Kay. Hi there, new readers I'm Om. And to old readers, welcome to my new story! Some of you may be new to my writing and that's okay but I have an odd style. To old readers, I'm glad you followed me from "til death due us part" I am truly honor and hope not to let you down. Okay well you know how I am with these things. Read and review. I don't own.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.
The walk home after school is never a good one. Field hockey practice got out late (again) and I'm carefully stalking under the street lights. I cling to the beam of radiance shifting my eyes with every movement from the shadows. My hand gripped around the pocket knife I always carry in my pocket.
Mom said Denver used to be a really safe town, every once in awhile a tourist got robbed but that was about it. But, that was before weapons and meisters. I can't ever believe in a Denver where I didn't have to constantly be on guard on the short walk from the school to my house.
I flip out my knife when a sound shuffles behind me. The sound came from outside my circle of light and I stand in the middle back to the pole, waiting for another sound. A small moan of pain echoes through the empty street.
My judgment is skewed, someone is hurt and it's in my nature to help them but that means leaving the safety of the street lamp. I wrestle with myself, the human side appealing to my heart, my survivalist instinct appealing to the mind. Against my better judgment I stalk silently out into the dark. My mother always said I never listen to the sensible side.
My eyes adjust to the dimness as I look back regretfully to the lamp. Maybe I can just walk back, maybe I imagined the sound. As if to push me on I hear another cry imitating from anominous ally to my left. Why is it always a dark ally, really how cliché.
Nevertheless, I push on crouching low by the wall before peeking inward. A single bulb above a dingy restaurants back door, lights the space. Garbage litters the ground, and a cat takes off scared by my arrival. I see no cause of the sound and back away. I guess I did imagine it.
Before I can truly put any distance, I hear it again, this time much weaker. I rocket back into the ally my knife raised high. No one meets me or shouts, it's just silence. A whimper of pain comes from in the dumpster next to me. With a fast push from my toned arms pushed back the lid.
I am momentarily knocked back by the stench of rotten Tai food. I carefully scan my surroundings before turning my back and peeking in the giant trashcan.
A teenage boy is lying there partially covered by garbage and slime. His jeans are ripped and red seeps through from a cut on his thigh. A black and yellow jacket did little to protect him from the gashes crisscrossing their way across his chest. His arm is turned backwards at an odd angle, most likely broken.
When I reach his face I'm so shocked I almost let go of the lid. His teeth are razor sharp, fitting perfectly between each other. White hair is held back by a headband that has risen up revealing another gash on his head with a splinter of bone sticking out.
I reach out and touch his skin and he shies away in response. Good he's alive. I jump in the dumpster sinking up to my ankles in god knows what. "My name is Maka and you are dangerously injured. I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the hospital." He mummers but makes no objections.
With a strong heave I lift him onto my back. His arms hang over my shoulders staining my white school uniform with a brownish red. I thank god for my legs toned by hockey or I would have crumbled to the ground after just a moment of the boy's dead weight.
I trudge back to the street trying to remember the way to the city hospital. I hear a grumble on my back as the boy regains consciousness for a moment. "What did you say?"
He's quite for so long that I almost think that I imagine the sound. "Where are we going?" His voice is deep and scratchy as he whispers in my ear. I pick a direction and start running knowing that with the boy I'm a perfect target for any Weapons lurking around.
"To the hospital, you're badly injured." I feel him squirm slightly before he can let out his last sentence before drifting back into unconsciousness. "Not hospital, anywhere else."
"What? Why not?" I wait for an answer but his breathing levels. Crap what the hell am I supposed to now? I stand under a light while weighing my options. I could take him anyway but he has his reasons for not wanting to go. I could take him back and pretend it never happened… Yeah right. I guess I have no choice.
I turn the other direction making my way towards my house. There's just nowhere else that I can take him that's close enough. My breathing deepens as we round the corner of my street. I haven't seen anyone on the empty streets and jump the gate. The front light is on and I start to think up a story to explain everything.
