FloatingFlames
Lovable Narcissist
After half a year, I'm ready to post a new one-shot. >_>
I'm sure everyone has read fics about abusive trainers, so I just took that idea and added onto it. Tell me what you think.
Also...
This is rated R. The entire fic revolves around death, and there are several gruesome scenes.
Just a warning.
A man let out a painful scream that echoed through a house in the middle of the night.
Sweat poured down the man’s face as he struggled to feel his way down the narrow hall. Eyes clenched tight, the pale white walls around him seemed to sway, letting go of all ties to reality. He fell to the ground with a dull thump. His hands balled up into fists, he pounded on the floor with all his might, as if trying to break a hole straight through it. The man was troubled; he was in agony. Tears ran down his cheeks, blending in with the myriad drops of sweat. As he had thought when it began, the past had come back to haunt him.
He crawled his way to the foot of the door, struggled to his feet, and opened it. It was a bathroom. He fell against the wall to the left, and with a pained expression, raised a hand to flip the light switch. The bathroom was tiny; it had a small sink that lay directly in front of the door, and a toilet to the right. Beige colored square tiles plainly made the floor, and a small navy blue rug was laid out in front of the toilet.
The man turned, set both hands on the edge of the sink, and stared deep into the mirror. His eyes were green, but a strange glow of lifelessness was reflected. He was young, in his early twenties, and his hair was dirty and messy. Breathing heavily, his hands began to shake fiercely, but he had a bizarre expression, as if he was deep in thought. His eyes were afraid though; they were petrified stare of emerald. There was something he had been hiding, something horrible, but he couldn’t tell anyone… Not a soul…
The outside wall of a house shook as the figure of an animal was thrown against it. The small orange and black beast fell to the ground with a dull thump and lay limply on the hard, packed dirt. An elongated shadow stretched across the ground to the edge of a forest as the last rays of bleeding sunlight gleamed over the trees. The shadow belonged to the same man in the mirror but with a resounding difference—he was several years younger, and instead of being filled with a terrible pain, he was fuming with anger.
They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, what looked to be a wild jungle. A small patch of clearing large forest was where a shabby brick house stood. Two paths extended from the house—one leading out of the forest from the porch, the other from the back that led deeper in.
Struggling, the small canine-like animal rose. Its fluffy white tail was tattered and dirty, and its small claws dug into the thick soil for support. The creature’s eyes were filled with confusion and terror. The man advanced towards the creature and his shadow seemed to extend further as if to become a beast itself. The canine shivered slightly.
“It’s your fault… Just like the others…”
The man crept towards the house slowly; the pattering of his shoes sounded unusually loud in the silence of the forest. He stopped next to the wall and stared down with resentment at the orange creature and grasped a rusty shovel that lay propped against the brick of the house. The edge of it seemed to be tinged a strange dark red color. Taking one step towards the canine, his mouth twitched slightly. He was overflowing with an unfathomable hatred and why this was didn’t make any sense at all…
“If you can’t do what is commanded of you, you’re nothing but a burden to me and a failure to yourself.”
He stared at the creature, which turned its head in confusion. It stared in fear at the shovel that had slowly begun to rise in the air. For a short moment, the man seemed to hesitate, but he soon covered that up with a terribly wicked smile. His eyes flickered with a strange intensity, and a small, almost insane chuckle was barely audible. The shovel fell with a rain of crimson fluid and an echoing, hollow scream. Silence soon followed, until it was broken by the sound of a dragging body. A trail of dark red led into the forest, the sun finally out view.
Shovel in one hand and a bloodied body under the other arm, the man trudged down the path, slashing at wild, thorny bushes that cluttered his way. He was doing this constantly; the forest was as dark as the night sky which was blocked by the thick treetops. However, this seemed almost routine to the man.
He soon arrived at a small patch of dirt, visible through the moon’s light that shone through an opening in the treetops. Several strange lumps of dirt, about seven or eight of them, were raised from the ground. Small sections of dirt had fallen away due to the rain and wind, leaving bits of bone and decaying flesh. The horrible stench would have been unbearable anyone else, but it seemed to have no effect on the man. It almost seemed enjoyable to him. Visible in the silvery light, the man’s green eyes flashed with a glint of what unmistakably looked like pride.
