• Hello everybody! We have tons of new awards for the new year that can be requested through our Awards System thanks to Antifa Lockhart! Some are limited-time awards so go claim them before they are gone forever...

    CLICK HERE FOR AWARDS

Fanfiction ► [Of Anger and Angels]



REGISTER TO REMOVE ADS
Status
Not open for further replies.

Sterling_Silver

Dagadut.
Joined
Aug 13, 2005
Messages
1,446
Age
33
Location
The other end of the leash.
Part one of a two part thing. Read and review, please. Thankees. ;D

EDIT: I forgot to mention, this story was ultimately inspired by the song "Everything You Want", by Vertical Horizon. If you wish for the full expirience, I'd suggest you listen to it. ;D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The voices of a long forgotten past reverberated through the hallowed halls of a school long abandoned. They rose in small tides, seeping through like seawater into the hollows of rocks yet untouched by man. Whispers of gossip, voices pleading to be forgiven in a last ditch attempt to save their own lives, the sound of sorrow escaping through sobs of remorse, all seemed to congregate at the very center of the school. What had happened within these halls? Why was this place, framed by the foothills and mountains and even a beautiful autumn sunset, so ethereal and beautiful, and yet so lonesome and abandoned? The lone soul in the building shivered and wrapped herself tighter in her deep mahogany colored coat. She had come to this haunting place to seek answers to questions she herself couldn't answer, though she had been a sufferer and a witness.

She looked towards empty classrooms, forlorn and unused. This was where they had fought minor battles against their archenemies of the time. Verbal assaults predominated this classroom, rather than actual fistfights that would have cost them their enrollment to this sanctuary away from home. Echoes of anger filled the young woman's soul. She and her two best friends, Joseph and Michael, were not the ones at fault for this. It wasn't what it had seemed when it had happened. "But what was it?", the woman asked herself aloud, shocked to hear minor echoes before they, too, died away. This period of her life seemed hazy, coming back in flashes and bits of memory, like a reflection in a broken mirror, portraying some truths to be false, and and some fallacies true. But what about what they had told her in asylum?

They had said that Micheal had brought the gun. Why? He was fed up with the people who constantly bullied him, her, and Joseph. They stated, with little to no emotion at all, that he had gone on a rampage, killing everyone he had been secretly hating for the past four years. It had happened... when they were juniors? Amarie couldn't remember yet again, and she continued past the classrooms in frustration. Michael had brought the gun under his jacket, just for show. Amarie was sure of it. He wouldn't intentionally bring a loaded weapon to school for the sole purpose of killing, would he? Well, a cold, detached part of the woman thought, It didn't matter now. Both Michael and Joseph were gone, Michael having shot himself last after all the people he killed, and Joseph being one of those people. But why had Michael shot Joseph? They were all friends, weren't they? And again, these questions went unanswered as Amarie walked with a brisk pace through one of the many abandoned courtyards where ivy and rose hybrids flourished, growing untamed on the sidewalks and walls.

Vaguely, she remembered her way around the school, walking slowly, trying to piece together the puzzle and find the answers as to why she had spent six years in an insane asylum and why she had, upon her release, felt a strong compulsion to return to this place. This place... on that day, back when more than one hero had died, there had to be a reason Amarie hadn't. The schoolyards echoed with gunshots and guardian angels. Maybe that's why she hadn't been shot; but she remembered the chilling sight of looking into the black abyss of a gun muzzle pointed directly at her. Why was she still here to tell the tale? At this thought, the thought of her "guardian angel", a headache cut sharply through her mind, piercing her thoughts and stopping them midpoint. A vague memory of a boy with sandy blonde hair and a different boy with dark, almost pitch black hair, slipped like grains of sand from the back of her mind, both irritating and uncatchable. Who were they? Were they Joseph and Michael? Why couldn't she remember? She ground her teeth together in frustration at the elusive memory as it once again evaded her, leaving behind more and more questions and once again contributing to the vicious cycle.

