Broken
By Dream Fox
Disclaimer: These characters belong to someone else; who, I don't know, but they're so lucky!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An invisible boy walked down the hospital hallway, counting the numbers of the rooms as he walked by: 423, 424, 425, 426.ah, here it was, number 427. Cautiously he poked his head through the closed door, and after a moment of glancing around the white hospital room, he pulled the rest of his body through the white, wooden door. "Ah," he thought, "it's wonderful to have no physical form."
The room was overwhelmingly white, complete with white walls, white bed sheets, and a white lamp by the bed. Ah, yes, the bed, that was the object of his mission. Not the bed itself, naturally, you couldn't bring a bed to the afterlife. Not that he had heard of anyway. Well, there was that one case with the possessed computer that froze just after the user wrote something important, and was just about to save..but, that was a different story. No, his victim was lying in the bed, and if he could just get close enough to.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Two, large, bright green eyes stared at him out of the red hair that fell around the eyes like a waterfall of blood. The face was tired, with black lines under the eyes from insomnia, and the hair fell like a tangled main of horsehair. But the eyes. ah, the eyes still carried a life to them, eyes that carried intelligence, understanding, and compassion. They were eyes that had seen thing, horrible things, and lived. Eyes that had laughed long and hard at funny jokes, so much so they had laugh-lines around the edges, and had cried hard nights in the times of death and despair. They were eyes that watched storms grow and rain fall and full moons and sunsets over the deep, green ocean, like the great, wet pools of the other boy's own eyes.
It unnerved the invisible boy, those deep eyes, that almost seemed to look into his own eyes, which were not oceans of green, but pools of red blood, splattered against the black of night. His own eyes were like his death, almost a mirror, filled with darkness and terror and death. It saddened the invisible, for a moment as the other boy seemed to look into his eyes, that even if the boy could see him, he wouldn't see joy or beauty, only blood. Although he had never really cared to have a tangible body again, he couldn't help but think maybe it was best if he was dead, that no one could see his eyes again.
But still the boy in the bed continued to "look" at him, even though it was impossible to see invisibles. Perhaps he was a sensitive, capable of feeling angels and ghosts and other spirits. The invisible boy had heard of such a people, although they were rare. It wouldn't matter in the end though, that's all that mattered: that nothing mattered in the end. Regardless of what happened it didn't matter, because in the end it would be the same. The boy in the bed would die and the invisible would carry his soul to the afterlife.
The afterlife is what it was, mind, not heaven or hell or even purgatory or limbo. In the afterlife, it didn't matter what kind of a person you were, you went. Priests, serial killers, murders, the president, or the Pope. You went, you got a job, and you got to work. That's what the invisible boy was. A death angel, or a grim reaper, if you'd prefer to call it such. It wasn't a bad job, but neither was it fun. You saw a lot of bloody things, a lot of crying, and, of course, death. And because of the hardships of the job, it required a very special kind of person: a person who had lived a horrible life, died a bloody death, but still carried positive emotional energy. It requires a person who has lost touch with caring, love, and compassion, but still radiated those kinds of feeling. You had to be able to look at a person, see what kind of emotion they needed to be shown, and show it correctly. In other words, you needed a Broken, as they were called in the Otherworld. You needed a person who had, through hardship and death, lost touch with their innerselves, but were still able to correctly fake it.
But despite how the invisible Broken acted, he felt his heart retch slightly when the boy lying in the bed looked up towards him. He wasn't sure if it was a slight, faint feeling somewhere deep in his heart, but he somehow passed it of as worry. "He can't see you," the Broken mumbled to himself. "Just remember, Hiei, he can't see you."
"Um," the boy from the better spoke up, causing the Broken's heart to fly into throat. "Who are you?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He first looked up when he felt someone come into the room. The door never opened, mind, but the wind seemed to shift slightly, as though a faint presence lay nearby, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his hands tingle.
Brushing his long red, orange hair out of his face, hair sticking slightly to his mouth so he had to tug it out, and opened his eyes. For a moment the world seemed blurry and disoriented, and was so white, for a split second he wondered whether he had died and gone to heaven. But no, there was too much pain to be there, too much agony still existed to be free to paradise. So he blinked a few times, trying to figure out where he was, vision slowly coming back under his own control.
