Beginning At The End
Title: Beginning At The End
Rating: Mature
World: Original
Characters: Frank, OC
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 1,061
Summary Fact: All life ends in death... but why should that stop writers? Write a short story where death ends in life.
The world swum and span beneath his feet- colours and shapes blending together in a wonderful blur. It made everything feel so surreal, so magical. His feet hit the pavement in an odd rhythm; it was like dancing only without the class, the grace and the beauty. A laugh escaped his lips as his feet started to skid from under him, sending him reeling for a few paces before he caught himself and danced on. Everything was a whirl of lights and sound. It was a typical Friday night.
A car horn sounded to his left and he froze, forcing the world back into focus. Somehow his feet had danced him all the way off the kerb and into the road, sending the drivers honking angrily at his intrusion.
‘Like angry geese.’ He laughed to himself, taking a few steps back onto the pavement.
His fingers tightened around the bottle and he stared down at it, wondering for a moment what the shining thing between his fingers was. He lifted to his eyes, studying the lid before lifting his other hand to unscrew it. After a couple of failed attempts he lifted the open bottle to his lips, eyes closing at the familiar burn of vodka in the back of his throat. Eventually the burn stopped and the empty bottle crashed to the floor, sending shards of crystal flying everywhere.
“Fuck.”
Brown eyes dropped to the floor, fixated on the pieces that glittered like stardust. For a moment he debated bending down to gather up the shards, hoping he could put them back together again. His tongue ran over the cold steel in his lip and he shook his head to himself, hand fumbling in his back pocket.
He pulled out the packet of cigarettes, mouthing out the letters R-E-G-A-L to himself, a packet he’d stolen from the guy at the bar. Suddenly the world took an unexpected lurch and he was forced to step backwards, reeling further as the pavement dropped under his feet.
It was too late. He was drunk. He never saw it coming.
Headlights glared and the panicked blare of the horn cut through the air. He would never have gotten out of the way. The slim body was propelled forwards by the truck, sent flying through the air as if he were on strings.
For a moment the boy thought he could see his own body crashing onto the earth, although he felt no pain. Then everything was lost in a flash of white light.
The paramedics pronounced him dead on arrival.
The girl stared at the empty glass in front of her, her face angry as if it had done her some terrible wrong just by being empty. She lifted the cigarette to her lips, taking a deep inhale and letting the acrid smoke burn the back of her throat. Letting the smoke trail from her lips like a waterfall she lifted the bottle and poured herself a new drink, watching as the sparkling mixture of drinks flowed between the bottle and glass. She turned her head to look at the pill bottle beside her and poured a handful of the painkillers into her hand, her face a picture of steely determination. She was lifting the hand to her mouth when she heard it, a soft thud from not far off. Grey eyes lifted from the pills to the location of the noise, spotting a skinny confused looking boy standing not far off.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
Frank rubbed his head, that wonderful delirious drunken feeling had been cruelly ripped from him, along with his cigarettes, his vodka and apparently his home. There was a voice from not far off and he looked up. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, all her could see was a shock of bright red hair. Once everything came into focus he realised he was looking at a girl. A rather pissed off looking girl.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“I’m not quite sure.” He admitted, spotting the half empty bottle of gin and packet of cigarettes. “But seeing as I’m here, and sobering up, mind if I join you?”
“I’m kind of busy.”
Frank stopped walking towards the red-head and studied her carefully. For the first time he saw the bottle of pills and the blade. His eyebrows knitted into a frown and he shook his head, going to sit beside the girls anyway.
“You don’t want to do that kid.” He sighed, leaning forwards and stealing one of her cigarettes. “Richmond, not bad.”
“I prefer Benson & Hedges Silver but I only had those in the house and I’m out of money.” She paused and shook her head. “That’s beside the point. Who are you? What are you doing here? And why the hell should I listen to you?!”
“I’m Frank.” He grinned, extending a hand. “And you are?”
“Lauren. But you never answered my other questions.” She replied shortly, shaking the extended hand.
“I have no idea how I got here and you should listen to me because I am wise.” He grinned, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. “Seriously kid, suicide is a bullshit thing to do. You’re going to end up hurting a lot more people than you think.”
“And you would know would you?”
“Yeah.” The black-haired boy sighed.
“Oh.”
There was an awkward silence and Frank turned to look at his new friend. She grabbed the gin mixture and downed a good few gulps of it before handing the bottle over to him, her pills long forgotten on the dirt.
“Here I’m sorry.”
“No harm.” He smiled. “Just, promise me you won’t do it,”
She nodded. “Sure. Just… sorry.”
“Like I said no harm. My friend wouldn’t have wanted me to be moping after her still now. If she was here she’d probably be high-fiving me for heroics. Then giving me a lecture for getting so drunk before.”
The girl nodded, a small smile on her lips before she glanced up at the setting sun.
“Hey, do you have a place to stay tonight?”
Frank thought carefully then shook his head. “Guess I don’t.”
“Come stay at mine, least I can do for my guardian angel.”
“You sure.”
“’Course. I have more drinks back at mine, quick before they’re gone…”
Disclaimer: I don’t make any money off this writing and the characters all belong to me. It’s fiction and in no way am I saying that anything I write about has or will actually happen (with the exception of reference to true historical events of course).
Bascically I don’t own, I don’t make money, don’t sue.
Author’s Notes: This was originally written for the March prompt at ProsePlease@dA but I quite like it so here it is.