I step in crying ready to spin my beautiful web. "M-mom…mommm? MOM!" Da fuck is she? A white piece of paper rest on the counter, "Went to Rome, be back whenever. Don't forget your pills."
Oh how lovely. Why does she get to jet off to random places and I don't? Life would be so much easier with a regular mom. I begrudgingly stomp up the steps to my room, lay the boy on the bed, and slam the door to the room. Oh, she leaves but manages, of all things, to keep me drugged up.
I sigh but throw back the pill anyway. They're for anxiety. I had been taking them ever since I could remember. Except for one day, when I was four. It was on one of the rare times my mom took me with her. We were in Singapore, the bad part of it.
She had left for the night and I was getting ready for bed. Habitually I got out the bottle and shook out a pill. The bottle only had one left in it and my mom and I we going to go out tomorrow. I'll save it until then. Mom won't have any fun if I'm all scared. I slip the pill back in the bottle and go downstairs to lock the door.
The ally outside was filled with trash and blood. My mom had broken up a lot of fights down here hoping that they wouldn't wake me up but they always did. I twitch the lock hearing the bolt close shut. I do a quick check out the window to make sure no one was there.
Two men sat around a small stick fire sharing a can. They were smiling at each other and telling jokes. Out of nowhere, a sick tentacle covered beast dropped down from the building stabbing them through the chest. The men fell dead to the ground, their faces frozen with fear.
Out of their bodies rose two glowing spheres. The beast snapped its head around and I ducked below the sill before it saw me. Breathing hard I looked up again, just in time to see the beast swallow the orbs whole. I ran upstairs to my room and hid under the covers.
When my mother found me she asked what happened. She asked if I took my medicine and I blushed as I said no. She said that I saw a hallucination because I was so stressed and never to skip a pill again. To this day, I have taken them every day, right on time.
I step out of the bathroom in my soiled uniform. The boy shifts in the bed and I walk over cursing myself for not tending to him sooner. I pull the remains of his tattered jacket and shirt off throwing them into the laundry pile.
His cuts have stopped bleeding but desperately need to be cleaned. I run back to the bathroom grabbing warm water and a rag before returning to his side. I dab at the wounds cleaning out the dirt and puss.
I dab at the cut on his thigh through the hole in the jeans before turning to his face. The blood has dripped down and now covers half his face. It's a morbid sight. I get new water and gently clean the blood away. I clean the cut but every time I think I've gotten it all more blood flows out. He needs stitches.
I nervously pull out my old sewing kit. The needles are sharp and have never been used. I thread through a thick black string. The gash on his chest and head still flow heavily and he's paling from the loss of blood. The needle is light in my hand as I place it to the skin on his forehead.
I can't believe I'm doing this.The needle slides smoothly through his skin and he doesn't as much as twitch. I tie of the end making an X pattern across his skin. I clip of the edge and the bleeding has stopped. Encouraged by my success I turn toward his chest.
The wound here is much bigger and deeper than the one on his forehead. With deft hands I sew through the tougher skin and muscle. With one last pull I tighten the end before clipping it off. The bleeding has stopped but the job is rough, crooked and jagged from where the needle ripped the skin or I had to avoid the bone.
His chest rises evenly as I wipe away the blood. I soak the rag before rubbing the dried blood from his skin. I drop the rag when I finish. There is something strange about this boy, other than the fact I found him in a dumpster. I feel a call to grab his wrist and wait for him to do something. It tickles at the back of my mind, teasingly within reach.
I open my eyes looking at the moonlight filtering in. When I was little I used to think there was a man in the moon and every night he would smile down on me, wishing me a good night. So silly, a moon with a face. Something reflects the moonlight beneath me and I look down. The boy has opened his eyes…and they are a deep blood red.
We are free with choice.
When the rest of the world has let you down,
Welcome to Thee Underground!
Well dear readers how did I do? Send in any questions you may have I promise to answer them all. The poem at the top is an exert from Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle." As for the bottom…it has its place.
P.S. Updates will be every Wednesday and Saturday.