Bits and Pieces

Pieces of story, bits of RPs, origin shorts and dreams I've had.

All of that will be here.

Long or short, I guess it depends on what I feel with the train of thought.

Thoughts and opinions welcome and preferred~

I promise I'm not as sad or dejected as these posts might seem,
I just have a slightly dark mind and I need an outlet

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Warning Note

The following may (and probably will) contain

Blood/mild gore
Violence
Language
Torture/mental torment
Depressive topics
Mental illness depictions
Suicide/attempted suicide

Maybe Someday

It's raining today.

I don't mind the rain. It makes the world smell good. Makes it easier to feel the earth under you. Washes away the stench of the city. Sometimes that stench stays for months, but when a good, cool rain comes, it's all cleaned away. I like that. It's like a new beginning. Like the water is washing off the slate, and new paths and pictures can be made.

So I brought an umbrella today. I like the rain, but I don't like sitting on the bench and getting all wet. The umbrella helps, even during downpours. You'd think I'd stay home when it rains, but I don't want to miss him. I want to be here when he comes.

It's such a nice little park. While I sit, I watch the people walk. They seem so happy. Sometimes I smile to myself when I think about being happy like them, but I don't smile too much; I prefer keeping my thoughts to myself. But maybe soon I'll be happy like them. When he comes.

People don't sit beside me very much. I know why---they're all so busy. And in the rain, they don't like to sit for a long time. But sometimes they have a dog, and I do like dogs. They let me pet their dogs sometimes, and I'm glad they let me. It's a nice distraction... But I wish I didn't have to sit here so long. I wish I weren't alone.

Someday he'll come back. Just like he said he would. But it makes me sad. I hate waiting so long. I hate not hearing from him.

Maybe that someday will be soon.

I'll wait here. Just like we promised each other. I'll wait for years if I have to. Decades. I'll spend my final breaths right here, and ever-hopeful.

It doesn't matter the weather. I don't mind the weather. I don't want to be alone anymore.

Someday I won't be.

Intruders

Thumping and voices floated up the narrow stairwell and put Gavin more and more on edge the longer he cowered. The space beneath the twin-sized bed was small and cramped, and every time he breathed he inhaled a combination of dust and shed skin cells. It had been years since anyone had cleaned underneath the old bed---there were probably spiders and dust mites crawling underneath his stomach and chest as he wriggled slowly, carefully out from under the frame. When he crawled out of the room, he could hear the voices easier.

"God, I can't find him anywhere."

"Well go back upstairs, damn it! He didn't fuckin' walk out the door!"

Panic gripped Gavin's heart; he was exposed, in the hall, and the door he wanted to get to was halfway down. He scrambled to his feet and dove into the open door, slamming it and groaning at the noise it created. He was in his father's office---the man worked from home, so it was well-lived in. It was also a way to keep an eye on Gavin. He also kept a handgun in the bottom drawer. Always loaded. He knelt and pulled open the drawer, lifting the heavy revolver and weighing it in his hands. It felt heavy. Deadly. It made him shiver. He shut the drawer and flicked the little switch on the side, the safety, as the door began opening. Gavin gasped, falling onto his backside and raising the gun, firing before he even had a chance to register the movement. The form, shadowed by the lack of light, fell with a strangled gurgle and Gavin scrambled under the desk. Footfalls hit the hallway as he folded himself into the leg space and another figure appeared. The odd, gruff voice came to him again like a grater in his ears. "God, damn it!"

Gavin blinked tears away. The man fell to his knees. "Get that little fucker! Kill him!" Gavin bit his lip and moved quietly, taking aim again beneath the space and firing again. The recoil sent Gavin back a bit, but the round found its target, hitting him in the knee. An almost animal-like cry filled the room, followed by a series of curses as the form fell back and cradled his knee. Gavin sobbed, aiming a bit better and pulling the trigger yet again. The wounded form fell backward with a yelp, spasming and going limp on his back. Breathing raggedly, Gavin crept out of his hiding place and stood, sprinting over the bodies and smashing into the wall across from the office. He could hear movement downstairs, someone talking quietly. He felt somewhat emboldened with the weapon, but still, he jumped at the slightest of movement. Down the stairs, Gavin was careful, looking around the corner slowly. Someone was in the other room, whispering. He couldn't hear what they were saying. He moved slowly, gripping the gun hard, and breathed shakily before spinning into the kitchen, blinking momentarily in the overbright light from the ceiling.