Through the frustration, Amarie saw that she had come upon two double doors, and she knew this was what she had come here for. The answers she sought would be found behind these doors, but what if she truly didn't want to know? Setting her jaw, she glared determinedly at the doorway, and without another hesitant thought or moment, she pulled open the wooden doors, causing the chipped paint to crack, though the rusted hinges were noiseless. For a moment, she stopped and stared, hearing what she thought was the pulse of her pounding heart all around her.

The lunchroom was just as it had been on that day, with the exception that there wasn't a living soul inside and there were spiders' webs transcending the ceilings, another tribute to the disrepair and abandonment the school had suffered through. A blue-grey light fell through the tall windows on the far right wall, providing the only illumination besides the open doors that dust was currently filtering through. The walls, originally painted green and white, were now pallid imitations of what they once were, covered by dust and pierced with bullet holes. The tables were the worst of the entire room, covered by dust and eaten hollow by termites, the metal stools that all connected to the tables were rusted, the blue paint that covered the seats had chipped, leaving a dark grey behind, and some of the seats themselves were still covered in blood, now black with age. As if hypnotized, Amarie stepped forward, towards the spot where she had been when it all took place. That spot, outlined by a dark patch on the ground, was a few feet from the left wall, in the darkest part of the room.

Standing there shaking, Amarie felt the fragmented memories come back to her, slowly at first, like a far off dream, then faster as the events in her mind unfolded and progressed with blinding speed. Without a sound, she fell to her knees, gasping for air in a fit of pure terror. As if she were thrown back in time, she raised her head to stare down the muzzle of a gun pointed by the dark haired boy, Michael. He had tears in his eyes, his dementia evident by the way his voice and hands shook while he took the time to explain why he had taken the lives of the people he despised and why he was about to take hers.

"Cheating with little Joey! Ha! On me?", he all but screamed at her. Amarie tried to speak, to tell him he was wrong, to correct him of the fact that they weren't together, none of them, but she found that her throat felt painfully choked off. She couldn't say a word through the sobs she managed to force out of her, and she lowered her eyes to the floor, unwilling to witness her friend mutate into her undertaker. Apprehensively, she waited for the final shot, the shot that would end her life, though she knew in the back of her mind that she hadn't died, not there, not then. Instead, a tightly controlled voice spoke from in front of her, and she looked up, intent on seeing who would stand between her and her death.

"Michael, stop." Josephs' voice shook almost as bad as his knees, but he stood fast with his arms spread out, trying his best to create a barrier for Amarie. For a moment, her heart stopped, then skipped a beat to make up for lost time. Joseph's blonde hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his entire body shook now, not just his knees.

"Sticking up for your girlfriend, Joey? I always thought you were a coward, just like one of them!" Michael waved the gun towards one of the bleeding bodies to his right.

"Michael, what are you doing? You don't want to shoot me, man. You don't want to shoot either of us. Please," Joseph pleaded, "put the gun down, man. You don't want to do this."

Michael seemed to think, but for only a moment, then shrugged off Josephs' plea as if it were less important than one of the kids who bled to death on the cold, ceramic floor. "She cheated on me. This'll just teach her a lesson!" he smiled insanely wide. "I won't shoot to kill! Just a little bullet in the leg and it'll never happen again!" Josephs' jaw muscles twitched and he set his face into the expression of utter detachment. He stood a little taller, a little straighter, and answered Michaels' statement.

"You're gonna have to go through me first."

With a look of pity that bordered on contempt, Michael shot Joseph in the stomach without a second thought, then as if he just realized where he was and what he'd done, his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. He seemed to be trying to apologize, but all he could be seen as doing was silently screaming. Then, with a final eager smile that spoke of a brilliant idea, he pointed the gun at the bottom of his chin and pulled the trigger.

Amarie looked away at that, feeling as if she were about to be sick. So that was the reason she'd been sent to the asylum, why Joey had died, why the exact place she knelt at was covered in dried blood. This was where Joey had been shot, and had probably bled to death, all for her sake. So, her thoughts jumped faster than she could keep up with them, it was her fault. She heard herself sobbing now, her senses slowly returning to her as the episode passed. With more effort than she thought she could muster, she stood, wiping the tears from her eyes with her blood red wristband. The table closest to her was a little less than two feet away from her, so she stumbled over to it and sat down, doubled over, cradling her head in her arms. She stayed that way for what seemed like years, that is, until she heard footsteps.

