*sigh* Right. I'm going to be brutally honest here. When I wrote this fic I was fourteen, very new to fandom, and didn't have anything vaguely resembling a clue. This fic is absolute crap. It's OOC, cliche-ridden, pathetic and pretentious, and the only reason I haven't taken it down is that for reasons that mystify me, there are people who like it.
And to those of you who left complimentary reviews...why? Don't you want decent-quality fic? Please. Stop encouraging crap fic. Speak out against it!
An Older and Wiser TSD
Summary: I'm so sorry. I never meant to betray you… One-shot suicide fic
Fandom: Maximum Ride
Pairings: None. Although I suppose there's Max/Fang if you're that desperate to see it.
Warnings: Character death, self-mutilation, suicide
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the pitiful excuse for a plot
Author's Note: Dedicated to Talons101, who inspired this fic.
Please, tell me it isn't true! Tell me you didn't betray us!
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was the only way…
The look on her face still haunted him – the shocked disbelief as she pleaded with him. Begged him to tell her it was all some sick joke, that he wouldn't really do that to them. And all he could do was weep inwardly as his world, everything he'd ever cared about, was torn apart.
Sometimes she would scream at him, demanding answers he didn't have or an apology he didn't feel able to give. Other times she forgave him everything, said she understood that he'd had no choice. Or she would cry, whispering through her tears that he was a traitor, a turncoat, that she'd been wrong to ever trust him. The nightmares plagued him even in his waking hours now, until he could no longer distinguish dreams from reality. And then there came the horrible moment when he forgot who he was and why he was weeping; and he wept purely for the sake of the wretched guilt and sorrow that taunted him ceaselessly.
Other times, when the nightmares wouldn't stop, he suspected that he was already dead. That everything he felt was just another form of hell, and it was then that the blade came out. It slid across his skin as blood flowed like the tears of a fallen angel, and he almost laughed bitterly at the comparison. Fallen angel with broken wings…empty, weeping, wanting nothing more than the release of death. But at the same time he feared death, feared that he would finally be brought to justice for his treachery.
He tasted blood, blood of the innocent mixed with the evil-tainted red that spilled from his own veins. It was hot, metallic, burning its way down his arms, chest, neck. And he relished that pain because he deserved it, and it still hurt less than the pain inside. The seething, insidious loathing he felt for his very existence. She had thought him strong, the beautiful angel he betrayed. How she would laugh if she could see him now, broken and bleeding in a forgotten alleyway of some festering city.
He barely remembered his own name now. But by some cruel trick of fate, he remembered her perfectly. He remembered her face…her smile…and the tears streaming down her cheeks as she realised what he had done. She was moonlight; haunting and mysterious, beautiful but tragic.
The silver blade cut deeper, deeper: the scars so numerous by now that they were no longer easily distinguishable from one another. They cut sideways, long and shallow all over his body. But now the blade moved with a purpose; deep, final cuts the length of his wrists. Tears mixed with blood and rain on the cold concrete under a stormy night sky as he carved out all the hatred and sorrow and anger he felt towards himself and everything else.
The pain faded away as he grew lightheaded. The pool of blood was spreading, shimmering dully, almost black under the sodium glare of the streetlamps. The pain faded away as his life spilled over the sidewalk and into the drain like so much cheap paint. A weary, hopeless smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was over. He would face whatever punishment the gods handed him, because he knew he deserved everything. It was over. He was over.
The falling rain soaked into his bedraggled clothes and streamed from his tangled hair, washing away the blood, washing away the pain. A beam of moonlight shone through the clouds, turning the rain to droplets of molten silver. As his life came slowly to an end amongst the whispering silver rain, he knew in that pure, beautiful light that she had forgiven him.
But his last thought as the darkness took him was that he could never forgive himself