This is a Dark fic that I wrote just today (I got the idea last night when I couldn't sleep--don't question how my mind works)


But remember it's just a story

Ok, here we go: It's a Marluxia X Namine fic. (No pairing, no shoenai. Just those two)

Hope you like it!

She's doing it again.

That damn girl is doing it again.

You've told her before to stop that…noise…

That…laughter of hers…

It's so…terribly happy…

That damn laughter.

You've always hated that laughter. That damn girl's laughter. She'd always laugh, and it'd drive you mad. Her laughs were full of so much…Light…

You've always hated the Light.

That sick, sick Light.

You'd much rather live in Darkness than Light.

You'd stand there in the doorway, day after day, watching the girl draw. You'd watch her lean over her drawings, laughing her sick, innocently sweet laugh as she scribbled on her papers. Colors flooded those blank papers, forming an image of pure beauty.

Pure beauty, pure Light.

That damn Light.

You've told her to stop laughing. You tell her she's a Nobody, a Nothing. You tell her that her laughs were empty, that they just faded away into Darkness.

You'd tell her this to break her. You'd tell her this to stop her from laughing.

But she wouldn't.

She'd only look up at you with those innocent sky blue eyes and laugh.

Innocently, sweetly.

Sick. All of it: Sick.

So there you stand again, watching her draw, watching her laugh. You consider snatching up her pictures and tearing them again, like you've done before. You smirk. You remember when you did that before. You'd take her pictures away from her, and start ripping them up, despite her protests and cries and begging. You especially liked ripping up ones with her in them. You'd rip up the others in the pictures, saving her image for last. Then, ever so slowly, you'd tear her image.

Slowly, painfully.

You hoped that she would tear along with the picture. That her laughs would rip along with the picture.

And they would.

She wouldn't laugh for a long time. Days, weeks, maybe even a month, if you were fortunate enough. There'd be nothing heard from the girl.

Ahhh, the silence. You loved the silence.

The bliss Dark abyss.

But then Dark would fade into Light.

And that damn girl would start her damn laughter again.

So there you stand, eyes narrowed, deeply frowning at this child's sick laughter. Sometimes you wish you could just rip her little throat out. You smirk crazily.

You can almost imagine it.

Scratch that, you can imagine that.

You want to take your imperfect fingers and dig them into her perfect little throat. She'd cry out in pain, but you'd pay no mind. You'd continue to pierce her soft neck, tearing through her pale skin until your fingers met with the others, deep inside her throat, and grip together. Blood would trickle down, its pace gradually increasing, until her pale-skinned neck was tainted a deep crimson. She'd cry in pain, those salty tears mixing with her life's liquid. Then, you'd slowly, ever so slowly, pull out, completely tearing through her neck, leaving it open and ragged and bleeding. She'd try to scream out, try to breathe, but with no avail. She'd cry, again, harder, shaking her little body, more blood and tears mixing. You'd smile deviously, satisfied,

That the girl could no longer laugh.

And you'd forever have that bliss Dark abyss.

Funny. You've found yourself holding a knife. You can't remember when you took it out. You guess you must've taken it out when you were thinking about that wonderful solution to the laughter problem. You run your gloved finger over the edge of the blade lightly, as to not cut yourself. You smirk.

Although ripping the child's throat out would be pure bliss and entertainment, you decide on another choice.

You walk from the doorway over to the child, concealing the weapon up your sleeve. The girl doesn't notice, but continues that sick laughter of hers. You hiss in disgust.

That damn laughter.

You stand behind her, and look over her shoulder. She's drawing herself, holding hands with a red headed girl. You sneer.

Too bad she'll never meet the other girl.

Because of that damn laughter of hers.

You grab the girl's shoulder and spin her around to face you, yanking her up from her chair.


That's all it took.

One simple, forceful stab.

Her laughter stopped. She looked up at you in horror, confusion, fright…

Then she looked down to see the knife plunged in her stomach.

She sees the blood.

You see it too.

It amazes you how much blood cascaded down from the wound, staining that pretty little dress of hers with crimson. The same crimson starts to form a pool underneath her feet. Her face grows pale, and she looks back up to you. Her face is contorted in pain. You smirk. You like her pain. No, love it. You then realize that you're still holding onto her arm.

You let go.

You watch the girl's frail body fall, slamming onto the cold, hard ground.

She's not crying.

She's not laughing.

She lies there; in her own little crimson pool of life. Those sky blue eyes close, and she's gone.

No more.


You smile.

You swear that you've never felt this happy. Ever. Although you're a Nobody.

For now there is no more Light to taint that lovely Dark you crave for.

Now you can have your bliss Dark abyss.

No more Light.

No more laughter.

No more of that damn laughter.

Ever again.

So whatcha think? And sorry for the cursing. I NEVER curse in my stories, but this one needed it. It shows more of Marly's frustration