With piercing screams of protest, the rusted hinges on the previously closed doors were forced open as a young man walked through to the empty room. It was freezing in this particular room, and the man was looking around as if searching for the culprit. Perhaps a window had been left open or something, he thought as steam curled from his breath. He turned towards the puddle of dried blood that he kept promising he'd clean up someday, though he never got around to it. Directly behind it, on the wall, was the shriveled remains of the flowers he had set there a few months earlier, as a tribute to those who would never see them.

Amarie watched him silently, too shocked to say anything, for fear it was a hallucination. Could he see her? It was pretty dark in this room, after all, now that the sun had set. Wait a minute, why was she worried about seeing him? What was he doing here? Who was he? But upon seeing the blonde hair and the familiar blue eyes, she let herself hope against hope that who she was seeing was the one who had sacrificed himself for her. She sat stock still, staring intently, and in the silence, whispered.

"Joseph?"​
 
Last edited:

Sterling_Silver

Dagadut.
Joined
Aug 13, 2005
Messages
1,446
Age
33
Location
The other end of the leash.
Krazy, I'm not happy with you right now. >:|

Y U clos ur thred?!?!11

Will you be revamping AiL again? Are you gonna change the story line because of... complications?

But thanks for the review. Now we just need to get Pickle and Kat and Amme and Gerd on here. >:[

Disregard the angry smilies, I'm sick. Wish I didn't have a nose right now. >:[
 

Xiao

serious at least all of the time
Joined
Apr 12, 2005
Messages
1,319
Awards
4
Age
33
Love it.

You're a very talented writer. You portray emotions very well and your descriptions are perfectly detailed.

Awaiting future chapters =]
 

Sterling_Silver

Dagadut.
Joined
Aug 13, 2005
Messages
1,446
Age
33
Location
The other end of the leash.
Thankee, but there'll only be one more after this. Different point of view, FTW. Of course, if my master (mistress) tells me to, I'll make another chapter after that. But I doubt she will, since she's not on. ^-^
 

TheClamWhisperer

Vampire Fish
Joined
Jan 1, 2005
Messages
1,959
Age
32
Location
Fleet Street
o.o

-continues staring for a few moments-

Whoa, that was amazing, Silver. =D Very very descriptive and stupendously emotional. I salute j00! -does so- You better make another chapter, laddie. >.>
 

Taokitty

A Chagrined Fool.
Joined
Aug 3, 2005
Messages
1,519
Awards
3
Age
30
Location
People's Fragile Dreams, Relinquished from Anixiet
xD Sadly I'm not one of the people you want to reply but wow, I'm amazed by the writing skills, seeing this is the first time I've read something of your work and I really love it...

I love how you say so much descriptive and not make it boring or anything...@.@

Just wow... And thanks for the suggestion of the song! =^_^=
 

Sterling_Silver

Dagadut.
Joined
Aug 13, 2005
Messages
1,446
Age
33
Location
The other end of the leash.
This chapter was originally inspired by the New Found Glory song "It's Not Your Fault", but that song is crap, so I suggest listening to the song "Yellow Cat Red Cat" by Say Anything. It works better, too.

And thanks Krazy for this. I don't think it's good enough yet, but she made me. And Amme. And Kat. And Noe. >.<

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day Joseph drove past the school, making a point to set his eyes straight ahead, avoiding any sort of eye contact with the empty windows that exuded sorrow and faint traces of deception. And every day, Joseph ignored the stinging, burning pain he got in his side and focused on the day ahead, the work in the child psychiatric ward, and the medicines he had to give... but, for some odd reason, today was different. Today, the scars burned brighter, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from the forlorn building, as if it were challenging him to see what was compelling him to pull over and get out, while it simultaneously offered rewards for his bravery. Well, he thought, No day but today...