The woman there was holding a cell phone, and glaring at him. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger, but something jammed and he only heard a click. Terror flooded him and seemed to slow down time; the woman dropped the phone, her hand reaching behind her, and Gavin spotted the knife block on the counter beside him. He lunged, grabbing one of the steak knives and pushing away from the counter, vaulting forward and bringing the blade down. It slipped through the woman's clothes, under her left breast and between two ribs, sending her down with a strangled cry that was cut quickly short. Gavin's adrenaline and fear mingled and he ripped the blade out, bringing it down again on her neck. "Fuck you! No! No! God, fuck you, stay dead, stay dead!" He plunged the bloody knife through her eye, backing away and scrambling over damp tile, finding no traction and eventually coming to a halt, breathing hard and rough as sirens nearby grew louder. Thank God... Cops... Thank you, God, thank you thank you... Gavin closed his streaming eyes.

Officer Fuller closed the door on the handcuffed young man, covered in blood and muttering to himself in the back of the vehicle. He hadn't even put up a fight when they came in, guns drawn. In fact, he had run to them, bloody and sobbing, clinging to one of the larger officers and asking to be taken out. He sighed and turned away from the twenty-year-old in the back of the cruiser as another officer approached. "Find anything else?" Fuller asked.

"This." The older officer handed over a small orange bottle. "Anti-psychotics."

"The bottle's empty..." Fuller said, knitting his brow.

"Yeah, found it in one of the bathroom sinks. Opened up the pipe and found a shitload of tablets---I think he's been dumping them."

Fuller closed his eyes and shook his head, looking at the young man in the cruiser. He had an almost serene expression on his blood-and-tear streaked face. He'd mistaken his family for intruders. His brother had been shot first, right in the neck. His father second, in the knee and then in the chest. Finally, his little sister, who had been on the phone with the police, had been stabbed seventeen times, her oldest sibling's panic sending him into overdrive, forcing him into overkill. And now Gavin looked... content.

Happy.

Maybe he was.

One More Sunset

The walk was short, but it was taxing on him, I could tell. Halfway up I had to make him swallow his pride and be carried the rest of the way. If I'd had it my way we would have just stayed at the car, at the foot of the hill, but Gary didn't want to do that. At that point I couldn't bring myself to tell him no. It was that pleading look in his eyes that got me. It always worked, those big brown puppy-dog eyes he pulled. He did it when we fought, when he wanted something, when he wanted me to go somewhere with him even though he knew I wouldn't like it. And no matter how tough I'd act around anyone else, I always melted for him. So when he begged me to go with him up the hill, despite knowing he wouldn't be able to walk all the way, how could I say no? How could I not give him that much more?

When I made it up there, up where the hill evened out and the roots of a huge oak that had to have been there for centuries, I set him down. It took a moment, and Gary was visibly pained, but he was tough. Definitely tougher than me. I sat with my back against the wide, old trunk of the tree and Gary placed himself between my legs, leaning against me and turning his puppy-dog eyes on the setting sun. Before meeting my man I'd never really took a second to appreciate nature the way Gary did, but his influence had definitely rubbed off on me. I pay more attention to the world around me now. At that point, with Gary fitted perfectly against me, his dark hair under my chin, I watched a lazy cloud drift by, like orange cotton candy, and smiled. I didn't really know why. Maybe because I knew Gary was thinking the same thing while he watched the sky.

"Dan..." Gary's voice startled me when he spoke, even though in the recent months it had gotten softer.

"Hmm...?" I felt around the grass, finding his hand and grasping it tightly. "What's up?"

"I love you."

I'd heard it a million times, those words. That day, though, they felt heavy. "I love you too, Gary."

