And now I've started up the Devil's Sonata project as well. Anyways, have some patience with my other updates. I have a few tests and stuff to study for, but hey, I'll try to do something about it as soon as possible. Anyways, I haven't been doing great lately, in schoolwork and such. I have to do something about that I suppose. But now I have an English test to study for… Damn.
Disclaimer: I don't own D. Gray – Man.
Warning: this fic is rated M for things such as suicide attempts and maybe violence later (and later on an implied intimate relationship, who would've thought?)
Second warning: this fic contains humor. Morbid humor. Don't take offence.
- Darkness Beneath -
It was raining on that day, just like many other days before. But would it be the last or just one of many to come? Would it put an end to it all or was this just the beginning?
The boy standing a few feet away from the ledge was aiming to find out.
"Mister Walker? Mister Walker? Do you have any comment on the rumors?"
"Mister Walker, a comment please? What is your opinion in this matter?"
"Tell me more about yourself Mister Walker. How was your childhood? Who was it who discovered your talent? Please, just a statement?"
One step closer.
"I'll have to ask you all to redirect further questions to my manager."
The man was staring at him with that same evil glint in his eyes as always, sneering at him.
"This is… your lyrics?" the man asked, with mockery in his voice as he held up the papers on which he had previously written down the lyrics reflecting his very soul. "No good, this is no good. These lyrics can't be released to the public."
The white-haired child lowered his head, hiding his silver eyes beneath messy bangs.
"Without the lyrics…" the child said quietly. "…that composition won't be Frozen Snow."
The man raised his hand, as if he was going to strike him.
Just one left.
Coldness creeping into my bones
As I wander all alone
Into the chilly winter night
Fighting the coldness with all my might
Not knowing where else to go
I trample upon the frozen snow
He was standing right by the ledge right now as a cold wind sent the snowflakes whirling around him, blending in with his messy white hair, sweeping their coldness against a thin red line running down the left part if his face, starting in what looked like an inverse five pointed star and ending in a line running all way down to his pale cheek.
No one had ever asked him about the scar; most probably assumed that it was a tattoo of some sort, and all people that knew the truth stayed silent or complimented him for his great taste.
He pulled off his white silk gloves and dropped them on the ground, since soon they would be of no use to him.
No one had ever asked about his gloves either; they probably saw it as a fashion statement or just something that had to do with his occupation as a professional musician. In fact, very few people knew about the abomination which was being concealed by the pureness of white silk.
His hand had always been that way, red, scaly, as if he had been badly burned.
He didn't remember how he got it, but he assumed that it had been involved with a great deal of pain. Not that pain had ever been such a great concern of his, at least not physical pain. Physical pain he could handle, but he wouldn't say that he enjoyed it, but psychological pain was a different thing. Psychological pain was the only real pain for him, and that was one of the reasons of why he had always distanced himself from the world, always closed himself off from the world.
After all, in the end… He was not a being meant for this world. He never was.
Musical wonder child they called him. Genius they said. But in the end, was that truly what he was? No… He was something else… Something darker.
My eyes looking somewhere afar
My heart aching of hidden scars
I wander deserted streets like a maze
As the cold winds are biting into my face
They were probably looking for him right now, running around desperately once they had realized that he had slipped out after the concert, running in the snow with his bare feet, dressed in only a pair of trousers, a white dress shirt and a long tailed black coat. He must've been quite an unusual sight to the world in the middle of the night in midwinter, but it wasn't like there was actually anyone looking.
He took the last step and was now barely standing upon solid ground as he was staring out at the dark waters underneath the bridge; supposedly luck was still with him as the water didn't seem to have frozen yet, since that sort of thing would've made his plans worthless.
He reached inside of his pockets and pulled out a folded paper; his suicide note. It wasn't one he had put much care into as he had written it; all that mattered to him was that no one would find it in time for them to stop him. He wanted to die, but he also wanted to die with style.
"Always do it properly." Someone he knew once said. "And if you're able to, do it with style."
This was something he had been planning for long, but not something he had planned in every detail. It was just something that he did or at least tried to do whenever an opportunity presented itself, as well as something he had failed so far. But not this time, this time he had been one step ahead.
He unfolded the paper a bit for fun, reading the last few lines of his rather short letter, his one last message to this wretched world which he had been trying to escape every since that day.
"…Yours sincerely, Allen Walker." he whispered, refolding it and putting it back into his pocket before he shrugged off his coat and let it fall down to the ground as he took one deep breath before stepping out over the ledge, experiencing a brief moment of bliss as he was surrounded by the blistering cold and snowflakes.
He had always been looking forward to death, longing for it, wishing for it.
He was in love with Death and he had been like that for a long time, for the majority of his fifteen year old life. Ever since he had gotten his scar, death had always been occupying his mind. He had sought to end it, fought to end it, once and for all and with all his might.
Warm but rough fingers enclosed themselves around his skinny wrist, pulling at it, preventing him from falling. Most people would've seen whoever had grabbed him as a saving angel, but Allen viewed him as more of a devil, glaring down at him with dark and ice-cold blue eyes, seemingly accusing him for his actions. As he was pulled up and set down on solid ground he returned the glare with an accusation of his own, for saving his life.
As it appeared, Fate still refused to let him die.
Just like the raven-haired stranger who was currently holding his shoulders in a hard grip and screaming at him, but Allen could no longer hear his words, only see his lips moving. Allen looked up at him with a dull and bored look on his face, doing nothing as his coat was once again draped around his shoulders and someone led him towards a stopped car. The stranger opened one of the front door and half-pushed him into a seat before slamming the door shut and making his way to the driver's seat on the other side, muttering what seemed to be curses of some sort. Allen let his head fall to the side, leaning against the cold surface of the window, letting his eyelids fall shut.
He had failed another attempt.
He had no wish to stay awake to see it.