Trudging resolutely through the marshy grass to the elaborately carved front doors, Joseph tried said doors and was surprised to find them locked. He expected them to be open, seeing as the building had been abandoned shortly after the shooting. Unconsciously, Josephs' hand went to the hole in his side, and he cringed, remembering the cause of this particular battle scar. He looked around for another exit, dully noting the lack of commute on the road that passed the school. His car was the only one in sight. Soon enough, he found what he had been looking for; a broken window that led to a room which might have been used for chemistry at one point in time, but was now in such bad condition that it seemed like all that was left of it was the hope against hope that someone would someday put it out of it's misery.

As soon as he climbed through the portal, he was hit with a chill that was unlike that of the outside wind. It was as if the cool breeze had come from inside building, not vice versa. And, as luck would have it, the door to this room was slightly ajar, so Joseph inched it open a little and poked his head out, looking both ways before leaving the relative security of the ex-chemistry room. Here it was a little less cold, and a little more unnerving. The familiarity of this place did not extract from the feeling of dread Joseph felt in the pit of his stomach. Being here reminded him all too much of that day... and he sighed, thinking that what had happened here wasn't the worst of it. And for a moment, tears stung his eyes, but he raised his head in defiance, refusing to let said tears spill from his eyes.

Walking through the hallway, he unexpectedly came to two open doors: the first one, which was a classroom, was where Joseph had first stood up for himself, Michael, and Amarie. He smiled despite himself, remembering the untimely feeling of scrambling for a barbed reply to some lame joke the preppy kids had made. Who had that joke been aimed at, again? Joseph pondered for a moment, then gave up trying to figure out. All he knew was that something inside him snapped, and that he had been sent to the principal's office for a foul mouth. Turning to the wall that directly paralleled the old unused classroom, their was a row of lockers that were rusted shut, and they lead to the far end of the hallway, where a door to the courtyard stood open, as if beckoning for him to step forward into the grayish-blue light. And step forward he did, walking on the overgrown plants that covered the sidewalk and marveling at the strange, beautiful sight before him.

The sidewalks, the majority of which were cracked and broken, all lead to a different exit. Or maybe, he thought, they had once led to an exit. Certainly they wouldn't just lead to a dead end of a brick wall, but Joseph couldn't tell, because all the walls were covered in poisonous ivy and sharp-thorned roses. A mix of both, he decided, for he couldn't tell where the ivy ended and the roses began, even where the interestingly structured plant rose over the rooftops, disappearing at the edge while the last rays of a dying sun replaced them, spreading golden-red fingers over the grey-hued sky. Old benches that had the year of the class that had donated them stood alone in the center of the courtyard, hardly touched by the passing years and flourishing plants. Reverently, Joseph sat down on one of the benches, amazed that it was as smooth to the touch as the day it had been commissioned, hardly any rust on the metal parts and almost no decay on the marble seat. And Joseph sat there, thinking about how many times he had stopped to do Latin homework on this very bench right before the class started, and with these memories came memories of Amarie and Michael, who had inevitably ended up in his class, even though neither of them knew anything about Latin culture or mythology. A ragged sob escaped his throat without his consent, and for a moment, he held his breath, as if hoping to pre-empt the next one. Slowly, silently, he sighed and was quite surprised when he heard, or thought he heard, a gasp of surprise from inside the building, opposite of the side he had entered the courtyard through.

Curiosity took over natural caution, and, with the hairs on the back of his neck firmly at attention, Joseph stepped through the doorway and saw that he now stood in from of the old lunchroom double doors. A sinking feeling established itself in the bottom of Josephs' stomach, and with slightly shaking hands, he tried the doors. They were rusted to the point that the hinges looked as if they would break, (and Joseph saw this strange sight, thinking Why weren't any other doors rusted shut?) and he proceeded to kick the door until the hinges gave away. Resuming his previous reverence, he pulled on the exhausted doors and, ignoring the screams of protest the hinges made, entered the freezing cafeteria. He heard a quick intake of breath, but when he looked around, he saw no one.

