Grinning Reaper: Oh, and Just as a little note, after I finish doing all
the POVs I kinda do this 'flash-back' thingy.which is what this is.
Chapter Five: Accidents Happen
Bright and inquisitive violet eyes studied the object clasped in a long- fingered hand. A razor. Duo Maxwell lifted it up to the light, watching it glint off the metal as he admired its unique shape.
Slash.
Red.
He felt pain. White hot, burning pain that seethed out of his cut arm in the form of liquid rubies and pooled itself in a wanton manner on the marble counter top of the bathroom sink. He cocked his head in a curious manner. It didn't hurt as much as he though it would...he must not have cut very deep this time... He brushed his fingers reflectively over the many scars that criss-crossed his arms. There were some on his legs and stomach too, but those were easier to hide. He had to be careful not to cut too close to his wrist or if he did to wear shirts that had longer sleeves or that buttoned around his wrist so they wouldn't ride up. He was pretty sure that Heero had seen a few of the scars yesterday.
Thoughtfully, Duo raised his arm to his mouth and began to suck on the fresh wound, rolling the blood over his tongue. What a unique taste it had! At first it tasted sweet like sugar, then, as he swallowed, it tasted like pennies. (He only knew what pennies tasted like because he had accidentally swallowed one as a child. Boy, was that unpleasant.)
Then he suddenly realized something. Pain wasn't enough anymore. He wanted more than that. He was Death, so why not embrace the fact? He wasn't afraid to die, in fact, he actually welcomed the thought of a nice long rest. The more he thought about it, the more sense it seemingly made. He stood with a new sense of purpose and walked into his room, picking up the first shiny sharp thing he saw on his desk...
"I'm home!" Quatre chirped merrily as he set down the small brown paper packages that contained that night's dinner. He had noticed that his fellow pilots all seemed to be depressed so he decided to make a good meal to cheer them up. He heard the quiet, irregular pattern of tapping of keys coming from the living room. He smiled faintly. Would Heero ever rest? Quatre busied himself with putting the food away. He was making spaghetti. He remembered Duo saying spaghetti was one of his favorites, but then again, what didn't the braided ball of energy like? Rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder, Quatre set to making himself some tea. Hearing the noise, Wufei crept with all the silence and grace of a jungle cat into the kitchen.
"Hello, Wufei." Quatre greeted his fellow pilot with a friendly gesture to sit. The Chinese youth complied and sat in a flowing, languid motion. Wufei gave Quatre his own silent salutation and rested an elegant face in a graceful up-turned palm. Quatre suddenly felt a wave of some unidentified feeling over take him. He felt urgent, he felt a sort of crackling energy gathering, slowly gaining power as he tried to pinpoint why he felt this way, the feeling was much like the feeling one gets before an impending storm. One thing was certain: something was misplaced. Wufei noticed the little blonde Arab's furrowed brows and intensely focused face. He shook the boy's shoulder and tilted his head. Wordlessly asking what was the matter. Quatre's mouth turned down at the corners.
"Wufei?" he began in his melodic voice, "Where's Duo?" Wufei shrugged nonchalantly and gazed in the direction of the stairs. So the braided boy was up in his room then. Quatre got shakily to his feet as the feeling of the impending storm grew. He walked to the foot of the stairs, a single, doll like hand resting atop the banister.
"Duo?" He called peering up at the closed white door of the God of Death's room. He called again, a bit louder this time and with the hesitant sound of worry creeping into the corners of his voice. "Could you come down here?" there was a mocking reply of silence. Quatre felt the quiet was laughing at him.
//You're too late. He's mine now.// she whispered between raspy chuckles. Quatre raced up the stairs, he grasped the brass door handle, not bothering to knock. He wretched it open in a desperate manner. It's all okay. It's fine. Everything's normal. Thoughts like these raced through him mind as he tried to fervently assure himself these statements were true.
He strained to get his eyes to focus as he peered in to the artificial night that Duo had created for himself: closed blinds, black walls, black ceiling, black everything. The large cerulean orbs complied with their owner's wishes and vague shapes began to swirl out at him from the darkness.
