I don't think I can write this anymore.
I'm really sorry to everyone who still has requests that I said I would do, but I don't think I can handle writing anything upbeat for a while.
Um...I feel really horrible about this. I know I made a promise when i first started writing that I would never stop writing in the middle of a story but I didn't think things would get this bad.
Consider this completed until I can figure out this piece of shit that I call life. If you leave a review as a guest, sorry I can't respond. If you leave one as an author...I can't promise I'll respond. Not like you'd care either way.
I did manage one more prompt. But only because it's basically the only somewhat decent shit I can type out anymore.
So...Jeana Star. Destroyed.
I don't own Phineas and Ferb.
Everything smoldered. Ash clung to the tree stumps and the melted mailboxes, littering the hollowed out shells of houses and cars.
Even her bright orange hair hadn't gone unattacked. Pulled back into a still damp ponytail, it rained ashes every time she turned her head, searching for some kind of sign that someone had survived.
It had only been one swim. One morning.
She came to a halt at the end of Maple Drive, her heart beating too fast, too loudly for any normal human being. This couldn't happen. Not again.
The house, the one that had held so many memories, so many un-busted schemes.
It was blackened, burned to the ground, no sign of life anywhere.
She hoped. Oh, God she hoped. Hoped that maybe it was some dream, that she would wake up screaming at any second. That maybe it was a sick joke, that people would pull the green screen away and announce the practical joke.
Her eyes watered as she stepped among the rubble, pulling out a very tattered, very charred book. Gold letters, now melting and grotesque, swirled across the binding, but she knew what they said, who the pages belonged to. She knew that if she opened the crumbling pages, she would see the pictures from summers past. See the familiar, dainty handwriting that she could recognize faster than the voice the words came from.
She clutched the binding to her chest and sank to her knees, ignoring the grime and the heat and the death that permeated the air.
The teen shuddered and looked up towards the gray, cloud scattered sky. She gulped and stood back up, black dust clinging to her clothing. She pulled a handkerchief from inside the book, the previous knowledge that it was there lost in some forgotten memory, and pushed her hair away, tying the dark orange strands back with the dirty cloth.
She shook her head and grabbed a fallen beam from the ground, clamping it in her free hand and striding away from her home, destroyed once more, the few things that kept her happy gone this time, stolen from her when they hadn't been at first.
Her feet took her to the house across the street, now more of a lump than a home, and she yanked on the lever by the mailbox, relishing in the familiarity of the falling ground under her.
She landed in a crouch, pressing the coveted book to her torso to keep it from falling, and looked around the dark lair, her eyes desperately trying to pick out familiar shapes.
Three lone figures walked up to her, their faces ashen with both grief and dust. Their eyes were cold and hard once more, and she handed over the book to the tallest, fighting back the urge to crush his figure to hers and cry.
The singular female among the three handed over a pair of sunglasses and sighed. "Anyone?"
Donning the glasses, she shook her head and gritted her teeth. "Not that I saw."
The most brutish of the trio grunted and cracked his knuckles, his eyes stone cold and filled with anger. "Any idea who?" he growled, his husky voice hiding the utter despair in his words.
She gave in to her instincts and wrapped a single arm around the tall, green haired one, fighting the lump in her throat. "I have some ideas. But any evidence there might be is most likely destroyed."
Eyes flashing, the younger female stepped to the monitor in the room, her black hair tangled and spilling with dust and small pieces of rubble. "I didn't think we'd have to do this again," the hardened veteran said, her soft voice punctuated by irritation and fear as she switched on the computer screen.
The eldest of the foursome trotted over to the monitor and set her makeshift staff aside, entering in the vital information that she needed as the leader to get into the system. "I didn't either, soldier. I especially didn't think there would be...so few of us left to fight if we did have to."
Her voice cracked, hard, and she coughed, brushing her bright hair away from her cheeks. She turned around and stared at the trio, noting that her singular family member and their neighbor were clutching hands, that the bully was standing firm and ready to take orders. "But if you're with me, we can solve this. We can get help and figure out how to make this right again."
Utter silence filled the room and she waited with her breath held, not certain she would get a positive response.
"With your powers, and our willingness to help," broke the voice least often heard by the group, the foreign lilt soothing yet hard, "we can fix this mess. We can rebuild what was destroyed."
Her eyes twinkled at her brother and she looked to the other two, who nodded immediately. She smiled, wicked and cold. "Perfect. We aren't giving in."
She turned back to the monitor, slid her glasses up her nose, cracked her knuckles, and began typing rapidly, sending out a message to every contact she had, in the hopes that someone would respond.
"Not this time."
I don't know. 2nd dimension shit, not original dimension.
I just...writing happy things isn't coming to me anymore. Happy endings (kind of) I can write, but only with a shit ton of angst and death and crap before it. I don't know anymore.