He looked back at me and smiled faintly. Even in the fading sun I could see the tired circles under Gary's eyes, the way his eyelids sagged as if perpetually sleepy. Then he looked back at the sky, and pulled my hand over his chest, running his fingers over my knuckles. "Look at that... The sun, I mean. It's... this is one of the times you can look right at it and not blind yourself. Never understood that, how that is..." I followed his gaze and saw he was right. The sun looked like a big, red ball in the sky, easy to look at, as if it were about to be snuffed out.

"Yeah..."

"Dan...?"

"Hm?"

"Be... okay..."

"What do you mean...?" I couldn't help but stiffen at the words. They sounded so... awful.

"Be okay when I'm not here." Gary's voice was soft, but I could hear it waver. "Be sad for a while, but don't let it hurt too bad."

There was no way I could move to rub the tears from my eyes without him knowing. And the pain that blossomed in my chest and moved up to my throat was enough to make me mute. It obviously had Gary nervous, because he shifted against me and put the back of my hand to his lips. "Dan?"

"I... I'll try. I'll try, that's all."

"It'll be good enough." Gary sighed, and the sound was eerie to me. "I'm glad you kept me." He pulled my left hand to his, twisting his fingers through mine so our gold bands matched.

"Me too..." I hated the tremor in my voice, but Gary didn't seem to notice.

"Watch... the sun set with me..." He sighed deeply, something he tended to do when he felt especially tired those days.

"Yeah. I will."

He didn't reply. In fact, he was silent, and I was too. Neither of us had to say a word in that moment, or those that followed. The air was cool and sweet and quiet, it was as if time had stopped around us, but the sky grew darker. As stars began to appear, I put a hand to Gary's cheek and felt my heart still. He was cool. Too cool. His hand had slacked in mine. I put my hand over his shirt, palm against his chest, and felt tears spring up as if conjured with no more than a silent command.

It was like some kind of cliche movie. I couldn't help but think that after everything---that our life had been some... awful movie. I'd known of his illness, and he had too, but he hadn't wanted treatment. Hadn't wanted to prolong the suffering and extend the inevitable. Sometimes I wonder if he would have lived if we'd just tried the chemo, but I don't dwell on it. It'd be going back on my promise. Be sad for a while, but don't let it hurt too bad. And some days it hurts worse than just bad.

But damn, I'm glad I had that time with him. Especially that last sunset.

Shunned

When the heavy boot connected with his ribs, he cried out and scuttled into the shadows. He didn't mean to get in the way, didn't mean to be a nuisance to those larger than him, but he couldn't help it---the city was so large, and the people so uncaring. They had their own things to do, of course, jobs, lives, people they loved and who loved them. There was no room for him in their lives.

He crept, limping, down the alley, keeping out of the way of others. He dodged a homeless man that lunged and howled at him, scaring him off down the opposite way. Even the homeless people didn't want him around. Why? Maybe they were just worried he'd steal what they worked so hard for each day.

Panting as he skidded to a halt, he looked around and shuddered. It was starting to rain... if only it wouldn't. It was getting cold.

He made his way through a fence, and crept through the dirt. It was a private area, but he just wanted to get through to the other side. Something shifted to the left and he looked around, fear prickling down his spine and forcing his breathing to pick up painfully. A dog. A huge dog. It growled, that chain around its neck not tied to anything. He tried to turn and bolt, but the dog caught up with him quickly, following him out of the fence and into the alley before sinking its teeth into his neck. He couldn't even make a sound of pain as the dog shook its head hard, tearing at his throat, and inexplicably losing interest. The rain hit him in the eye as his vision faded. Grew black. His body cooled.

A little boy walked forward and picked up a stick, poking at the furry body of a gray tabby cat in the mouth of an alley, probing the deep gash in its neck. His mother grabbed his hand and pulled him away. "Ew, keep away from dead things! You don't know what diseases they carry." The boy glanced back as his mother pulled him away, curious only for a moment, then his five-year-old mind wandered on to something else.

