Title: The Emerging Darkness
Author: kitty
Rating: PG13
Show: Dark Angel
Disclaimer: not mine. :'( *sob* Pairing: N/A
Type: General/Angst Status: WIP
Summary: when Alec traces the killer of his unit, what horrors will he find?
Authors Note: I got bored of all the nicey-nice crap I was writing. :P this chap has a lot of grammar mistakes, dun worry, there supposed to be there. :P 1st chap is a point of view (duh!) read and review. ;D
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God, it would be just so easy. So easy. Just to slit my wrists. Or blow out my stupid brains. I mean, who would there be to stop me? I'm just a kid right? There would be no tears for me. No one gives a shit about anything. We're just trying to survive in this God forsaken hell hole. And everyone we think we can trust are just. I mean, we try to forget what they did, and what exactly happened. But the nightmares never end. It's just this never- ending turmoil of our pathetic puny hearts, which get broken in the end anyway.
They used to ask, why I changed so much. How I went from being this sweet innocent girl, to such a cold hearted bitch. First answer'd be "a little thing called 'puberty' sweetheart" and then I'd punch their lights out. But without the joking, I don't know where to start. Do I say, "When I got handed over to those damn bastards?" or "when I was stuck in hell, and nobody bothered to find me?" or how about "after I killed so many people, that I couldn't even remember their faces?" Or how about my favourite, "when you didn't find me, even when I screamed your name out, over and over again, you walked away, leaving me to my doom". So what do I say?
Nuffin' usually, I'd just blow their brains out. I'm a 15 year old girl. I should be doing all kinds of girly shit, and instead, I run an empire, that's built on my time in hell. What does that make me? The spawn of all evil? Probably. It ain't easy trying to be so hard all the time, when all ya wanna do is cry. You just have to pull yourself together, and pray no one's watchin' so ya don't have to kill 'em too.
I hear 'em crying sometimes. Just for no reason. Their bawling their eyes out, while I'm here. Trying to get my head together, puffin a stick of weed or some other crap that's gonna kill me. And then we start all over again. Wishin' to die. God what is it with those damn circles ya go over a hundred times??? You do the same thing for ever and ever, and no one bothers to tell ya that you're in a big pile of shit. What is the point?? We just gonna die anyway. Don't matter how it ends. We gonna die. Some of us just wish it was sooner rather then later.
I read this poem the other day. It was just so complicated. I had no idea what it was about, just some shit or whatever. So disturbing. I felt just like it I wonder why I'm a monster, and why everyone is up my arse so much. And then it hits me like a ten-tonne truck. 'Their scared of me' I think. And it stays in my head for ever and ever, and when I look at them, I just wanna puke. Not a bad way to end is it? Dying cos a piece of worthless shit is afraid of ya.
Not like I had any choice in the matter. Everyone else is just too much of a pussy to give a damn. They just wanna be puffin them fags for ever and ever. They are so helpless sometimes. Ya just wanna slap 'em silly. I mean their just kids' right? Wrong. I'm a kid. And look where I am. I'm Queen of the dead. It's my own fault. For being 'special' like Carrie says I am. Stupid cow. She wouldn't know special if it blew out her brains.
I want to leave this hell hole. But then whose live would I fuck up next? I just bring this never-ending trail of death with me, and then I wonder why I go on a spree or sumet. I just wanna be free. Like all them other kids that prance half naked in the rain. They make me laugh. They don't think anything is wrong. That the world is just peachy. They always ask why I'm such a mard-arse. Like they don't know. They just ask dumb questions. Call me a 'freak on weed' behind my back. Makes just wanna snap their little necks. And then I see one of 'em. Just one. And she's crying in the rain, her little pigtails all floppy, and my heart melts. Cos I think I'd have been like that. That would be me.
And then I get all depressed. It's not like you can tell a fuking difference. I'm on sumet all the time. I hate that. I ain't addicted or anything, they give me nothing. No buzz or a high. It's just me being me. The damn freak. The Queen of the dead.
