Okay, first off I hate this one. I think it's written horribly and I'd like to ask for some help on that. Second, this story takes place before the one I posted on MyO a couple of weeks ago, which I should probably post up here now that I think of it. Third, I don't know if this is even going to go in the final story. This is mainly to help me flesh out some of the plot details really.

So please, enjoy and don't be afraid to point out every little thing that stuck out-- wether good or bad. It'd actually really help if you did.

~~~~~

In the beginning, there was a teardrop. It wasn't even a real teardrop-- just a snowflake that had melted and run. But it was enough. As the salty oval landed on the snow and froze over its powdered flakes, more followed. So many of them, dripping heavily until they refused to freeze on the ground and began to form small pools.

Suddenly the pools and the snow around it were crushed by a pair of rapidly descending legs. A boy had fallen to his knees. He wanted the tears to stop and tried in vain to dam them with his hands. He screwed his eyes shut and scrunched up his face to no avail. The dam overflowed.

The boy gave up, fell all the way down to the ground and cried fully. He would wail and sob, then fall quiet for a while, simply letting the stream of tears run. After a while he'd begin sobbing and wailing again. And the entire time he wondered when his mind would just shut up and leave him alone.

Eventually all the tears dried up-- even dammed water will only last so long-- but the boy wasn't done crying yet. He continued to lie there as the snow covered him up. It could've been days, weeks, months, years, centuries, or maybe just minutes. He lay there until entirely buried and only one, single, vague thought circled his head:

Let it end.

And so the white world whistled by.

Then, at some random point later in time, another figure appeared. He stood on the spot and looked around.

"Shit," he said. It was probably the first real word to have fallen upon the world's virgin ears. Welcome to the english language. Now say goo-goo ga-ga.

The figure walked forward a bit, knee deep in snow, still looking around. Then he stepped on the boy's hidden foot, stopped, and looked down.

"Oh," he said this time. Remedial english.

He bent down and started digging the boy out. "Dammit," he complained as he dug. "Two hundred and fifty years of waiting and this happens. You couldn't have collapsed around a hundred like most post-mortals, could you? If you had, you might not have been so boring and I wouldn't have had to leave for a bit. How the hell am I supposed to rescue you from the brink of despair if you've already fallen in? The boss is going to have my head several times over for this."

The figure finished digging, stood up and dried his hands on his jeans. The boy hadn't moved. The figure stared at him irritatedly. Evidently this wasn't going to be easy.

"Well," said the figure, picking the boy up by the collar. "I guess I'll just have to bring you out so you can nearly fall back in again." Proud of this idea, the figure held the boy up triumphantly in one hand while rummaging around in a pocket with the other. Eventually he pulled out a small red orb, about an inch in diameter. It looked like it was made of transparent glass or a contained gas as it was faint and white around the edges. He held it up for the unconscious boy to see.

"Don't tell the bossman I used this, alright? He'd do more than have my head if you did." The figure then pushed the orb into the boy's abdomen, where it melted away.

The boy began to writhe. He jerked and twitched back and forth, making it hard for the figure to hold him. Two large protrusions started ripping the back of his shirt.

"Geez," said the figure, sounding annoyed. "You sure like yours dramatic. Can't you hurry up already?"

Two majestic black feathered wings burst out of the boy's shirt.

"Finally,"said the figure. Then he ran his free arm right through the boy's heart.

The boy vanished.

Unperturbed, the figure stretched his shoulder. "Damn, you're a lot of trouble." He looked at the arm he'd run the through the boy for a moment, then licked some of the blood off it and rolled his eyes. "A lot of trouble."

And with that he promptly sprouted red wings from his own back, ripped his head off, and disappeared as well.

Fiction: 03/12/08 | Posted By: 2short | 4 comments