Disclaimer: I don't own Donnie Darko, but I wish I did.

Title: Empty Seat

Author: Punk up the Volume

Rating: G, I suppose.

Summary: On October 1st, Gretchen Ross, new to the neighborhood, is searching for a sign that everything is finally going to be alright. She gets it in the form of a mysterious boy riding down her street and a dream she will never forget.

A/N: Well, this isn't my best piece of writing, but I had to write it. Warning: Spoilers galore.

The Destruction Waltz

Dreams of a future I cannot erase

Memories of another time and place

Longing for a world known to few

Longing for a boy I never even knew

He is here

I can feel him

He is here

And I want to listen

But his words scare me

Faces and places that seemed so real

The warmth of his skin seemed so real

A lingering kiss

A soft touch

Waking with the sky torn in two

Ever present destruction has taken over

And has taken him with it

I didn't know Donnie Darko. I saw him once, though, out of my bedroom window. Last Saturday morning, I was moving boxes while my mother slept, still hungover from her pity party the night before. I stared out of the window, looking for a sign that this was going to work out. That finally, this town, this name, Gretchen Ross, would finally be safe for us.

I saw him, riding by on his bike, still dressed in his pajamas, peddling down from the ridge. On our way into town two days before, Mom had stopped and made me watch the sunrise. It was beautiful. I could imagine waking up there, lying on a soft blanket, watching the sunrise. There was someone next to me, but I couldn't decided who.

He was riding fast, this Donnie Darko. Right then, I didn't know his name, but he was smiling, laughing like he knew something that the world didn't. I know that nobody calls a boy beautiful, but he was. He had a light emulating from him that put shivers down my spine. He rode off, grinning, and I grinned, too. He looked up at my window and saw me, and his grin grew. It was that moment that I knew I was safe. I had never done that before, put my faith in signs. Or a boy for that matter. If there was one thing that my mother taught me, it was that boys lie. They fake.

There was nothing fake about him.

I had a dream that night. A dream unlike any other I had ever had. I was so vivid, so very real that I see, hear, smell, touch, taste...everything. I loved Donnie Darko in this dream, and when I awoke, blinded by the bright lights that flashed before me a moment before, I felt that love still, like it would always be with me. I was completely enamored with this boy I had seen only once before in this life. In my mind I knew his name, but I couldn't be sure. It was a dream that would never forget.

Only seconds before, Donnie Darko died.

It the lights in my eyes, or the ground trembling beneath me. It was the sound of a crash, an earthshattering crash that I thought I had merely dreamed.

It wasn't until my mother came running into my room, clutching me like a ragdoll that I realized I had been screaming.

"It's alright," she cooed in my ear, still drowsy from her own imaginary world. "What did you dream? Who's Donnie? Why are you crying?"

I told her I was alright and she left me alone again in my room, left with six more hours until that sun would rise and wash away my fears.

At six o'clock in the morning, the sun still fresh in the sky, I was riding up towards Carpathian Ridge on my stepfather's ancient mountain bike, hoping that maybe I would see the boy of my dreams up there. I was new in town, always looking for new friends, right? I was stopped by the crowd of onlookers whispering around the driveway, some of them crying, some of them gossiping.

I stared at the door of the home where EMT's stood, walking along with a stretcher. I couldn't see much over the crowd, but I could see one woman, leaning against a tree limb for support, like if she didn't, she would fall to the ground from exhaustion. Dried tears left trails running down her cheeks, and a menthol cigarette was stuck between her fingers as she took a long drag. She left out a puff of smoke and I could feel her pain in my own body, feel her grief in my heart. Something horrible had happened, and I knew that even though the world felt at ease, it was somehow unbalanced.

"What happened?" I asked the downtrodden looking little boy standing motionless in the middle of the street.

"My neighbor," he started, his innocent voice mixed with the sudden realization of death. "He died. He got smushed by a jet engine."

A jet engine? I had never heard of something like that happening. The stretcher moved past us as an EMT opened up the door to their amubulance.

"What was his name?" I asked, a knot forming in my stomach.

"Donnie," the boy answered. "Donnie Darko."

The shock in my heart nearly sent me backwards. Could it be? That boy I saw out my window was suddenly torn from me like some sick joke. That was indeed his name in my dream. It couldn't possibly be a coincedince.

"Did you know him?" The boy looked up at me with an expectant frown.

Yes, I thought. "No," I said. "I didn't know him."

The woman in the pink bathrobe looked up at me and from my place, I could see the tiniest glint of recognition in her eyes. Instinctively, I raised my hand. How horrible, I thought, for her son to die mere feet from her own bed and for her to have absolutely no control over it. Her grief washed over me again as she waved back.

"Watch it!" One of the EMT's called. The little boy and I turned to watch as one of the worker's tipped into the stetcher and the halfway zipped back spilled over, revealing the face of the boy inside. It was dream boy alright, still looking at beautiful as he had as he rode past my window a day before. There was another knowing smile on his lips and I nearly let out a sob as they covered him back up, hiding his secrets. I wanted to know so desperately what he knew, what he had to share.

This was crazy, I know. I didn't even know him and suddenly I was in love with the dead boy down the street.

"Hey, where are you going?" the little boy called behind me as I rode off towards the ridge. I didn't answer him, didn't turned back. I went and I sat on the ridge for two hours, crying.

My first day of school was the next day. I felt self concious and angry. I was scared that nobody would like me, annoyed that I didn't yet have any friends. I wanted to go home, to my old school where I at least knew somebody.

That morning, I opened the door to my first period English class, late on the first day because of the slowest secretary in the world.

"Can I help you?" Ms. Pomeroy questioned, more annoyed than I was.

"Yeah," I answered, looking around the classroom. The faces were all glum and scowling and an feeling of animosity hung in the air. "I just registered here and they put me in the wrong class."

"You look like you belong here." Ms. Pomeroy snarled. This was obviously not a teacher to be messed with.

"Where do I sit?" I questioned anxiously, shifting my weight from one leg to the other.

Ms. Pomeroy looked around the classroom with a sigh, but there was only one available seat, right smack dab in the middle. "I suppose," she breathed, "You can sit there."

"No!" a dark haired boy called sitting diagonally from the empty seat. "That's Donnie's seat!"

"Yeah, well he's six feet in the ground, as flat as a pancake, ain't he?" another boy called back with a cruel laugh.

"Chut up!" A heavyset asian girl yelled at the both of them, covering her ears.

"Seth, get out of my classroom," Ms. Pomeroy comanded, pointing towards the door. "Get out, now. And Ronald, it's the only empty seat. I said now, Seth!"

Seth kicked his desk as he stood and grabbed his books angrily. Sneering at me as he walked by, Seth shut the door behind himself, leaving me trapped with the sullen class. All eyes were on me as I walked towards the only empty seat in the classroom, my shoes clicking on the tile floor. I sat as gracefully as I could and stared at the board. As I set my books on the desk, I felt a warmth settle on me, even though the window shades were all drawn. Feeling amazingly content and nervous at the same time, I watched my pencil start to move and roll off the desk, onto the floor with barely a sound.

"If you would please take out your copies of "The Destructors"," Ms. Pomeroy said suddenly. "We'll get started."

Trying not to call attention to myself again, I bent over and groped for my only pencil. I was lying underneath the seat of the asian girl behind me, who still had her hands over her ears as she stared at Ms. Pomeroy. A pair of brown earmuffs sat next to a notebook on the floor. It was folded onto the back cover where the name Donnie Darko was written in blood red marker, embellished with a few hearts. I smiled and picked up my pencil, feeling the anxiety leave me.

I had my sign. I was going to be okay. Finally, I was going to be okay.