The Colour Purple Chapter 75: a 61st Second, a king of fighters fanfic

The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95

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This (chapter) fanfiction was originally written circa: [XX.96] (Thank you)

"Which Character are you?"

Note to self: Legacy chapter numbering (32- - -), does not match. [Original chapter written 2016]

Chapter 75: a 61st Second

A world filled viscous with endless tearing static… Pictures taken out of sequence.

Did you not once tell me – that the only way to prove you were [right]…

…

Did you not once tell me – that the only way to prove you were [right].

You're pretty good. One day, people will pay money to see you FIGHT.

To end my suffering.

A one truth that is constant is.

…fighting since birth.

I've been severely depressed. For my entire life.

I know now.

Even if each and every one of the jewels of this world loses its luster.

…that EVIL men, were once GOOD men too.

…and I want to kill myself.

I think I need that beer after all, sir.

Every man who gazes upon your FIGHTING are doomed to.

Will you be the one to return to me, the CHILDHOOD I lost.

I have never seen a fighting, quite so beautiful as yours.

She pressed both fists into her eyes to suppress the tears.

…I lost to the wicked wills of time.

…and then;

mayhaps, through your suffering – can others be saved.

"Haaaaagh." Clark wheezed. "Eventhough all around me is cloaked in darkness, my right eye still hurts. Thanks to you."

You'd best make good your promise.

It's okay, come at me unchained and unleash your rage and hatred, Clark Steel. I will disarm you with a smile. The devils in you are the same devils in me.

With a silent clink and clank, invisible shackles unlocked from her wrists, her ankles, and the steel spectres hit the ground. It was silence that was ever so deafening.

If indeed, YOUR suffering is greater than mine, then PROVE it – I will come to you with everything I have. IF your fighting is indeed greater than mine, then… can you?

Adults pointed guns at children, and they forced them to…

"I can end all war."

And then, and only then, can we dwell in a selfish luxury… of peace.

The END of La Bizarre Love Pentagon – part 11 –

"Through those endless wishes," she curled her fingertips into her soft fleshy palms, when the darkness was just about to envelope her eyes, "only then, will we set ourselves free."

…

1972, The Unrecognized Country of Rhodesia.

The gravity, of the Earth, pulls me back to reality. Here we are again, lost and afraid, lonely and angry. Again. A young blonde haired, pale faced, Caucasian boy felt the cold sweat that glued his shirt onto his sweaty flesh. Just as cold was the rusted AK-47 rifle in his hands. A horrendously made weapon, a weapon that was designed to be made quickly and cheaply, like him – its folded steel parts chattered against each other in sync with the boy's trembling arms.

"CLARK!" his dark skinned commander yelled behind him. "KILL HIM! FUCKING SHOOT HIM! KILL HIM!"

Even if he was only 8 years old, Clark Steel knew how to fire a gun eventhough he was still too short to drive a car or even reach up over a tabletop counter to make a cup of coffee. Because these devices of war came so naturally for evil people.

The beads of sweat rushed down the sides of Clark's temples and down his cheeks. It was cold and frigid and the fear that enveloped him like claws held him in place.

"CLARK! KILL HIM!" The man behind the boy fell on his back, waving his arms wildly, bleeding feverishly at his left thigh that had been filleted open.

…

We, and our audience know how this will end… but… stay with me and watch it unfold.

HE grinned.

…

As the AK-47 rifle trembled in his arms, Clark's body felt a crumbled, cold concrete wall stop his small body, he was unable to point the barrel onto his enemy that stood unmoving in front of him. For if he pointed its muzzle up at that vicious man, Clark knew, that he, may die.

The man in front of Clark cracked his knuckles one hand over the other and tilted his neck one side and then to the other mimicking the snapping sound. The tall, towering Caucasian man loomed over Clark and smiled as his menacing shadow draped itself over the 8-year-old child soldier's trembling face, blocking the sunlight ominously.

"This is indeed a predicament." He said, straightening his neat and proper olive drab uniform, flattening the creases and folds. "If I kill you, boy," He said. "Your commander will shoot me. That is troublesome." He laughed coyly, the red blood dripping down his clawed hand, despite the severity and the gravity of the predicament of their 3-man Mexican standoff.

Now.

"CLARK! If you don't kill him, I'll KILL YOUR FAMILY! YOU HEARM…"

"Don't pay attention to him, boy." That devil in front of Clark interjected calmly – the barrel of Clark's rifle that was strapped between heaven and hell simply floated at the low ready straight at the ground just in front of his feet. "and, If I kill your boss, boy, you'll probably shoot me." He laughed again, straightening his beret. "So why don't we make a deal? Do you really want to die for a nigger like that?"