The first thing Quatre noticed was the digital clock on Duo's nightstand, glowing bright red. It strongly reminded the teen of eyes leering out at him from the abyss in a horror movie. His eyes fell on the bed. Duo way lying amongst the twisted, unmade, black silk sheets. Quatre breathed a sigh of relief as his hand pressed itself firmly over his thrashing heart. He was only sleeping. He should have known! Duo was a heavy sleeper.
"Hey Duo, I making tea. You want some?" He asked. The figure of Shingami did not stir. "Duo?" Quatre's voice rose and trembled slightly on the second syllable of his friend's name. He walked timidly over to where the American lay. "Wake up." He shook Duo's shoulder. His fingers made contact with something hot and sticky. Surprised, Quatre jerked his hand back and inspected it. It was red and thick. Dark, dark, red, thick liquid. In a quick motion, Quatre turned Duo's body over to face him. There was a vertical hole running on his pale and once intact throat. Oozing out of the gnash was red tears. Quatre scrambled off the bed and cried out when he saw there were dark spreading patches of the same color on the knees of his jeans.
Have you ever seen in a nature show an animal crossing a river and an alligator traps it in its jaws? As it is dragged in to the swirling waters, it screams. That was how Quatre felt. And that was how Quatre screamed.
Duo opened his eyes to see an ethereal being. Light golden hair, crystalline blue eyes looking as clear, emotional and innocent as a child's, and pale delicate skin. He had seen this image many a time growing up in Maxwell Church. It was an angel. He was in heaven? He always assumed that people who killed themselves went to places that were.well...a lot warmer. This angel did not have a halo. This angel did not have wings. The angel sank to its knees.
"Why Duo?" It asked in a shaking voice. "Why did you do this?" Duo smiled faintly. He tried to speak, tried to explain his reason for suffering, but only resulted in coughing up blood. The angel cried in anguish and covered its face in its hands.
"Don't cry." Duo whispered in a thick and unfamiliar voice as the angel sobbed. The fading jewel colored eyes flickered closed. "It's nothing to get upset over. Accidents happen."
Chapter Five: Accidents Happen
Bright and inquisitive violet eyes studied the object clasped in a long- fingered hand. A razor. Duo Maxwell lifted it up to the light, watching it glint off the metal as he admired its unique shape.
Slash.
Red.
He felt pain. White hot, burning pain that seethed out of his cut arm in the form of liquid rubies and pooled itself in a wanton manner on the marble counter top of the bathroom sink. He cocked his head in a curious manner. It didn't hurt as much as he though it would...he must not have cut very deep this time... He brushed his fingers reflectively over the many scars that criss-crossed his arms. There were some on his legs and stomach too, but those were easier to hide. He had to be careful not to cut too close to his wrist or if he did to wear shirts that had longer sleeves or that buttoned around his wrist so they wouldn't ride up. He was pretty sure that Heero had seen a few of the scars yesterday.
Thoughtfully, Duo raised his arm to his mouth and began to suck on the fresh wound, rolling the blood over his tongue. What a unique taste it had! At first it tasted sweet like sugar, then, as he swallowed, it tasted like pennies. (He only knew what pennies tasted like because he had accidentally swallowed one as a child. Boy, was that unpleasant.)
Then he suddenly realized something. Pain wasn't enough anymore. He wanted more than that. He was Death, so why not embrace the fact? He wasn't afraid to die, in fact, he actually welcomed the thought of a nice long rest. The more he thought about it, the more sense it seemingly made. He stood with a new sense of purpose and walked into his room, picking up the first shiny sharp thing he saw on his desk...
"I'm home!" Quatre chirped merrily as he set down the small brown paper packages that contained that night's dinner. He had noticed that his fellow pilots all seemed to be depressed so he decided to make a good meal to cheer them up. He heard the quiet, irregular pattern of tapping of keys coming from the living room. He smiled faintly. Would Heero ever rest? Quatre busied himself with putting the food away. He was making spaghetti. He remembered Duo saying spaghetti was one of his favorites, but then again, what didn't the braided ball of energy like? Rubbing a sore spot on his shoulder, Quatre set to making himself some tea. Hearing the noise, Wufei crept with all the silence and grace of a jungle cat into the kitchen.
