Frank must choose to go with his death or not.
“Like falling in slow motion, into a pond or stream. Closing your eyes as you hit the water, reopening them just to watch as the sun falls away from you as you go further down, never to come back to the surface. It’s something that makes you want to panic, but you can’t. You don’t. Because you don’t have the energy to honestly care. Just another one of the victims of depression and alcohol. It’s not as though you want to be defeated by all of their hate, you just are.
“It has been a constantly raging battle, a fight to the death, and you’ve lost. Lost in the most tragic, uninspiring, defeated way. You’ve given up, decided it just isn’t worth it any more. The fights you get in, they don’t matter. There’ll always be another fight, another exchange of words. Another ending, another beginning, just as awful as the last.
“You realize that even if you finally have it good, someone will come just to tear the pieces you’ve finally built up down. There’s always going to be someone who can’t stand you, who won’t like you for who you are. You start to wonder, after a while, if there’s anyone who will like you for you. Maybe there is. Maybe there isn’t.
“You know that all the needless beatings will stop, eventually, when one of you is gone. You know that if you can hold on long enough, there will be justice and you will feel alive again. But you also don’t know if you can hold on long enough. You don’t know if they will stop or not, you don’t know if you’ll end up dead, drowned in a stream, beat to death. You just don’t know, and it tares you apart.
“You want to have a promise, even if it’s wretched. You want to know when it’ll stop, if it even will stop. You don’t want them to kill you, you want to die the way you want to, when you want to. And it’s that simple. You should know that itwon’t stop. Won’t ever stop, unless you do something. But it won’t stop, it won’t ever stop because you’re too weak, you can’t handle yourself. You can’t handle anything, you can’t even handle your own life.
“And that’s why you’re worthless. You’re useless, a pollution to the world that doesn’t need to exist. But you do? And why d you exist? It’s not fair to the rest of us that you do, that you take up our space and our air. You think we don’t want you here, and quite honestly, you’re right. We pull on our masks, we pretend to love you. But we don’t. We never have. You’re a let down, it’s a shame you exist.
“You wonder why you were ever born, and it’s not because God wanted you to exist. It’s not because there’s some one who wants you. You’re just a failed dream, a hope that never came true. You’re empty inside. You want to know a secret? No one ever cares without a reason. There’s always a lie behind our eyes, behind ours. We bring out the worst, we are the worst. You are the worst.
“So how does it feel? Knowing you’re barely alive? I know you long for what I can give you, the escape you can have. You can feel the rush as it happens, as I finally give you the forbidden fruit you so desire. It’s not as if I care. You’re just a piece of meat, in prime condition for devouring. It doesn’t matter that you have a mind, that you have a soul.
“It’s a fact you’ve accepted. Don’t deny it. I know you want what I offer. I want to give it to you. Not out of the goodness of my heart, of course. Give me your soul and I will take you to a new world, a world without fear and pain, a world without anything. A world where you’ll never be alone. A world where God does not exist. Come along now, you know I see the evil in your eyes.” The black haired reaper of death asks the teenager. The teenager who no longer wants to live, he’s given up.
“I-I don’t….My parents would be devastated.” The boy tries, his pierced lip quivering.
The reaper chuckles. “You don’t believe that.”
The boy looks away. “I… you want me to give you my soul? Why is it so important to you?”
The reaper eyes the boy. Few have ever asked a question like his before. “I want your soul because your soul is like a fire, it burn so bright yet it dims so muck. I’ve watched you for the last hour, and I think the memories of your life would taste delicious, a bitter sweet mix that would keep me satisfied for a very long time.” The reaper says finally, being honest with his prey. Really, the boy will end up dead eventually. That’s why he wants the soul now, before the wretched angels steal it away.
“I… will it hurt?” The boy asks, a look of defeat on his face.
“Yes. It will hurt very much. But if you look past the pain, you’ll find hope, pleasure…every positive memory you’ve ever had will play before your eyes and it’ll be done. You’ll be dead, you won’t have to deal with this life anymore.”
The boy sighs, but drags it out. “Take me.”
The reaper smiles. “I’d love to.” He steps closer to the boy, pulling the smaller, alive man into an embrace. He smells in the boy’s scent, and both men close their eyes as memories infest their minds and take over their souls. The reaper learns that he was right, the boy is a sweet flavor on his tongue, yet a bit of tart, the perfect combination in his mind. He sighs as the boy goes limp in his arms. “Gerard.” The reaper whispers in the dead boy’s ear, letting the soul know the name of the one who killed him. There is nothing worse than not knowing your killer.
So yeah. I have a bit of a writer's block with my other stories. I opened up a document to write them, but I somehow ended up doing this. It IS a one-shot. I don't really like angel things, so I really couldn't handle making it any longer! Rate! Review! My other stories will likely be updated soon!