ran away, sprinting faster than when she had raced Matt to school in more innocent days, faster than she had ever gone down the basketball court, faster than ever before. As she ran, she wailed incoherent words, shouting at the school, the town. Shouting at Matt for not beating whatever unearthly demon had come against him. Shouting at herself for not getting to school in time to save him. Shouting at the world, at life itself for taking away nearly everything that Kara had ever held dear.
Kara's senses betrayed her as she once again traveled the school hallways, glimpsing things in her terror and sorrow that she hadn't noticed before. A bloody knife lying on the floor. Cockroaches swarming over who-knows-what. The changes became more pronounced as Kara neared the front of the school. Cute doodles hung on the walls, pet dogs and houses and families, metamorphosed into crude portraits of impossible, sharp-toothed creatures and gory, dismembered corpses. The walls themselves were now a rusty, bloody brownish-red, covered in stains of an origin that Kara didn't care to ponder.
Past the stains, past the blood, past closed classroom doors beyond which unspeakable horrors lay, Kara ran, pausing in her terrified screams only to catch her breath. Without pause she flung open the school's front door - whatever waited for her out there had to be better than what lurked inside. In other parts of the town there might be people, shelter, love, mercy. In the school there was only fear, pain, and terror.
Kara dashed out into the thick grey banks of fog and was suddenly assaulted by a cacophony of noise; barks, growls, inhuman cries coming from all directions. Dark shapes came at Kara, nothing but teeth and claws and dripping, exposed muscle, and all at once Kara knew what was going on--
--I'm dead, aren't I? I've died and gone to Hell to pay for what I've done, and I'll never see the light of day again--
--and the thought terrified Kara so much that she shouted again, her voice primal and full of rage, and her small fists relentlessly pounded the half-decomposed, stinking hellhounds. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the horribly dismembered creatures were gone. Kara whirled around in anger and confusion. Had she really seen such beasts? She couldn't be sure of anything. What was real and what was not? More distorted images came to her through the fog. Messages? Hallucinations? She didn't know. A badly rusted bicycle lying forgotten on its side, one creaky tire eerily spinning. A heap of black roses piled unceremoniously on a forgotten grave, their dark petals glistening with a dew of fresh blood. A child's musty skeleton lying abandoned in an isolated corner until some macabre puppeteer chose to make it rise in a slow, graceful waltz of death…
All at once, Kara found herself standing alone at her own doorstep. The world was silent but for the sound of Kara's own heavily pounding heart. She didn't recall making a conscious decision to return home, and she couldn't remember the cease of her half-insane shrieks. She felt oddly calm, and the sensation seemed fake, somehow forced, most certainly out of place. Looking around, she saw nothing out of the ordinary but for the fog. Now that the spawn of Hell no longer stared her in the face, she began to wonder if any of the day's events had really taken place.
The possibility that Kara was trapped in a nightmare had occurred to her more than once, but she immediately discounted it upon second thought. She had read stories about people who wondered if they were dreaming when something strange or seemingly impossible happened, but it wasn't like that in real life. During a dream, there really was no such thing as free will. A dreamer couldn't think of the possibility that he or she was dreaming unless the illusion commanded the thought. Dreamers are entirely controlled by their subconscious.
Unless maybe that's not true. Maybe I just don't remember how realistic my dreams are once morning comes. Maybe I'm trapped in this same exact nightmare, this…this prison of doubt, night after night for the rest of my life…
Kara shivered at the thought, and only then did she remember how cold it was outside. Taking deep breaths to maintain the state of calmness, block out hysteria, she racked her brain for other possibilities. I'm sick. That's it. I'm running a high fever and I'm seeing things. I'll go inside and call Dad, and then I'll go lie down. Dad will come home early and make me some nice hot chicken soup, and maybe this afternoon Matt will come to my window like he always does when I'm sick, and he'll act like a mime because he's scared that he'll catch my germs if he comes in. I'll even take that nasty herbal medicine that Dad calls his "miracle cure". I don't mind at all, because everything will be okay…
Considerably calmer, almost smiling, Kara reached for the doorknob and realized that she held something in each hand.
All traces of happiness and complacency vanished from Kara's expression and thoughts. She didn't know how these small round objects had nestled themselves in her palms, but she knew exactly what they were. Kara wished with all her heart that they would somehow disappear so she wouldn't have to look at them and see the finality, the proof. But they remained there, wet, sticky, and warm, and they seemed to burn twin holes through her hands as she held them.
Ragged, anxious breaths tore from Kara's throat as she held her hands out in front of her, and she let out a strangled cry as she saw what lay there. Exactly what she'd expected, what she had known, but now so final, so real
Even in death they were lovely, the whites pale and glistening, luminescent as the full moon on a clear summer's night. The circles of deep, mysterious blue-grey were as beautiful as ever. Kara had never seen another pair of eyes quite like Matt's, and she had often stared into them, filled with longing that she didn't quite understand. Every day she had prayed that one day those amazing eyes would look back at her with the same intensity and passion she felt when looking into them. Now, here they were, snug in Kara's hands, under her control. She could almost imagine them as they once had been, sparkling with the pure, essential vitality of innocence, youth, life. Kara uttered a short, shuddering moan in mourning for all that had been lost. This was all that was left of Matt, the sweet, wonderful boy who had always been by her side. The boy she loved. The boy who loved her. She carefully raised one shining orb to her lips and kissed it softly.
Then Kara lowered the eye from her mouth and stared at it incredulously for a moment. These eyes may have once belonged to Matt, but no longer were they anything but a sickening mockery of what they had been in life. How could she have possibly been fooled? The whites had turned a milky yellow, laced with broken veins of red. The once-perfect irises had seemed before to change with Matt's mood, dark and stormy when he was mad, but more often alight with happiness. Now, they had gone dull in the inescapable grip of death. Stringy, bloody pink nerves trailed disgustingly from behind.
Was I only seeing what I wanted to see?
With a startled cry, Kara hurled the ruined eyes into the darkness. A stomach-turning urge to find them, keep them, preserve them forever, clutched at her heart, but she refused to give in to it. Matt was dead, and nothing would change that. His broken body, his poor empty shell was lying abandoned in a dusty classroom, decaying and squirming with plump, revolting maggots. He had died alone, in agony, and Kara would never see him again in this life or the next…
For a moment Kara stood there alone, frozen in shock. Then she rushed into the house where she might be safe from the darkness of her own soul. She collapsed on the floor, weeping and praying for the boy who now sang in a chorus of immortal, ethereal light…he had been too good for this world, and now he was finally where he belonged…finally home. Kara imagined the fate that lay before her, and cried even more, though she knew that eternal damnation was exactly what she deserved.
A/N: By this point, no one actually expected me to update again, I'm sure…I wasn't going to, I had no idea where the story should go next (meaning I'm very open to suggestions), but then I had a creepy Silent Hill dream, and it inspired me. So, here you are, chapter three, and if I keep having freaky dreams like that, maybe I'll actually finish the story…eventually. I named this chapter for an AFI song, by the way, and I don't own AFI…oh, and I just realized that Kara sounds similar to Kira, the main character of the fabulous Autopsy Report. Well…it wasn't meant to be that way, and my apologies to Rumer ^^; I didn't really like the ending of this chapter, but what I have planned next should be good. Now, to find a way for everything to make sense…I want to make the story feel more like a Silent Hill game, less blood but more terror. Tell me if I'm being repetitive...there aren't a whole lot of ways to say "she was scared". Don't give up hope, more updates coming…soon, hopefully!