"A white lamp?" he wondered as the object next to him came into his vision. Oh, yes. He was at the hospital. No wonder.
He turned his head, looking around the room, reminding himself of the lay out. Yes, there was the desk, the IV stand, the boy with the red eyes, the-- -wait! The WHAT?
The red-haired boy glanced sharply back to the red-eyed boy, with the black and white hair standing in the middle of the room. He looked funny there, a black, dark clothed blob in the middle of an all white room. The clothes he wore were odd too, a kind of black tunic with a white sash and black boots, as well as a headband. His hair was a dark black, but in the center of his spiked tresses was a single starburst of white, and the red-haired could only assumed it had been died.
The eyes of the other boy were the oddest of all. It wasn't their bright apple color that was strange, it was the look he gave off with them. The red-eyed boy looked around the room in what should have been a curious, or even calculating manner. But instead, the eyes held an odd kind of emptiness, as though everything the boy had ever seen was gone, and nothing mattered any longer. It wasn't despair or even sadness, because heaven knows, either of those would be better then the look he gave. It was just like a complete lack of emotion, as though, no matter what happened, it just didn't make any difference at all.
As the other boy's gaze slid across the room, and fell upon the boy lying in the bed, something seem to click behind the eyes. It wasn't happiness, relief, or even anger, it was just the slightest change in how he held himself, how he watched the red-head out of his own deep red eyes, and how he viewed the boy himself.
"Um," the red-haired boy began. "Who are you?" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hey everyone!
I bet you're all so happy to see I finally got a new story out! Actually, like quite a few of my other fanfics, it started out with non-YYH characters, or any other fanfic characters for that matter.
Also, if you haven't read my other stories, I suggest you do! I've got quite a few YYH, one major yaoi and all about Kurama and/or Hiei. Also, I've got a new Demon Diary, and an old Inu-yasha!
Enjoy and Talk soon! Dream Fox
By Dream Fox
Disclaimer: These characters belong to someone else; who, I don't know, but they're so lucky!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An invisible boy walked down the hospital hallway, counting the numbers of the rooms as he walked by: 423, 424, 425, 426.ah, here it was, number 427. Cautiously he poked his head through the closed door, and after a moment of glancing around the white hospital room, he pulled the rest of his body through the white, wooden door. "Ah," he thought, "it's wonderful to have no physical form."
The room was overwhelmingly white, complete with white walls, white bed sheets, and a white lamp by the bed. Ah, yes, the bed, that was the object of his mission. Not the bed itself, naturally, you couldn't bring a bed to the afterlife. Not that he had heard of anyway. Well, there was that one case with the possessed computer that froze just after the user wrote something important, and was just about to save..but, that was a different story. No, his victim was lying in the bed, and if he could just get close enough to.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Two, large, bright green eyes stared at him out of the red hair that fell around the eyes like a waterfall of blood. The face was tired, with black lines under the eyes from insomnia, and the hair fell like a tangled main of horsehair. But the eyes. ah, the eyes still carried a life to them, eyes that carried intelligence, understanding, and compassion. They were eyes that had seen thing, horrible things, and lived. Eyes that had laughed long and hard at funny jokes, so much so they had laugh-lines around the edges, and had cried hard nights in the times of death and despair. They were eyes that watched storms grow and rain fall and full moons and sunsets over the deep, green ocean, like the great, wet pools of the other boy's own eyes.
It unnerved the invisible boy, those deep eyes, that almost seemed to look into his own eyes, which were not oceans of green, but pools of red blood, splattered against the black of night. His own eyes were like his death, almost a mirror, filled with darkness and terror and death. It saddened the invisible, for a moment as the other boy seemed to look into his eyes, that even if the boy could see him, he wouldn't see joy or beauty, only blood. Although he had never really cared to have a tangible body again, he couldn't help but think maybe it was best if he was dead, that no one could see his eyes again.