He walked towards an untouched area in the ground, dropped the animal carelessly, slammed the edge of the shovel into the dirt, and began to dig. In a short time he was covered in sweat and had a hole just big enough for the mangled corpse, which he grabbed by the tail and tossed in. He turned the end of the shovel on its side and messily scraped the dirt onto the corpse, completely covering it. The man turned amd walked away down the path and back to his home, a smirk creeping across his face.
The contemplative horror of the man turned to a deranged fury. He couldn’t bear to look at himself; he didn’t want to relive those memories. It had begun not long ago; he had started to feel this pain on the inside. It was something that ignited when he saw his reflection and he couldn’t ignore it. He had always turned away from it, but it had become too much to bear.
With a pained anger, the man thrust a fist directly into the mirror, shattering it. He clenched his bleeding fist at his side and stared down at the pieces of shattered glass. His eyes seemed so much grayer than they once were.
Panting heavily, the man closed his eyes. At the time, he believed that what he did was justified. He was overcome with an obsession that became insanity, and his beliefs were beyond horrible. The man held skill and strength above all else, and couldn’t tolerate them to struggle and fall behind. Disposing of those who failed and were weak, he believed he would succeed as a trainer. Yet, after all was finished, he himself ended up failing.
Soon the terrible realization came, followed by tormenting guilt. He couldn’t sleep because of it. Now, he had come to see why he had been wrong, and he was horrified.
Slowly, with a shaking hand, he picked up a piece of glass. He knew he couldn’t bring them back; there was only one thing to do to even come close to justifying their death. And although his life wouldn’t make up for theirs, it was the only answer. There wasn’t another option for him.
He caught a reflection of his terrified face in the glass and tried to keep calm. But he was always afraid of death, incredibly ironic after what he had done. The man knew he had to force himself; he had to take control of himself or else it would not be done. He had to do it. Falling to his knees and then onto his back, he stared ahead at the ceiling, shaking tremendously.
Blood leaked out of his hand as he clutched the glass tighter. Would he scream? He feared dying more than anything, but he didn’t want to die a coward. He wanted to end his life calmly. Screaming would only show that he wanted to stay in this world, even if it meant to remain being tortured. The expression on his face suddenly became solemn as flashes of those he wrongfully murdered shot through his mind, and he took a deep breath.
Blood poured from his wrist.
He did not scream. Instead, he smiled.
I'm sure everyone has read fics about abusive trainers, so I just took that idea and added onto it. Tell me what you think.
Also...
This is rated R. The entire fic revolves around death, and there are several gruesome scenes.
Just a warning.
There Once Were Two Green Eyes
A man let out a painful scream that echoed through a house in the middle of the night.
Sweat poured down the man’s face as he struggled to feel his way down the narrow hall. Eyes clenched tight, the pale white walls around him seemed to sway, letting go of all ties to reality. He fell to the ground with a dull thump. His hands balled up into fists, he pounded on the floor with all his might, as if trying to break a hole straight through it. The man was troubled; he was in agony. Tears ran down his cheeks, blending in with the myriad drops of sweat. As he had thought when it began, the past had come back to haunt him.
He crawled his way to the foot of the door, struggled to his feet, and opened it. It was a bathroom. He fell against the wall to the left, and with a pained expression, raised a hand to flip the light switch. The bathroom was tiny; it had a small sink that lay directly in front of the door, and a toilet to the right. Beige colored square tiles plainly made the floor, and a small navy blue rug was laid out in front of the toilet.
The man turned, set both hands on the edge of the sink, and stared deep into the mirror. His eyes were green, but a strange glow of lifelessness was reflected. He was young, in his early twenties, and his hair was dirty and messy. Breathing heavily, his hands began to shake fiercely, but he had a bizarre expression, as if he was deep in thought. His eyes were afraid though; they were petrified stare of emerald. There was something he had been hiding, something horrible, but he couldn’t tell anyone… Not a soul…
The outside wall of a house shook as the figure of an animal was thrown against it. The small orange and black beast fell to the ground with a dull thump and lay limply on the hard, packed dirt. An elongated shadow stretched across the ground to the edge of a forest as the last rays of bleeding sunlight gleamed over the trees. The shadow belonged to the same man in the mirror but with a resounding difference—he was several years younger, and instead of being filled with a terrible pain, he was fuming with anger.
They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, what looked to be a wild jungle. A small patch of clearing large forest was where a shabby brick house stood. Two paths extended from the house—one leading out of the forest from the porch, the other from the back that led deeper in.