Clark was too scared, cold and frigid spiny needles underneath his heels slowly inserted themselves into his brain. Clark was unable to look his enemy in the eye. Instead the boy soldier, Clark, focused his gaze at his enemy's left breast in fear.

On that monster's left breast was a cloth nameplate. The picture shook in place just like it was taken with a bloody handheld camera in a dark, crowded movie theatre. It shook in such a violent motion Clark was unable to read it, but as best as he was able, all he could was stare at that nametape because it was all he could do lest he succumb to the strangling fear that wanted to drive him into a void of darkness. If he did not stare at that piece of cloth – though unable to see his name, he would surely faint from the heavy strain on his head.

"Kill that nigger, and I promise I will not kill you." He said, his glowing eyes and smile radiated his dark shadowy face from the darkness. "Clark." The beast that stood in front of Clark now hunched over with sharp clawed hands and the shadows floated up like evaporating quagmire over his shoulders – as such – was fitting for a devil – both his eyes were the only thing he could see in the void that swallowed him.

In 1972 – in the unrecognized country of Rhodesia.

Adults pointed guns at children, and they forced them…

…

September 21, 1977 – A nuclear non-proliferation pact is signed by 15 countries, including the United States of America and the Soviet Union.

A mumbling, muffled sound. The voice sounded as if I was underwater and it screamed to me, pulling me back up, back, half a decade away to the future. Just the same as it once heaved me up and made my body slowly float from a drowning world eyes open. When no one else would bother with a small boy like me, I had to turn to the devil to be free… however, as evil and as sinister as the stories told, as horrible as that devil was, although he was the devil whom we all despised, he kept his word – and he gave me respite and a momentary silence from this eternal war. Oh I was so tired of killing, I was so tired of pretending to be strong, because it was the only way to survive. Oh how…

When an adult pointed a gun at me, and they told me… that I must be their slave.

"GAHHAAGH!" The boy gasped violently when he desperately clawed up for air. Clark's left hand shot out and wanted to dig his fingers mercilessly in the first thing he saw when the bright light blinded him.

A strong arm parried the inside of his forearm and pushed it aside, pinning it with all his weight at Clark's bicep, just above the inner elbow. The man's own left hand wrapped itself over Clark's face, its index and middle fingers curled and jammed into the back of his throat; at the same time it pushed his head back into the floor, forcefully preventing Clark from biting his own tongue as he stammered into seizure. Clark's fear was so overpowering his body started to convulse on the ground as he slowly tried to cling into consciousness. Unleashing an instinct that said FIGHT, FIGHT or you will die.

"CLARK! Clark, CALM DOWN!" The voice was now clear and firm.

"Heidern…" Another man's voice said behind Heidern with a tone of concern.

Clark's eyes, in familiar fashion, drooped down to his enemy's left breast and there again was that nametape. …and it said, as it did a half a decade ago; 'HEIDERN' it read.

Clark's commander was straddled over his body, Heidern's legs over Clark's midsection, to control Clark's flailing. "It's okay, friend," Heidern reassured the Knight. "It's okay. It's okay Clark. You're safe."

"CLARK!" He screamed.

Ah. Oh commander, Clark's brain turned off at the flip of a switch, and the panic that overcame him finally floated down into the blind, unconditional trust that had saved him half a decade ago.

From 60 miles an hour to 0, Clark's limbs fell limp and his shoulders finally relaxed as it rolled loose into the ground. Clark rested his head back and made his breathing slow to a calmer pace. Knight, who observed from behind and above then let out an easy breath and put his own arms at ease.

Heidern pulled his fingers out of his soldier's mouth and clenched it then loosened it repeatedly – and thankfully he let out a sigh, Clark had not bitten his fingers off. Heidern slowly pulled his weight back and with his right hand firmly patted Clark's chest reassuringly.

"Thank you sir." Clark said as best as he could even as he gasped for breath, is eyes were wide open and looked calmly at the ceiling as his breath stabilized with every deep breath.

Heidern wrapped his hand over Clark's shoulder as he lay on the ground unmoving. "Don't worry." Heidern said, "As long as I'm here, you will be safe, boy."

Clark finally mustered enough strength to sit up and put his throbbing forehead in his hands to stop the stinging pain that had now come back and reminded him he was still alive. "What… what ha…" Clark mumbled. "Is it over? King?"

