Drop a Heart, Make A Name (1/?)
One day Pete was going to make his own story.
Not write it, writings too stressful, no make it.
“What is it that you regret in life?”
“Huh?” Pete looked up at the priest in disgust, “What a stupid question.”
“Peter,” The priest said sternly, “It’s essential.”
“Really?” Pete raised an eyebrow, “Well, it was just making the mistake of dying.”
Pete hid in the shadows. He liked the shadows cos’ no one could see what he had become. He couldn’t see what he had become. Half of him was glad he couldn’t be reflected, but it also made him felt like he wasn’t really there and that frightened him. Mirrors control some people and haunted others.
Do you know the feeling when you haven’t sleep at all? You’re sitting staring at something so hard that your eyeballs might fall out. That’s how Patrick felt, he had a lead. A spur of inspiration but he couldn’t follow it. He knew he should go to bed, that he was going to pay dearly for this. Finally he figured it out, but he felt someone put their arms around him from behind and stroke his hair. He tried to object but he never got the words out before Pete had whispered in his ear and he had fallen asleep on top of Pete. Forgetting everything, as Pete carried Patrick to his room, he had no idea just how close to humanity he’d got.
The blend failing, Pete could feel it and Patrick knew it. It wouldn’t be longer before Pete cracked and William Beckett would be waiting with open arms, no, they couldn’t let that happen so Patrick tried and tried to fix it.
“Here.”
Pete looked down at the blender with distaste, “What did you add this time?”
“Carrot.” Patrick said meekly.
“Inspired,” Pete smiled weakly at Patrick. But it was just that. Weak and false.
He was so close. Only about 10 centimeters. He could smell the sweet blood pumping through his veins. Patrick groaned a little and turned over in his sleep and Pete realized where he was and what he had almost done. Panicking, he sprinted as fast as he could out of the warehouse and along the streets. Breathing hard, not from exhaustion, but shock. He couldn’t go back there, ever and that thought made him want to cry.
“You’ll always protect him, Pete,” Gerard had once said, “but the question is what from.”
He knew now what Gerard meant.
Rain poured down from sky. It was like the world was crying, sweet, bitter tears of sorrow for what it has become. Pete watched them, fight for their lives. A line used far too much but life was a high stake now, taken for granted by the living and taken literally by the undead. Pete would have given his soul for a human life again but his soul, heart and very mind belonged to Patrick Stumph. So he wouldn’t.
Not write it, writings too stressful, no make it.
“What is it that you regret in life?”
“Huh?” Pete looked up at the priest in disgust, “What a stupid question.”
“Peter,” The priest said sternly, “It’s essential.”
“Really?” Pete raised an eyebrow, “Well, it was just making the mistake of dying.”
Pete hid in the shadows. He liked the shadows cos’ no one could see what he had become. He couldn’t see what he had become. Half of him was glad he couldn’t be reflected, but it also made him felt like he wasn’t really there and that frightened him. Mirrors control some people and haunted others.
Do you know the feeling when you haven’t sleep at all? You’re sitting staring at something so hard that your eyeballs might fall out. That’s how Patrick felt, he had a lead. A spur of inspiration but he couldn’t follow it. He knew he should go to bed, that he was going to pay dearly for this. Finally he figured it out, but he felt someone put their arms around him from behind and stroke his hair. He tried to object but he never got the words out before Pete had whispered in his ear and he had fallen asleep on top of Pete. Forgetting everything, as Pete carried Patrick to his room, he had no idea just how close to humanity he’d got.
The blend failing, Pete could feel it and Patrick knew it. It wouldn’t be longer before Pete cracked and William Beckett would be waiting with open arms, no, they couldn’t let that happen so Patrick tried and tried to fix it.
“Here.”
Pete looked down at the blender with distaste, “What did you add this time?”
“Carrot.” Patrick said meekly.
“Inspired,” Pete smiled weakly at Patrick. But it was just that. Weak and false.
He was so close. Only about 10 centimeters. He could smell the sweet blood pumping through his veins. Patrick groaned a little and turned over in his sleep and Pete realized where he was and what he had almost done. Panicking, he sprinted as fast as he could out of the warehouse and along the streets. Breathing hard, not from exhaustion, but shock. He couldn’t go back there, ever and that thought made him want to cry.
“You’ll always protect him, Pete,” Gerard had once said, “but the question is what from.”
He knew now what Gerard meant.
Rain poured down from sky. It was like the world was crying, sweet, bitter tears of sorrow for what it has become. Pete watched them, fight for their lives. A line used far too much but life was a high stake now, taken for granted by the living and taken literally by the undead. Pete would have given his soul for a human life again but his soul, heart and very mind belonged to Patrick Stumph. So he wouldn’t.