But still the boy in the bed continued to "look" at him, even though it was impossible to see invisibles. Perhaps he was a sensitive, capable of feeling angels and ghosts and other spirits. The invisible boy had heard of such a people, although they were rare. It wouldn't matter in the end though, that's all that mattered: that nothing mattered in the end. Regardless of what happened it didn't matter, because in the end it would be the same. The boy in the bed would die and the invisible would carry his soul to the afterlife.
The afterlife is what it was, mind, not heaven or hell or even purgatory or limbo. In the afterlife, it didn't matter what kind of a person you were, you went. Priests, serial killers, murders, the president, or the Pope. You went, you got a job, and you got to work. That's what the invisible boy was. A death angel, or a grim reaper, if you'd prefer to call it such. It wasn't a bad job, but neither was it fun. You saw a lot of bloody things, a lot of crying, and, of course, death. And because of the hardships of the job, it required a very special kind of person: a person who had lived a horrible life, died a bloody death, but still carried positive emotional energy. It requires a person who has lost touch with caring, love, and compassion, but still radiated those kinds of feeling. You had to be able to look at a person, see what kind of emotion they needed to be shown, and show it correctly. In other words, you needed a Broken, as they were called in the Otherworld. You needed a person who had, through hardship and death, lost touch with their innerselves, but were still able to correctly fake it.
But despite how the invisible Broken acted, he felt his heart retch slightly when the boy lying in the bed looked up towards him. He wasn't sure if it was a slight, faint feeling somewhere deep in his heart, but he somehow passed it of as worry. "He can't see you," the Broken mumbled to himself. "Just remember, Hiei, he can't see you."
"Um," the boy from the better spoke up, causing the Broken's heart to fly into throat. "Who are you?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He first looked up when he felt someone come into the room. The door never opened, mind, but the wind seemed to shift slightly, as though a faint presence lay nearby, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his hands tingle.
Brushing his long red, orange hair out of his face, hair sticking slightly to his mouth so he had to tug it out, and opened his eyes. For a moment the world seemed blurry and disoriented, and was so white, for a split second he wondered whether he had died and gone to heaven. But no, there was too much pain to be there, too much agony still existed to be free to paradise. So he blinked a few times, trying to figure out where he was, vision slowly coming back under his own control.
"A white lamp?" he wondered as the object next to him came into his vision. Oh, yes. He was at the hospital. No wonder.
He turned his head, looking around the room, reminding himself of the lay out. Yes, there was the desk, the IV stand, the boy with the red eyes, the-- -wait! The WHAT?
The red-haired boy glanced sharply back to the red-eyed boy, with the black and white hair standing in the middle of the room. He looked funny there, a black, dark clothed blob in the middle of an all white room. The clothes he wore were odd too, a kind of black tunic with a white sash and black boots, as well as a headband. His hair was a dark black, but in the center of his spiked tresses was a single starburst of white, and the red-haired could only assumed it had been died.
The eyes of the other boy were the oddest of all. It wasn't their bright apple color that was strange, it was the look he gave off with them. The red-eyed boy looked around the room in what should have been a curious, or even calculating manner. But instead, the eyes held an odd kind of emptiness, as though everything the boy had ever seen was gone, and nothing mattered any longer. It wasn't despair or even sadness, because heaven knows, either of those would be better then the look he gave. It was just like a complete lack of emotion, as though, no matter what happened, it just didn't make any difference at all.
As the other boy's gaze slid across the room, and fell upon the boy lying in the bed, something seem to click behind the eyes. It wasn't happiness, relief, or even anger, it was just the slightest change in how he held himself, how he watched the red-head out of his own deep red eyes, and how he viewed the boy himself.
"Um," the red-haired boy began. "Who are you?" * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hey everyone!
I bet you're all so happy to see I finally got a new story out! Actually, like quite a few of my other fanfics, it started out with non-YYH characters, or any other fanfic characters for that matter.
Also, if you haven't read my other stories, I suggest you do! I've got quite a few YYH, one major yaoi and all about Kurama and/or Hiei. Also, I've got a new Demon Diary, and an old Inu-yasha!
Enjoy and Talk soon! Dream Fox