Title: Shoot the Star
Summary: Why is there purple paint in you backyard? AU
You've never seen a shooting star before, or maybe you have but never realized it. Either way, the stream of vivid white light that's lighting up the sky like a firework sure looks neat! It's practically ripping through the night, shadowing over twinkling stars and leaving trails of glitter and fading light after its wake.
In the heat of it all, you find yourself making a half-assed wish on it, something about Nic Cage or something like that, because wouldn't it be so FANTASTIC to meet him in person? And when the trailing blaze of light finally fades into the darkness, you decide that you've had enough of star-gazing and you gather up your cereal-box telescope and rise up from the grassy earth.
It kinda' sucks that you can already smell the cloying odor that is Super Moist Devil's Food cake wafting from inside the house. Couldn't your Dad take a hint? Sheesh.
It's the next day and you're busy muddling about in your backyard, splashing into puddles of muddy water. You can feel the harsh bite of the water seep into your shoes and numb your toes, the ends of your pants clinging unpleasantly to your ankles. You briefly wonder if you're a bit too old to be doing this sort of thing, because face it, 15 year olds don't spend their time outside anymore, right? They're usually on Facebook or something like that, or twittering about how they're chewing a piece of 5 React gum. It kind of sounds like the sort of thing Dave would do—ironically of course. Dave is all about being ironic.
You're too busy splashing and giggling away as you jump into more murky puddles to even notice that there are smears of purple paint streaked across the white picket fence in front of you, and when you splash into yet another puddle, you notice that this puddle isn't tinged brown with mud like all the rest—it's completely saturated with…purple paint. You make a grimace and quickly jump out of the puddle, looking down at your shoes. Oh great, now your shoes are dyed entirely purple, they look like freaking Barney the dinosaur that's how purple they are. You also realized that the ends of your pants are also dyed the same color.
So you stand there staring at your shoes, a little miffed that your feet are freezing and colored lavender, and you begin to wonder if Dad had been doing some kind of fatherly project of his in the backyard, or whatever else Dads did in their free time. You have half a mind to stomp back inside the house, purple shoes and all, and leave tracks of paint along the floor tiles. Dad would surely be disgruntled, haha!
But then you go still, because you can smell it now. It's a strange scent, a very strong and bitter one, the kind of odor that reminds you of copper pennies and old batteries.
You gasp. It's the smell of blood.