"You're safe, boy. But you lost." Heidern stood up and put his hand on Knights shoulder, pulling his friend back and chatted amongst themselves.

It felt as if steel bolts were hammered into his brain – Clark twisted his face in his hands and his fingers valiantly tried to massage the stinging pain away. Despite all that Clark could not only think of one thing – King was probably looming over his broken body. Surely as Clark sat on the ground pitiful and weak – so much for a hardened soldier, it mortified Clark to think that had this been the battlefield, the same battlefield that he left so many years ago – he would be now dead. Eventhough he had thought that small, frail child was petty and weak, here he was now cradling his head in his hands and licking his wounds just desperately trying to stay awake.

If the tables had been turned and King were the one on the ground Clark would probably have spent no time but stand over his enemy's body just staring, mocking him with a disgusted, condescending glare. That was something that was more paralyzing than the pain that made Clark curl into a ball with his ass on the ground. It was the fear of looking up and seeing this disgusting shit he, now he understood, yet he had underestimated, looking back at him.

As the seconds bloated into minutes, Clark finally gave in to the mounting tension and let his arms float down to is thighs. He looked up and instead of where he expected him to be, King was at the other side of the room, sitting on a chair with his hands on his knees, staring off into the void.

Damn it. Ga-damn it. Clark cussed in his mind, he tucked is throbbing forehead in his hands and let it stay there before tilting his head up. King did not even care, and in his own world he stared outwards, propping his entire weight on his knees with elbows locked – he sat frozen in place in his chair.

Despite Clark's efforts, King sat there and refused to even look his way. Does it not even matter to you? Am I?

Am I not even worth it to you? Like a disgusting piece of shit am I not worth ridiculing?

Am I?

Clark took a deep breath and curled his lower lip in and bit down. Then an instant later he didn't even realize that his mouth gawked open. Clark burned that cold, indifferent face of King's into his mind, and when King refused to even spare him a shred of attention, Clark turned his head to the right.

"Just what are you…"

The Knight relaxed his shoulders and Clark could not hear what he said when he talked to his friend from the wayside.

"Just what are you looking… at…?" Clark mumbled to himse…

Mayhaps Clark didn't realize it then but he had stopped in mid speech when he turned his head when he followed the spears that launched out of King's eyes into the wall, those shafts locked his face into the plain wall in front of him.

Taken out of context, with a sharp instantaneous sound of static, the plain lightly coloured wall in front of Clark's vision shook and in suspended animation a single shadow appeared then disappeared – a silhouette of gray and white appeared then disappeared as it took a step forward.

…

In 1972 – in the unrecognized country of Rhodesia.

What will you choose?

Clark took one last step and pointed the barrel of his rifle to his commander's head. As that dark skinned man squirmed on the floor with his leg gutted open, spitting out curses and insults, Clark made himself deaf to them. Clark pulled the buttstock of his rifle into his shoulder and looked down the sights. At this range it would be quick, it would be sure – and it would be painless.

"Clark. You son of a bitch. I took you in, I fed you." His voice finally cracked.

"Be quiet."

"Clark. CLARK! Listen to me." His commander screamed frantically.

"Be quiet."

"CLARK! You…"

It's so quiet. Heidern walked up just a foot away behind Clark, all of 8 years old. The devil cast a shadow that blocked heaven and the world was enveloped in darkness. It's over.

The mounting tension – the painful pressure like nails jabbing into his temples, the rifle in his hands chattered but for some reason invisible shackles rose up and chained Clark at the wrists and pulled him back just enough – just enough that his finger couldn't pull the trigger.

I HATE YOU. I hated you. You took me from a boring and uneventful life. A sad and lonely place and dropped me in a swirling chaos. You pointed a gun at me, and forced me to free myself from a life of mediocrity and indifference. I wanted something else… Instead you showed me HELL. …all that for what reason?

CLARK.

"SHUT UP / SHUT UP!" There was a concrete wall between the pad of Clark's index finger and the trigger. Augh. Augh. I hate this, this war. That.

CLARK. Heidern took a step back – now the story unfolded an answer he did not expect.

I.. I…

Clark opened his hands and the AK-47 rifle fell to the ground. I HATE THIS WAR. I DON'T WANT TO LIVE THIS WAY ANYMORE.

From the ground, with his back trapped, finally the goddess of fortune would smile onto him. That's good. That's fine. "Just stay the way you are Clark." His commander smiled and gleamed. "This way…" You can pay back for all the shit I had to put up with to raise you.

"Boy.?!" Heidern took another step back but it seemed to be too late.