Rating: PG13
Show: Dark Angel
Disclaimer: not mine. :'( *sob* Pairing: N/A
Type: General/Angst Status: WIP
Summary: when Alec traces the killer of his unit, what horrors will he find?
Authors Note: I got bored of all the nicey-nice crap I was writing. :P this chap has a lot of grammar mistakes, dun worry, there supposed to be there. :P 1st chap is a point of view (duh!) read and review. ;D
******************************************************
God, it would be just so easy. So easy. Just to slit my wrists. Or blow out my stupid brains. I mean, who would there be to stop me? I'm just a kid right? There would be no tears for me. No one gives a shit about anything. We're just trying to survive in this God forsaken hell hole. And everyone we think we can trust are just. I mean, we try to forget what they did, and what exactly happened. But the nightmares never end. It's just this never- ending turmoil of our pathetic puny hearts, which get broken in the end anyway.
They used to ask, why I changed so much. How I went from being this sweet innocent girl, to such a cold hearted bitch. First answer'd be "a little thing called 'puberty' sweetheart" and then I'd punch their lights out. But without the joking, I don't know where to start. Do I say, "When I got handed over to those damn bastards?" or "when I was stuck in hell, and nobody bothered to find me?" or how about "after I killed so many people, that I couldn't even remember their faces?" Or how about my favourite, "when you didn't find me, even when I screamed your name out, over and over again, you walked away, leaving me to my doom". So what do I say?
Nuffin' usually, I'd just blow their brains out. I'm a 15 year old girl. I should be doing all kinds of girly shit, and instead, I run an empire, that's built on my time in hell. What does that make me? The spawn of all evil? Probably. It ain't easy trying to be so hard all the time, when all ya wanna do is cry. You just have to pull yourself together, and pray no one's watchin' so ya don't have to kill 'em too.
I hear 'em crying sometimes. Just for no reason. Their bawling their eyes out, while I'm here. Trying to get my head together, puffin a stick of weed or some other crap that's gonna kill me. And then we start all over again. Wishin' to die. God what is it with those damn circles ya go over a hundred times??? You do the same thing for ever and ever, and no one bothers to tell ya that you're in a big pile of shit. What is the point?? We just gonna die anyway. Don't matter how it ends. We gonna die. Some of us just wish it was sooner rather then later.
I read this poem the other day. It was just so complicated. I had no idea what it was about, just some shit or whatever. So disturbing. I felt just like it I wonder why I'm a monster, and why everyone is up my arse so much. And then it hits me like a ten-tonne truck. 'Their scared of me' I think. And it stays in my head for ever and ever, and when I look at them, I just wanna puke. Not a bad way to end is it? Dying cos a piece of worthless shit is afraid of ya.
Not like I had any choice in the matter. Everyone else is just too much of a pussy to give a damn. They just wanna be puffin them fags for ever and ever. They are so helpless sometimes. Ya just wanna slap 'em silly. I mean their just kids' right? Wrong. I'm a kid. And look where I am. I'm Queen of the dead. It's my own fault. For being 'special' like Carrie says I am. Stupid cow. She wouldn't know special if it blew out her brains.
I want to leave this hell hole. But then whose live would I fuck up next? I just bring this never-ending trail of death with me, and then I wonder why I go on a spree or sumet. I just wanna be free. Like all them other kids that prance half naked in the rain. They make me laugh. They don't think anything is wrong. That the world is just peachy. They always ask why I'm such a mard-arse. Like they don't know. They just ask dumb questions. Call me a 'freak on weed' behind my back. Makes just wanna snap their little necks. And then I see one of 'em. Just one. And she's crying in the rain, her little pigtails all floppy, and my heart melts. Cos I think I'd have been like that. That would be me.
And then I get all depressed. It's not like you can tell a fuking difference. I'm on sumet all the time. I hate that. I ain't addicted or anything, they give me nothing. No buzz or a high. It's just me being me. The damn freak. The Queen of the dead.