So, without looking around, he walked forward, where the puddle of his dried blood stained the floor. Thinking back, he vaguely recalled that he had almost died on the spot, and he hadn't been expected to make it to the ambulance. Or the hospital. He hadn't been expected to make it through the night, or the week, or the month. He had been called a miracle. Once though, his heart had stopped beating, mid-surgery, and the doctors had to struggle to keep him alive without his heart for hours on end. The news had somehow reached Amarie and...

He might have saved her if he had just been stronger. But it was too late for that kind of thinking, wasn't it? Shivering, he rubbed his arms for warmth, and walked towards the pile of dead flowers that lay against the wall. He would have to get some more soon. But right now, more important things bothered Joseph. He felt like he was being watched. All his senses were on high alert, he tried to listen in for anything, but could hear only the sound of his own breathing and could only see the tables through the gray murkiness of the dust-ridden room.

Then, as if his eyes were opening for the first time, Joseph looked upon the spot where Amarie sat. Her heart skipped a beat; she was starting to think she was going insane again. Joseph had died... hadn't he? Joseph in turn, stared hard. Out of the corner of his eye, it seemed as if someone had been sitting on the that stool next the table, but now that he looked , it only seemed like it had grown darker in the five seconds that had elapsed since he had been facing that direction. After a few minutes of his own heavy breathing, Joseph ventured to speak, but could only make out the smallest of whispers, and then it seemed as if he couldn't even hear himself. Why was he so afraid? The answering voice he heard reminded him of someone, but it was distant and distorted, like it had echoed back from forgotten realms of time to burst through the sound barrier directly behind Joseph's ear.

"It's not your fault," the voice blurred out, then continued as if nothing had happened. "...so please stop your crying now..."

For a moment, Amarie thought herself a hypocrite, asking Joseph to please stop crying when she herself was in tears, just barely choking back sobs of both joy and sadness. This must have been Josephs' ghost. There had to be no other explanation. But he seemed so tangible, so real... had he really died? Amarie found that her tears now had a hint of the frustration she'd been visited by constantly, ever since she left the asylum. But when had that been? She didn't remember being let out... How had she gotten here? She certainly didn't remember driving the ridiculously long distance. She didn't even have a car. But then, how...?

Joseph, found that tears were now running down his face, as if the bottom of his chin would provide more safety from his cotton sleeves than his cheeks ever could. He hastily wiped them away, slightly bewildered as to why he was crying, and, with a single quick movement, stood up and walked to the seat closest to him, disregarding entirely the blood stains on the floor. He could see through the darkness, to the back of the room almost, though that was in the murky depths of dust that would not be disturbed as of yet.

He looked around, almost hoping to find someone that wasn't there, and was disappointed to still see no one. He was alone, he told himself. No one else was here. In this room. He shivered again, and hugged himself tightly, mourning his decision to come back here. It was freezing, he was all alone, and now he was hearing things, like the sobbing of a girl and voices in his own head. This was something he expected from his patients, not from himself.

Amarie, on the other hand, didn't realize how badly she was shaking until she reached out to touch Josephs' face, where she found that the tremors that were running through her body made her hand quiver badly. Quickly, she withdrew her hand and clenched it tightly, wiping away tears from her eyes. She absolutely refused to lose face in front of Josephs' ghost. But would it matter? If he was dead, who cared how she looked or acted right now? But she saw him, leaning over his lap, staring at his shoes silently, and she felt overwhelming pity, drawing more tears from her tired eyes. It was her fault he was here; she hadn't stopped him when he had stepped up to protect her, and because of that, he had died. Died in vain, only for her sake.

"Amarie...?" The girl started. For a moment, it appeared as if he couldn't see her, and she was beginning to wonder... "Amarie, I know you can't hear me right now," Joseph whispered to himself, still shivering, still holding himself. "But... I hope you're happy, wherever you are..." he wiped more tears from his eyes, silently praying for her wellbeing. Amarie was confused; Wherever she was? She's right in front of you, she thought, feeling the stinging sensation begin behind her pale eyelids once again. She pre-empted the tears, quickly waving her crimson wristband over her eyes. But wait... she brought her arm down in front of her face, staring at said wristband. When had she gotten this? She didn't remember buying it... "And I'm sorry I couldn't save you...." Joseph continued, whispering to himself. Amarie frowned in confusion, feeling the compulsion to reach out to touch his face, currently hidden under dull blonde strands of hair. "I should have done better, but..." and Amarie began adjust the wristband, but stopped and snatched her hand away from her left wrist, and the bright red material encompassing it.

