Welcome Guest
[Log In]
[Register]
- Heroes Of The Net
- →
- Fine Arts
- →
- Literature
- →
- The End
| The End | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: May 12 2009, 06:01 PM (157 Views) | |
| Rinny | May 12 2009, 06:01 PM Post #1 |
Lost in the dark scary part of my mind
|
This was the end. That was all she could think as she stared out the window, surrounded by her frightened classmates. This was the end. There would be no more school dances; no more flirting with Jacob Collins in the hallway. No more bugging her mom for that new pair of jeans or locking her annoying little brother out of her room. This was the point of no return. She knew what she had to do; nobody else could, she thought. Nobody had as little to lose as her. No one else was dying anyway. Strengthening her resolve, she slowly rose from her crouch and turned to face the gun. This was the end. Tuesday, 9:42 A.M. "Charlie White," the teacher called, not glancing up from her attendance sheet. Charlie shrank a little as everyone turned to stare at her, to stare at the scarf that wrapped her head. "Here," she said, wincing when her voice cracked. This was her first day back in school in over a month; the chemotherapy had left her weak. She still struggled to speak clearly sometimes; the sores that had coated her mouth and throat from the chemo were just now healing. She could feel the coppery taste of blood oozing down her throat everytime she swallowed. The doctors had told her that she might have a chance. If she kept up with the chemotherapy, if she came in every month for the Intra-Arterial chemo, that they might beat this. But in the meantime, she lost her beautiful chestnut hair; she ended up unable to digest most food without vomitting, and the people she'd once called friends turned away, frightened by her disease. She hadn't wanted to come today; not after the news she'd received that morning. Her doctor had been running tests to check and see if there were any dangerous side effects caused by the chemo. What he'd found had crushed both her and her parents. She couldn't have children. She was sixteen years old, and she was infertile. She would never hold a baby in her arms and proudly declare that she'd given birth to such perfection. Such innocence. She'd never know the joys and hardships of truly being a mother. Of course, none of that mattered if she didn't go into remission. If the cancer spread farther, or if they couldn't find a marrow transplant before the chemo weakened her immune system that such a procedure would kill her, it didn't matter. She'd never live long enough to have a child anyway. They said there was a fifty fifty chance; that was good, at least to them. She had a good chance at surviving. At living. The class grew silent and she blinked, looking up to see her teacher standing before her with a gentle frown. "Charlie, are you paying attention?" Her voice was soft, and Charlie felt an unreasonable anger boil within her at the pity in the woman's eyes. "No, I'm not,": she snapped, tears springing into existance. "Why should I? None of it matters. I'm still going to die." She shoved her chair back with a loud screech, flinching when it tipped with a bang. "I'm going to the office," she declared, fiercing scrubbing the tears from her face. She grabbed her bookbag and walked out without another word. Tuesday 11:26 A.M. The breeze felt nice on her skin, though every once in a while an unexplainable shiver ran up her spine. She felt that something was going to happen. That something was wrong. She shrugged it off and finished her jello cup. Of course something was wrong. She had cancer. She was dying. And she couldn't even enjoy a damn ham and swiss sandwich without retching. Lips thinning, she tossed the sandwich and the rest of her trash into a bin and headed back inside as the bell rang, signaling the end of underclassman lunch. Sighing, she headed for the English room, her next class. This was all pointless really. Even if she got better, there was always the chance that she'd relapse. Charlie had no wish to spend her life fearing every little cough and cold. To be afraid to attach to someone because you don't want to lose them. She let her bag fall to the floor beside her desk and slumped into the seat, arms crossed and a glum look dulling her blue eyes. She ignored the chatter of the other students. About twenty minutes into the class, hell broke loose. A girl, Jenny Little, she thought, screamed and fell from her seat near the back, scrambling away from a guy. He was holding a 9 mm. Glock in his hands, and his eyes were wide and partially glazed. "Don't fucking move," he half-whispered, swinging the gun to encompass the entire class. Everyone shrank back, watching him fearfully. Jenny was still on the floor, trembling finely as she stared at him. Charlie didn't know him. Maybe she'd seen him on the campus before, but she didn't know his name. Didn't know his story. He was an enigma, and she felt curiousity burning through her. After all, she had nothing to lose. "Derek, put the gun down," the teacher cooed gently. "Everything's going to be okay. Just put down the gun." He was crying now, Charlie noted with shock. Tears were pouring down his face, making his murky green eyes