Memories Live Forever

"It's such a sweet sound. She used to love it when she could still hear..." Martin said as his hands closed the music box. It was egg-shaped, and made of ivory. When opened, it produced a sweet, melancholy little melody and a tiny, hand-painted fairy figurine that turned on its little black velvet pedestal. Cradling it in his hand, Martin looked up at the single bed and his eyes laid on the frail figure that seemed to only barely be there, hidden beneath a plain white sheet pulled up to her stomach. Her bare arms laid on either side of her fragile body, so thin one could imagine that she was little more than skin, bones, and dried up muscle, useless, barely able to lift a glass of water. It was why she was in a coma now. Martin stared at her sunken face. The hollowed cheeks. The darkly shadowed eyes that never opened anymore. She looked... ancient. So much older than the little girl she used to be. Just twenty years old. Twenty years old, and stricken so quickly, so suddenly by an illness no doctor or professional could pinpoint or diagnose. And now. Now she looked like a woman three times her age. "Isn't it a beautiful sound?"

"It is, sir." Jack replied. He stood at the door, his refined and yet father-like expression twisted into a muddled mix of sorrow and fear. He didn't look at the bed, but at Martin's back as he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair near the foot of the bed. "She did love that music box. It was your mother's, wasn't it?"

Martin nodded slowly. "It was... She loved it... Said her mother gave it to her. And so she gave it to my sister. And she said that she... Lily, that is... she could give it to her daughter when she had one..." He lowered his head, running a thumb preciously over the ivory egg. "But she never could... She never has..." Jack stepped forward, placing a hand on Martin's shoulder. The young man shook and looked up. "She never will... Jack... When she lets go, I'll be alone..."

Jack sighed. He turned his gray eyes up to the empty bed and swept his gaze along the crisp sheet, the smooth duvet, the flat pillow and dull brass. The machine that once kept Lily alive sat quiet and motionless beside the bed, its faces dull. "Martin, sir. Won't you come out of this room for a time? You have been here for days... You should eat."

"No... Jack. I can't." Martin's voice broke and he took a moment to breathe, steadying himself. "I have to be here for Lily."

Jack sighed, and looked at the bedside table. It seemed to be framed in the window alongside the bed, thin curtains shifting slightly in a very faint breeze. Beside the lamp, an oak box sat, and a gold plaque took up the top of it:

Lilabelle Matherson
God took you far too soon

Martin didn't look at the box. He didn't even see it. He stared at the barely-breathing form of his little sister, her palled skin, her limp, straw-like hair. The machine next to her bed beeped, showed her fragile heartbeat. Jack shook his head, squeezing Martin's shoulder. He hadn't been the same since Lily's funeral. He didn't even seem to remember it. He had come home and took his seat at the foot of her bed, repeating the same things, holding one-sided conversations with the air. He didn't even acknowledge Jack when he came with Lily's ashes, or remade the bed she had died on. He wasn't sure if Martin even knew she was dead anymore. Maybe Martin died that day, too.

Too Late

Aaron took a seat, finding that his heart was beating fast. Slowly letting out a breath, he eased himself. Why was he so nervous?

"Um, hi, Vince... Sorry I haven't been around lately, I've... well, y'know, I've been busy and all that. I guess that's a crappy excuse, you don't have to tell me... So, I hope you're doing well.

I graduated a week ago. It was really... Really great. I mean, my family was there, some came out from Atlanta just to be there. It was pretty... nerve-wracking. I thought I was gonna faint up on that stage. Thank God I could opt out of a speech!

They told me to come visit about a week ago, but... I dunno, I just couldn't. It's just hard, after what happened... Especially what happened between us. I know, yeah, it was rushed, and we dealt with it like idiots. Hell, I was never angry... I never blamed you. I guess I blamed myself more, even if everyone told us we were acting like little kids. But didn't we deserve to act like kids? We both grew up too fast! Can't we have our little tantrums now and then? Even if they're stupid and petty and... they don't really matter?

I'm still pissed off... But not for the same reasons. I'm angry. And... frustrated... I just wanna hit something... But I know you don't like violence, so I kind of... Well, I'm learning to write down what I feel. And talk it out. Like I'm doing now..."

He paused and took a shaky breath in.

"Oh, God... Here it comes... Vince... I know... I know I never... Damn, I thought it was hard to talk out my anger... This feels impossible..."

Getting onto his knees, Aaron put both hands on the horizontal half of the cross and felt the cool marble. He could barely make out the form that was right in front of his face because a wave of tears had sprung up nearly without warning, so suddenly it had caught him off guard.

