OK, chapter two is HERE. I'm working on chapter 3 right now, Stevie Rae's POV. Hope you all like it please review and let me now what you think.
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Stark
Dead
He was dead because of me.
He was dead; it was all my fault,
and all because of one misfired arrow.
He was my mentor, my friend, and I killed him.
It had been during the Olympic games.
We were practicing, just the two of us.
I was already starting to get a reputation.
Best archer of my age, probably out of everyone.
If I won the Games, then my rep would go through the roof.
It was my ambition to win the games and send it sky high.
So I took aim knowing that I couldn't miss.
Being the cocky son of a bitch that I am;
I guess it was that cockiness that cost him his life.
I notched the arrow and sent it flying.
Not realizing that I was a few degrees off.
Not checking to see if he was out of the way.
And the arrow lodged right into his chest
He was dead.
There was so much blood
Blood spurting everywhere, he was coated with it.
It splashed sickeningly onto the floor.
And I watched him collapse to his knees.
"NO!"
I ran across the field to him, catching him just as he fell.
"Help, please somebody get help!"
But it was too late, he was already dead.
And there was no one around.
His blood was warm and slick and I found I couldn't get a good grip on him.
"Please I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't mean to kill you.
Please it was an accident, come on man don't leave me!"
But it was no use, he was already gone.
I felt someone's hand on my shoulder and I flinch away from the touch.
Easy there boy, we're here to help.
I shake my head.
No, there not here to help, there here to take him away,
And I can't let them.
My hands tighten on his body.
Now, now boy there's none of that.
They take him away from me.
They don't bother with a doctor.
They already know he's dead.
He's taken to a morgue where they will prepare his body for funeral.
I'm allowed to still play in the games.
But I'm put under restriction and strike watchful eyes.
They think it's alright to let me continue because it was an accident.
But I would rather they disqualified me.
And at the end…I won.
A month later and everything is back to normal.
As if he never existed in the first place.
Oh they paid their respects to him of course.
They had his funeral; everyone said they were sorry to me.
(i.e everyone felt bad for me or sorry for me).
They brought in a grief consoler for me.
Everyone said sorry to the family.
But no one seemed to be grieving for him anymore except for the family.
It just didn't seem right!
How can everyone grieve for him for a month then act like nothing happened?
But I hadn't forgotten nor would I pretend.
After all I'm the one that killed him, I'm the reason he's not here.
No one blamed me; they all said it was an accident.
I blame me.
I couldn't deal with the guilt.
I couldn't handle the burning grief.
It felt like I was permanently sick or something.
And worse of all I couldn't feel anything.
After all the grief and guilt and pain washed away there was nothing left but emptiness.
I couldn't stand it.
I needed to feel.
I had to feel
But I couldn't no matter what I did I couldn't feel.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore.
I had to feel something, anything;
even if it was for only a moment.
I stumbled into the kitchen after school one Monday.
Thankful my parents aren't ever home.
In my desperation to feel something I grabbed one of my dad's serrated cutting knives.
And stumbled my way into the bath room.
I quick turned on the foist;
and sliced the razor edge of the blade into my skin.
Drip, drip, drip
The pain was incredible
I've never felt anything more breathtaking.
Drip, drip, drip
The blood flowed freely from my veins.
Staining the sink a deep crimson and the water a bright pink.
Drip, drip, drip
I gritted my teeth together to ride out the pain.
And revel in the mind numbing bliss.