The dark skinned nameless man went for his pistol with his right hand and in a twinkling, its muzzle was poised over Clark's heart. Just stay the way you are.

Clark wheezed then grit his teeth. His commander… was going to shoot him.

Just stay the way you are. With you in between Heidern and me, there was no way he could kill me, before I shoot through you, and kill him. IT'S OVER! "You lose, you dirty mercenary dog."

Clark wheezed then grit his teeth. The hammer dropped down on that cheap Tokarev pistol. The primer igniting the powder and finally as the pressure met equilibrium, the lead bullet met the rifling on the back of that barrel and launched forward accelerating to fatal proportions as it would tear though his heart and kill the 8 year old Clark and into Heidern.

No. You would kill me? You would kill me? For what reason? Clark whisp…

NO. Not today.

Heidern's body tilted back, but, however, in the same motion, his muscles twisted and curled at the familiar sound of a gunshot and erupted into life on its own. Instead of tumbling back he hunched his torso forward and now his body was in motion and sprinted forward.

No. You did well.

Heidern swatted the viscous air around him – an air as thick as sewage just to get to his goal. Never fear, boy, for you chose wisely.

Had you turned your gun to your master, things would have turned out differently.

Clark could see it now in slow motion but his mind was quicker and his body could not keep up. That lead bullet rolled in mid air and in seconds would rip is heart and penetrating would kill the devil that stood behind him.

You did well. Heidern swung his right hand over Clark's shoulder with his entire weight.

"Dogs who bite their master's hand… have no place in my family."

Heidern's hand anchored itself into Clark's shoulder and with 180 pounds of force threw the boy to the side. The bullet released from the prison of slow motion launched up – finally reaching supersonic speed as time began to flow normally, it simply ended up grazing the cloth of Heidern's immaculate uniform.

DIE! A flash of night.

His name was Marcus. His life was shallow and of ill note. But… but now. It was inconsequential. His name, it did not matter. The last thing Marcus saw was that nametape on Heidern's breast. The picture of the world was slashed into two trapezoids and the top shape slid down the bottom half – the picture was cut into two.

When the crimson blood from the upper part of his head stained the dirt sand, it was now over and Marcus' body now limp and lifeless when the switch had been turned off, fell sideways like a puppet with its strings cut.

A cold feeling petrified me, when I stared at him.

"You chose wisely, Mr. Clark," Heidern said with arm extended. I see pretty things too, but not nearly so many. "Thank you… my friend." For my dogs of war, are those who are pure.

What… Just what do you see?

…

An instant hallucination. Clark blinked his eyes now but the vision had gone and his brain was unable to comprehend what he had just seen. For an instant Clark saw a gray ghost that floated in front of him and King, only to disappear before Clark could even question it.

Clark turned his head back at King, who still sat silently and refused to remove his gaze from the wall in front of him.

Clark was sure he [saw] it.

Just in an instant, it was as if a frame taken apart from time, as if it was the 61st second forcefully inserted itself into a minute. Clark was SURE he saw a ghost appear, stealing the show from them when he sat pitifully on the ground unable to fight.

Focusing on King's face, his nose, then down to his mouth, Clark saw it tilt up and down when King's jaw mouthed silent words – he had seen it before, reflexive, embarrassing contortions and habit. Who are you talking to? Of soldiers murmuring silently, talking to the void. He had second guessed himself and Clark looked back to that wall. He squinted his eyes, and drove his vision like spikes into that flat wall – he willed it – he pleaded for [it]. Nothing appeared up until Clark tensed his chest and slowed his breath to a standstill.

Then. He had heard of a phenomena when men were driven to the edge of exhaustion – they were given the strange ability to hallucinate. A scratching noise, just as Clark curled his lip in and held his breath. The 61st second appeared again. In an instant the white ghost appeared. In a twinkling it was gone.

"Just what.." Clark…

One last time, as the afternoon gave way to evening and the light disappeared from the windows, Clark saw a globular mass stopped as it walked forward one step, two, then it, without any apprehension stopped and Clark saw it's stood in place – a mass that looked like a head crumpled and jumbled a drawing in nothingness twisted over itself like a corkscrew.

STOP.

It's head swiveled on its shoulders like a lazy susan in the middle of a Chinese banquet, it looked at me. At an impossible angle now, its beady eyes took its gaze away from King for a moment and was now staring directly at me.

Can you. Yeah, together we control the flow of time.

"Can you see me?" Clarkie? OH.

OH, can you see me… Clarkie?

…