blurry. The gun trembled. "No." She flinched at the pure, seething hate that tinged that word. So much pain. So much destruction. "Derek." She surprised everyone by speaking, even herself. She hadn't planned to. She hadn't really thought about what she'd do. His gaze zeroed in on her, a dark leer marring his face. "You only know my name because he," he jerked his head toward the teacher, "said it. You don't know me, Charlie White. You never knew my name before now." "You're right," she replied, tilting her chin down in a slight nod. "I didn't know your name. I didn't even know you existed. I don't know you. I don't know the shit you've been through, or what pushed you to take things this far. But I do know that you're not a killer. You're hurt, and confused, and fed up. But you're not a murderer. Maybe that title belongs to us; the kids that ignored you, hurt you, made you feel like you were invisible. Maybe we're the killers. But don't sink down to our level. Don't throw your life away." Truthfully, after Columbine, he'd thrown his life away just by bringing that piece of metal to school. He'd signed his life away at that moment. "Shut up," he snapped, glaring at me. "You're so full of shit, sitting there and talking like you're fucking Jesus reborn just 'cause you got cancer. World don't revolve around you, princess. People die every day. You ain't special." For some reason, that didn't piss her off. She just watched him serenely, head #@!*ed to one side as she listened. Her mouth opened to respond and the gun swung to face her. "Shut the fuck up!" he shouted, going deathly white. "You assholes deserve this. You've treated me like shit since we were in elementary school. Now get on the floor and group up in that corner. Nobody leaves." The other kids did as they were told, all but falling from their seats in their desperation to get farther from him. Charlie remained where she was. "I said get over there on the fucking floor!" he shouted, waving the gun wildly. Some of the students began to cry. Charlie just sat there. "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am," she said boldly. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, and she swallowed convulsively. She was scared; she could admit that to herself. His face contorted and he swung, striking her across the cheekbone and knocking her from her seat. She could feel the blood welling in her mouth from where her teeth had cut into the delicate flesh of her cheek. Her face throbbed as she looked up to stare at him. He seemed taken aback by her reaction, or perhaps his own. Certainly he wouldn't look her in the eye. He stepped back, growling, "Just do it." She complied this time, pausing to spit a mouthful of blood into the small trashcan by the teacher's desk. Then she sat down, a bit away from everybody else, and leaned her head against the cool wall. "What are you doing Charlie?" one of the girls whispered. "All you're going to do is piss him off." Charlie shrugged. "Why do I care?" "Well, you might have a thought for the rest of us," Jeremy Hawkins snapped. "He gets mad and he might start shooting." She just shrugged again. "God Charlie," Jenny said. "When did you turn into such a selfish bitch?" Charlie turned chilled blue eyes on her classmates. "About the time you all turned your backs on me. You don't give a damn that I might die, so why should I give one flying fuck if you do?" There was silence following that staement, and Charlie turned away again, watching Derek as he paced, checking the windows and doors to be sure they were locked. The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and half of the kids jumped. Derek just continued his pacing. A couple minutes later there was a knock on the door, followed by a kid calling for the teacher, Mr. Edwards. Derek ignored them. Another minute or so passed, and then the principal knocked on the door. "Mr. Edwards, unlock this door," she called out sharply, accentuating the command with another rap on the thick wood. "He can't at the moment," Derek yelled back, pulling back the safety on the gun. "Help!" Molly screamed. Derek scowled. "Shut the fuck up!" He shook his head. "Hostages just don't know when to keep their goddamn mouths shut." There was silence on the other end of the door. "Who is this?" the principal finally asked. You could barely hear her. "It doesn't matter," Derek replied, glaring at the door. "This is between me and them and you can butt the hell out." "What do you want?" He let out a frustrated sigh. "What do I want? I want them to go back in time and change all the shit they've put me through the past eight years. That's what I fucking want. Now leave me the hell alone or I shoot someone." The was a long pause this time. "Okay," the principal said slowly. "We'll leave you alone for now. Are the children alright?" "For now," Derek snapped. "They won't be if you don't leave." "We're leaving," she assured him in a soothing voice. He just snorted. "You're an idiot, Derek," Charlie said loudly. "You're a fucking moron." His eyes looked like they might pop out of his head and he stared at her incredulously. "Do you have a fucking death wish? Jesus woman, I have a goddamn gun!" She shrugged. "I have cancer, remember? A bullet would be much quicker. And