It was as if the wristband had been in the process of drying, but had been put on before it was free of water. The damp cloth clung to her skin doggedly, even after she tugged it this way and that, and Amarie felt the stinging underneath it grow more and more painful. Joseph, had stopped talking altogether, trying to regain his composure. Where was his posture, he thought to himself, forcing his back straight. Staring straight ahead to the far side of the wall, Joseph breathed deeply, and poured his guilt to the empty, apathetic room.

"If only I had been stronger, Amarie... Maybe I could have saved you from yourself..."

And suddenly, it made sense; the amnesia, the headaches, the reason Joseph acted as if she weren't here... All because, she really wasn't. She wasn't here, with him, right now. She looked down at her blood red wristband, knowing what she would find if she were to take it off: The serrated edges of the cut that spoke of broken glass and heartbreak. So, she thought, that's why she couldn't remember when she'd been released from the asylum. She hadn't.

Joseph stopped sobbing, slowly but surely, and with every passing moment felt his eyes become drier and his breathing even out. He was calm now, no longer trapped in a world of his own misery, though his eyes were still red and the hairs on the back of his neck still stood on end. Sighing, he cradled his head in his hands and yawned, feeling the side effects of crying beginning to take shape. But he didn't want to leave, just yet; the building had become less scary, less unnerving, less reminiscent of the terrible events that had unfolded within these pallid hallways. It wasn't an apprehensive experience like walking in had been. Now he felt like he'd accomplished what he felt he had come here for, though of what that was, he was unaware. All he had done was cry and talk to himself, like some child... Which reminded him that he still had work to go to, bills to pay. But he was waiting for something. He wouldn't leave until... Until what, he asked himself. Until his guilt wore off? Until his heart stopped beating so fast?

Amarie was still in shock, but was Unconsciously rejoicing that Joseph was no longer crying. She knew that after this, she would probably never see him again, and yet she didn't move from where she was, hand on the damp red wristband, watching the one she wanted most, the one that was lost to her. Finding that she was once again crying, she scolded herself for being so emotional. She sure hadn't cried like this when she was... alive? But no. She remembered crying like this when she had heard that Joseph had died, remembered feeling her heartbeat, but being dead on the inside. It was unnerving to say the least, but that wasn't important. Old feelings would hardly do her any good now, she thought silently, and she knew she had to go. She couldn't keep him here any longer. She could hardly keep herself.

So, she stood, smiling through her tears, oblivious to the fact that Joseph had felt the small breeze she created, and stepped out, accidentally brushing her knee against his. He shivered and felt his knee become freezing cold, like he had walked out in the snow with shorts on, and he knew that when he decided to look, there'd be a nice, violet bruise waiting for him. Right now, though, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, hoping to hear some sort of response to his pathetic confession. Biting her lip, Amarie debated whether or not touching his face was a good idea, but since this was the last time she'd be seeing him, she thought it wouldn't harm him too much. She reached out her hand, brushing it against his cheek, and turned away, walking forward into her looming doubts that were personified as the shadows in the room that grew when she approached them. With a final glance behind her, she stepped forward, out of the forlorn cafeteria and into the darkness.

The touch brought Joseph back to reality, made him blush. He felt his face grow warm on the side that he had felt the touch, and he knew that he was finally done. He didn't have to look away submissively when he drove by the school, he didn't have to feel guilty anymore. He knew that he was forgiven by the one person whose opinion he had ever really cared for, and he knew that she would haunt his dreams and his waking thoughts no more. With a tired sigh of relief, he stood and walked through the double doors that stood open, still filtering dust away. He walked quickly through the school, and though he still felt as if he were being watched, the watcher felt content. He was no longer obligated to return here every year and place flowers in honor of the heroes who had died. Without a second thought, he walked through the school's front door, and was never again seen within the hallowed halls of his angel's sanctuary.​
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top