"Hello, Wufei." Quatre greeted his fellow pilot with a friendly gesture to sit. The Chinese youth complied and sat in a flowing, languid motion. Wufei gave Quatre his own silent salutation and rested an elegant face in a graceful up-turned palm. Quatre suddenly felt a wave of some unidentified feeling over take him. He felt urgent, he felt a sort of crackling energy gathering, slowly gaining power as he tried to pinpoint why he felt this way, the feeling was much like the feeling one gets before an impending storm. One thing was certain: something was misplaced. Wufei noticed the little blonde Arab's furrowed brows and intensely focused face. He shook the boy's shoulder and tilted his head. Wordlessly asking what was the matter. Quatre's mouth turned down at the corners.
"Wufei?" he began in his melodic voice, "Where's Duo?" Wufei shrugged nonchalantly and gazed in the direction of the stairs. So the braided boy was up in his room then. Quatre got shakily to his feet as the feeling of the impending storm grew. He walked to the foot of the stairs, a single, doll like hand resting atop the banister.
"Duo?" He called peering up at the closed white door of the God of Death's room. He called again, a bit louder this time and with the hesitant sound of worry creeping into the corners of his voice. "Could you come down here?" there was a mocking reply of silence. Quatre felt the quiet was laughing at him.
//You're too late. He's mine now.// she whispered between raspy chuckles. Quatre raced up the stairs, he grasped the brass door handle, not bothering to knock. He wretched it open in a desperate manner. It's all okay. It's fine. Everything's normal. Thoughts like these raced through him mind as he tried to fervently assure himself these statements were true.
He strained to get his eyes to focus as he peered in to the artificial night that Duo had created for himself: closed blinds, black walls, black ceiling, black everything. The large cerulean orbs complied with their owner's wishes and vague shapes began to swirl out at him from the darkness.
The first thing Quatre noticed was the digital clock on Duo's nightstand, glowing bright red. It strongly reminded the teen of eyes leering out at him from the abyss in a horror movie. His eyes fell on the bed. Duo way lying amongst the twisted, unmade, black silk sheets. Quatre breathed a sigh of relief as his hand pressed itself firmly over his thrashing heart. He was only sleeping. He should have known! Duo was a heavy sleeper.
"Hey Duo, I making tea. You want some?" He asked. The figure of Shingami did not stir. "Duo?" Quatre's voice rose and trembled slightly on the second syllable of his friend's name. He walked timidly over to where the American lay. "Wake up." He shook Duo's shoulder. His fingers made contact with something hot and sticky. Surprised, Quatre jerked his hand back and inspected it. It was red and thick. Dark, dark, red, thick liquid. In a quick motion, Quatre turned Duo's body over to face him. There was a vertical hole running on his pale and once intact throat. Oozing out of the gnash was red tears. Quatre scrambled off the bed and cried out when he saw there were dark spreading patches of the same color on the knees of his jeans.
Have you ever seen in a nature show an animal crossing a river and an alligator traps it in its jaws? As it is dragged in to the swirling waters, it screams. That was how Quatre felt. And that was how Quatre screamed.
Duo opened his eyes to see an ethereal being. Light golden hair, crystalline blue eyes looking as clear, emotional and innocent as a child's, and pale delicate skin. He had seen this image many a time growing up in Maxwell Church. It was an angel. He was in heaven? He always assumed that people who killed themselves went to places that were.well...a lot warmer. This angel did not have a halo. This angel did not have wings. The angel sank to its knees.
"Why Duo?" It asked in a shaking voice. "Why did you do this?" Duo smiled faintly. He tried to speak, tried to explain his reason for suffering, but only resulted in coughing up blood. The angel cried in anguish and covered its face in its hands.
"Don't cry." Duo whispered in a thick and unfamiliar voice as the angel sobbed. The fading jewel colored eyes flickered closed. "It's nothing to get upset over. Accidents happen."