Rating: Mature
World: Original
Characters: Frank, OC
Chapter: 1/1
Word Count: 1,061
Summary Fact: All life ends in death... but why should that stop writers? Write a short story where death ends in life.
The world swum and span beneath his feet- colours and shapes blending together in a wonderful blur. It made everything feel so surreal, so magical. His feet hit the pavement in an odd rhythm; it was like dancing only without the class, the grace and the beauty. A laugh escaped his lips as his feet started to skid from under him, sending him reeling for a few paces before he caught himself and danced on. Everything was a whirl of lights and sound. It was a typical Friday night.
A car horn sounded to his left and he froze, forcing the world back into focus. Somehow his feet had danced him all the way off the kerb and into the road, sending the drivers honking angrily at his intrusion.
‘Like angry geese.’ He laughed to himself, taking a few steps back onto the pavement.
His fingers tightened around the bottle and he stared down at it, wondering for a moment what the shining thing between his fingers was. He lifted to his eyes, studying the lid before lifting his other hand to unscrew it. After a couple of failed attempts he lifted the open bottle to his lips, eyes closing at the familiar burn of vodka in the back of his throat. Eventually the burn stopped and the empty bottle crashed to the floor, sending shards of crystal flying everywhere.
“Fuck.”
Brown eyes dropped to the floor, fixated on the pieces that glittered like stardust. For a moment he debated bending down to gather up the shards, hoping he could put them back together again. His tongue ran over the cold steel in his lip and he shook his head to himself, hand fumbling in his back pocket.
He pulled out the packet of cigarettes, mouthing out the letters R-E-G-A-L to himself, a packet he’d stolen from the guy at the bar. Suddenly the world took an unexpected lurch and he was forced to step backwards, reeling further as the pavement dropped under his feet.
It was too late. He was drunk. He never saw it coming.
Headlights glared and the panicked blare of the horn cut through the air. He would never have gotten out of the way. The slim body was propelled forwards by the truck, sent flying through the air as if he were on strings.
For a moment the boy thought he could see his own body crashing onto the earth, although he felt no pain. Then everything was lost in a flash of white light.
The paramedics pronounced him dead on arrival.
The girl stared at the empty glass in front of her, her face angry as if it had done her some terrible wrong just by being empty. She lifted the cigarette to her lips, taking a deep inhale and letting the acrid smoke burn the back of her throat. Letting the smoke trail from her lips like a waterfall she lifted the bottle and poured herself a new drink, watching as the sparkling mixture of drinks flowed between the bottle and glass. She turned her head to look at the pill bottle beside her and poured a handful of the painkillers into her hand, her face a picture of steely determination. She was lifting the hand to her mouth when she heard it, a soft thud from not far off. Grey eyes lifted from the pills to the location of the noise, spotting a skinny confused looking boy standing not far off.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
Frank rubbed his head, that wonderful delirious drunken feeling had been cruelly ripped from him, along with his cigarettes, his vodka and apparently his home. There was a voice from not far off and he looked up. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, all her could see was a shock of bright red hair. Once everything came into focus he realised he was looking at a girl. A rather pissed off looking girl.
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“I’m not quite sure.” He admitted, spotting the half empty bottle of gin and packet of cigarettes. “But seeing as I’m here, and sobering up, mind if I join you?”
“I’m kind of busy.”
Frank stopped walking towards the red-head and studied her carefully. For the first time he saw the bottle of pills and the blade. His eyebrows knitted into a frown and he shook his head, going to sit beside the girls anyway.
“You don’t want to do that kid.” He sighed, leaning forwards and stealing one of her cigarettes. “Richmond, not bad.”
“I prefer Benson & Hedges Silver but I only had those in the house and I’m out of money.” She paused and shook her head. “That’s beside the point. Who are you? What are you doing here? And why the hell should I listen to you?!”
“I’m Frank.” He grinned, extending a hand. “And you are?”
“Lauren. But you never answered my other questions.” She replied shortly, shaking the extended hand.
“I have no idea how I got here and you should listen to me because I am wise.” He grinned, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag. “Seriously kid, suicide is a bullshit thing to do. You’re going to end up hurting a lot more people than you think.”
“And you would know would you?”
“Yeah.” The black-haired boy sighed.
“Oh.”
There was an awkward silence and Frank turned to look at his new friend. She grabbed the gin mixture and downed a good few gulps of it before handing the bottle over to him, her pills long forgotten on the dirt.
“Here I’m sorry.”
“No harm.” He smiled. “Just, promise me you won’t do it,”
She nodded. “Sure. Just… sorry.”
“Like I said no harm. My friend wouldn’t have wanted me to be moping after her still now. If she was here she’d probably be high-fiving me for heroics. Then giving me a lecture for getting so drunk before.”
The girl nodded, a small smile on her lips before she glanced up at the setting sun.
“Hey, do you have a place to stay tonight?”
Frank thought carefully then shook his head. “Guess I don’t.”
“Come stay at mine, least I can do for my guardian angel.”
“You sure.”
“’Course. I have more drinks back at mine, quick before they’re gone…”
Disclaimer: I don’t make any money off this writing and the characters all belong to me. It’s fiction and in no way am I saying that anything I write about has or will actually happen (with the exception of reference to true historical events of course).
Bascically I don’t own, I don’t make money, don’t sue.
Author’s Notes: This was originally written for the March prompt at ProsePlease@dA but I quite like it so here it is.