"I love you... I know it's too late to tell you... But God... I... I never had the chance... You were here, then you were just... gone. And you died... you died thinking I hated you... But I swear I don't...

I miss you. I wish you'd had graduated with me. And I could have told you I loved you before this happened... If I hadn't been so fucking stubborn..."

A sudden burst of lightening startled Aaron, and he looked up with a sad smirk.

"Typical. You visit the grave of someone you love and it starts raining... But Vince... I wish---I hope you can hear me. I hope you know how much I love you... But maybe I can tell you face to face someday... I hope you don't mind waiting a while..."

Aaron stood, finally, as thunder roared above him. The gleaming marble stone that marked his lover's grave was quickly speckled with warm rain, and though he kept telling himself to go before it started pouring, he only left the old cemetery when his clothes were soaked through.

Very Bad Dead Men

*Possible RP idea*

Bending at the waist, he readjusted the plastic coverings on his tennis shoes and went to the cupboard, pulling a disposable apron out that was a couple shades darker than the gown he was already sporting. From a box on top of the cupboard he grabbed a set of medical gloves and pulled them up and over the thin arms of the gown and his shirt, turning to find Kyle across from the body they were preparing, staring into the chemical locker with a pinched expression. "Uhhhm... Jake, where's the galleon of methanol?"

"Where you last put it." Jake shook his head, pulling a detachable showerhead from the wall and twisting the knob under it. "Where'd you last put it?" He stepped out of the way of the water spray and directed it onto the body on the gurney. The man was thirty-two-year-old Dennis Carver, blonde and blue-eyed, tan, and he almost effortlessly resembled a movie star. He'd overdosed at two minutes to midnight, and was found early that morning.

"I put it... oh, here, there it is." Kyle bent to retrieve the galleon jug from a second locker and pulled it up. Jake rolled his eyes at his forgetful assistant, running the cool water over the body of the deceased, letting the water drain into the middle of the floor that was strategically dipped ever so slightly so the water didn't pool and have to be mopped up later. When Dennis Carver was cleaned, he was disinfected, and Jake laid a white cloth over his groin to preserve what modesty there was left after death. "He all loosened up?"

"Worked and ready to be preserved." Kyle nodded.

"Good... Uh... Scalpel... Where's my favorite scalpel...?" Jake sorted through the tray of tools, knitting his brow.

"Oh, now who's disorganized?" Kyle laughed, pointing at a drawer. Jake sighed, grabbing it from inside and approaching Dennis. Feeling the soft spot right above the collarbone, he readied the scalpel above it and began to press down, jerking his hand away when the door burst open. All black greeted them with a burst of humid air from outside, and Kyle jerked away from the chemical mixture he was beginning with. The jug fell out of his hands when a gun was pointed at both of them from a black-clad hand. The figure's face was obscured by a black crow-like mask, and Jake couldn't help but draw parallels to the masks doctors of the Black Plague would wear.

"You." A muffled voice barked at Kyle. "Out the back." The form pointed to the door that led into the back alley. "Don't call the police or your friend's dead."

Kyle bit his lip, staring at Jake as if he would say something. With his hands in the air, however, Jake only nodded to the door, and Kyle reluctantly took several shaky steps back, fumbling for the handle and turning, slipping out into a light rain. "CLOSE IT!" The intruder's voice boomed, and the door latched. He glared at Jake. "Gimme the knife."

"What---Look, what do you want? Just tell me and I'll give you whatever you need!" Jake's voice broke when the weapon was directed to his chest.

"Quiet. I said, knife. Now." The form growled. "Any cameras here?"

"N-no, none at all..." Jake bent down, picking up the knife as the intruder pulled his cloth mask off. A surprisingly young face met him, angled and tan, yet scarred along the left cheek as if he were in a bad fight some years back. His black hair was in a tight ponytail. Jake offered the scalpel, holding onto the bladed end, and the gunman snatched it. Waving Jake around the table, he stabbed remorselessly into Dennis's stomach, over a scar that looked very recent but had been stitched professionally. Jake had thought it was just a surgery scar. The black glove discarded his scalpel and rammed curved fingers into the wound, fighting through clotted blood and softening organs, pulling something out. It was small and rounded on the edges, about the size of a ping pong ball. "What the hell---?"