Struggling, the small canine-like animal rose. Its fluffy white tail was tattered and dirty, and its small claws dug into the thick soil for support. The creature’s eyes were filled with confusion and terror. The man advanced towards the creature and his shadow seemed to extend further as if to become a beast itself. The canine shivered slightly.
“It’s your fault… Just like the others…”
The man crept towards the house slowly; the pattering of his shoes sounded unusually loud in the silence of the forest. He stopped next to the wall and stared down with resentment at the orange creature and grasped a rusty shovel that lay propped against the brick of the house. The edge of it seemed to be tinged a strange dark red color. Taking one step towards the canine, his mouth twitched slightly. He was overflowing with an unfathomable hatred and why this was didn’t make any sense at all…
“If you can’t do what is commanded of you, you’re nothing but a burden to me and a failure to yourself.”
He stared at the creature, which turned its head in confusion. It stared in fear at the shovel that had slowly begun to rise in the air. For a short moment, the man seemed to hesitate, but he soon covered that up with a terribly wicked smile. His eyes flickered with a strange intensity, and a small, almost insane chuckle was barely audible. The shovel fell with a rain of crimson fluid and an echoing, hollow scream. Silence soon followed, until it was broken by the sound of a dragging body. A trail of dark red led into the forest, the sun finally out view.
Shovel in one hand and a bloodied body under the other arm, the man trudged down the path, slashing at wild, thorny bushes that cluttered his way. He was doing this constantly; the forest was as dark as the night sky which was blocked by the thick treetops. However, this seemed almost routine to the man.
He soon arrived at a small patch of dirt, visible through the moon’s light that shone through an opening in the treetops. Several strange lumps of dirt, about seven or eight of them, were raised from the ground. Small sections of dirt had fallen away due to the rain and wind, leaving bits of bone and decaying flesh. The horrible stench would have been unbearable anyone else, but it seemed to have no effect on the man. It almost seemed enjoyable to him. Visible in the silvery light, the man’s green eyes flashed with a glint of what unmistakably looked like pride.
He walked towards an untouched area in the ground, dropped the animal carelessly, slammed the edge of the shovel into the dirt, and began to dig. In a short time he was covered in sweat and had a hole just big enough for the mangled corpse, which he grabbed by the tail and tossed in. He turned the end of the shovel on its side and messily scraped the dirt onto the corpse, completely covering it. The man turned amd walked away down the path and back to his home, a smirk creeping across his face.
The contemplative horror of the man turned to a deranged fury. He couldn’t bear to look at himself; he didn’t want to relive those memories. It had begun not long ago; he had started to feel this pain on the inside. It was something that ignited when he saw his reflection and he couldn’t ignore it. He had always turned away from it, but it had become too much to bear.
With a pained anger, the man thrust a fist directly into the mirror, shattering it. He clenched his bleeding fist at his side and stared down at the pieces of shattered glass. His eyes seemed so much grayer than they once were.
Panting heavily, the man closed his eyes. At the time, he believed that what he did was justified. He was overcome with an obsession that became insanity, and his beliefs were beyond horrible. The man held skill and strength above all else, and couldn’t tolerate them to struggle and fall behind. Disposing of those who failed and were weak, he believed he would succeed as a trainer. Yet, after all was finished, he himself ended up failing.
Soon the terrible realization came, followed by tormenting guilt. He couldn’t sleep because of it. Now, he had come to see why he had been wrong, and he was horrified.
Slowly, with a shaking hand, he picked up a piece of glass. He knew he couldn’t bring them back; there was only one thing to do to even come close to justifying their death. And although his life wouldn’t make up for theirs, it was the only answer. There wasn’t another option for him.
He caught a reflection of his terrified face in the glass and tried to keep calm. But he was always afraid of death, incredibly ironic after what he had done. The man knew he had to force himself; he had to take control of himself or else it would not be done. He had to do it. Falling to his knees and then onto his back, he stared ahead at the ceiling, shaking tremendously.
Blood leaked out of his hand as he clutched the glass tighter. Would he scream? He feared dying more than anything, but he didn’t want to die a coward. He wanted to end his life calmly. Screaming would only show that he wanted to stay in this world, even if it meant to remain being tortured. The expression on his face suddenly became solemn as flashes of those he wrongfully murdered shot through his mind, and he took a deep breath.
Blood poured from his wrist.
He did not scream. Instead, he smiled.
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