probably less painful." He turned away, scowling. "So why am I the idiot?" he muttered, glaring at the chalkboard. "You have your whole life ahead of you. High school is just a small part. But you're going to throw away the rest of your goddamn life because people don't pay attention to you in high school. Well, guess what? It's fucking high school! Nobody respects you in this hellhole. Nobody really cares unless you're lucky enough to have a true friend. And you know what you do? You get over it. Life goes on. High school isn't the end of the fucking world Derek." The whirled around to face her, and the Glock raised to stare at her face. Derek's hand trembled as he pointed it at her. "Fuck you Charlie White," he said in a low voice that sent a sharp chill down her spine. His eyes were almost black with rage. "You're a bit late asshole. Life's already screwed me over." She stood up, facing him head on. "Go ahead. Shoot me. Kill me. I'm done with this bullshit. I'm leaving this room, and if you want to stop me, you'll have to kill me." She started to walk straight toward him, causing him to fall back a step before he even realized that he'd done it. "Don't push me, White," he snapped. "I will shoot you." Charlie rolled her eyes, pausing directly in front of him. "You don't have the fucking balls." His hand clenched around the gun, and she heard it go off. She heard the screams as her classmates shrank away. Saw Derek's eyes widen in horror, saw the gun clatter to the floor. She kicked at it, watching as it spun across the floor and hit the far wall. Frowning, she tried to discern why everyone was screaming. When had the floor gotten so close? And who was holding her? She glanced around with eyes that were darkening around the edges and caught sight of Derek. He was the one holding her, cradling her. He was crying. Why? Why? Then the pain hit. Searing, twisting, agonizing pain tearing through her gut. Her mouth opened in a gasp, but she couldn't get the breath to scream. Warmth was spreading over her stomach, her legs. Derek spoke, but sound was distorted. She couldn't make out the words. The pain was too much. Too severe. Dimly, she realized she was dying. But at least everyone else would be safe. Even though they were assholes, they didn't deserve to die. They all had lives to live. But she didn't. She never had. Mama, I love you. And I'm sorry I disappointed you. I'm sorry I had to leave. Her vision went black. |
  | |
 |
 
|
| Bronnen | May 15 2009, 02:06 AM Post #2 |
|
Very powerful. A few spelling mistakes, and a few stupid things that the filter decided to screw over. I'm assuming we are allowed to post our opinions in it, so here you are. It's not normally the kind of thing I read, but after I read cancer I started to enjoy it. Heh heh. It makes me wonder why she'd still be in school though if she did have cancer. But that's not important anyway, it's your story. As I was reading it, I was imagining Derek as some nerdy kid with glasses barely able to hold up a gun. I don't know why, but I was. Anyway, before I start rambling on about it. I liked it, very well done. |
|
|
|
| Nubi | May 15 2009, 09:11 PM Post #3 |
 
|
I actually pictured Derek as more of a cross between punk and the Langdon boy. XD I liked it a lot Rin, it had a nice impact. Yet, I was hoping she'd live (but I knew better). |
|
| |
|
|
| Rinny | May 21 2009, 12:02 AM Post #4 |
|
Lost in the dark scary part of my mind
|
*roflol* I can't believe you said that Nubi! He wouldn't do something like that. Truthfully, it's more my style. Or, was. And thanks to both of you. I enjoyed writing it. It's rare for me to write a snuff story. ::EVIL:: And Bronnen, yeah there are mistakes. My laptop is being stupid and not letting me use Word so I had to do it it Wordpad. Very annoying to edit by hand. Oh God......I'm spoiled, I'm American, I'm evil because I can't take the time to edit my writing on my own. *dies* |
|
| |
|
|
|
| Nubi | May 21 2009, 04:41 AM Post #5 |
|
I didn't think he would. I meant in appearance (I'm talking about Derek, I don't think I've really seen much of Wes). lol You're a lazy American. PW would probably get a kick outta that. But, you're not fat, so you don't quite meet the criteria. |
|
| |
|
|
|
| Bronnen | May 21 2009, 02:38 PM Post #6 |
|
Haha. I still see the pimply nerd. I mean who else gets picked on that badly? Edited by Bronnen, May 21 2009, 02:38 PM.
|
|
|
|
| Rinny | May 21 2009, 03:05 PM Post #7 |
|
Lost in the dark scary part of my mind
|
I did. If you've seen any pics of me in this forum, you should know that I'm not pimply. A bit of a nerd, but I'm still considered beautiful....Though I don't see it, everyone else says so. But I've been picked on and ignored from second grade. And I still am. But now, I've learned to deal with it and anyone who starts shit with me gets punched. *shrug* But anywho. I wonder if anyone else *nudgenudge* is going to post before the deadline??? |
|
| |
|
|
|
| Nubi | May 21 2009, 07:31 PM Post #8 |
|
I have 11 days or there abouts. I said I'd work on it after school is out. Suppose I should start working on it, huh? I dun ignore you! *tackle hugs* |
|
| |
|
|
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Literature · Next Topic » |
1:04 AM Mar 11