The stranger didn't reply. He just waved his gun at Jake and stepped over to the sink, rinsing the black thing free of blood and fighting out of his gloves, which he tossed into the sink, ordering Jake to dump some of the chemicals into it as he plugged the bottom of the stainless steel basin. Jake complied, watching as the embalming chemicals began to seep into the leather until he was pulled away. "H-hey! Hey, c'mon, you got what you wanted I guess, lemme go!"

"No." The man stepped forward, pressing the weapon into Jake's side. "You know anatomy, yeah? How to do surgery?"

"Hell, I don't do surgery, that's why I'm a funeral director and not a surgeon!" Jake didn't dare fight with the cold muzzle of a silvery pistol in his side, right above a kidney.

"Shit, you're good enough." The man growled, pushing him to the door. "Get out. If that other one's out there don't look at him."

"What---"

"Shut up, damn it. Go." The darkly clothed gunman pushed him forward. Jake felt ill, and started shaking as he reached for the door knob. When he listened for sirens of any sort, he heard none.

Our Meeting: Alois and Samuel

Link to RP

Alois shook himself and sighed. Perhaps he should have learned a bit more English before coming here, because since his arrival overseas he could only just scrape by without embarrassing himself or getting frustrated with the language barrier. The past week had been hard enough, explaining the books he needed to get ready for his first day of classes, grabbing up a parking pass so he didn't have to walk or rely on unreliable public transportation to and from school since the dorms were across town for reasons unknown to him. Now he stared down the main hallway and felt cold. He could barely read his schedule, and cursed himself for being so frantic to get here. If he couldn't understand half of what was being said, what use would he be here? Glancing around the gold-flushed hallway, surrounded in an almost surreal, warm glow, Alois looked at the other students. There were only a few left, picking their way to their class before they were late, including one in a wheelchair, bent forward and shifting something on the floor at his feet. He didn't look quite as flustered as Alois felt, so he walked forward and shifted his bag to his shoulder.

"Um... Excuse me..." Alois' accent was a thick French overtone, and the young man looked up. He didn't seem to be much younger or older than Alois, who was halfway toward eighteen.

"Can I help you?" The black-haired man sat up straight, pulling his bag onto his lap and twisting his chair around. "You lost?"

Alois nodded, glad he could understand that much, but feeling a new wave of frustration and helplessness. "Ah... Yes... How do you... as you say... Um..." He waved his hand, hanging his head when he couldn't find the right set of words. He looked up in surprise when the young man spoke fluently to him:

"How do you get to your class? Where's your schedule...?"

Relief flooded him, speeding his heart momentarily, and Alois gratefully handed over his folded schedule. Glad he could find some common ground, he said, "I came here... a bit too excited. I haven't had time to learn English... much at all. I didn't think about it until I was actually here..."

"It's fine." The young man smiled widely and handed the schedule back. "Lucky for you, you have my class. It's up this way, come on." He pointed, and started wheeling away with a practiced ease. "My name's Samuel, by the way. I go by Sam by... basically everyone."

"Alois." He jogged to catch up, casting a glance at the legs that were evidently out of commission. Curiosity bubbled up, but Alois swallowed it quickly. "Um, thank you very much for helping me, Sam... I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

"No problem, Al." Sam grinned, and Alois felt his face flush with the use of a nickname no one had ever used before. "To be honest I'm kind of new to the city, so I really don't know many people here. I can help you out." They turned onto a new hallway and heard a bell ring. Sam grimaced. "Great, late on our first day..."

Alois hadn't heard the last comment. "You'd help me?"

"Sure I would. Like I said, I don't really know anyone here... So we're kind of in the same boat. I wouldn't mind helping you out." He looked up to Alois, who felt himself smile.

"I'd be... very grateful for that, Sam. Thank you."

"How about I teach you English on our down time, too?"

"There's a 'down-time' in medical school?" Alois made himself sound incredulous, which earned an airy laugh from Sam.

"Aha, well, I guess you have a point... How about between our tons of homework?"

Smiling, Alois nodded, and pulled open the door they stopped outside for Sam. "I like the sound of that, Sam. Thank you."