Against my will, I stand beside my own reflection...
Science fair, does anybody else participate in it?
I mean, yes, we still have science fairs, even in high school.
We do here in PA, at least. >_>
We had an after-school work session today, and there was pizza and stuff, so of course i stayed if there's food you obviously go duh
SCIENCE FAIRS ARE FUN, MKAY?
I did my project on what genre of music students here like.
Let's hope they like the demo CD I burned coughMCRcoughcough
We're also going to assume that, in this story, Frank was born in 1998 in October 31st, so he would be 13 and in 7th grade (that was the case for me)
This was a very touchy subject for me, considering my grandfather was quite dangerous and had almost killed me a few years ago.
Now he fucking lives in the same state and im gonna die oh lawdy save me
Please excuse the fact that my authours notes are longer than the chapters themselves, I'm trying to put in more events and details to make it interesting.
I forgot to say, I had originally started this story as a description of a situation I am currently in. Frank represents me (har) and every character represents somebody in my life. For instance, Gerard represents the boy that said thank you to me in seventh grade and now we just make goo-goo eyes at each other
lol imagine the names we get called
But yes. So, uh. Happy birthday.
Title from Linkin Park
"See you at home." Franks mom said with a smile as Frank hopped down the bus steps.
"See you mom." Frank said, waving, before he jogged over to his home at the end of street.
Frank fumbled with his one house key as he walked into his driveway before noticing the red sports car parked in his front yard. Furrowing his eyebrows together, he walked quickly to the car to peer inside, and to hopefully identify the owner that was nonchalantly sat in the front seat. As Frank walked closer, he noticed three disturbing features of this man;
The short brown hair, curling ever-so slightly at the ends
The stern, piercing blue eyes that looked over a pair of Aviators
The well-worn EVERLAST jacket
"Oh shit!" Frank whispered as he tried turning around to run, instead falling and trying to helplessly gain his legs again. He finally scrambled to his feet, using his hands to support him as he pushed himself up.
"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit why why why shit shit shitty mcshit shits." Frank cursed again.
As Frank had finally reached his front door, the man in car noticed Franks presence and began to try and get out of the car. To Franks great relief, the man was hindered by his seatbelt, granting Frank a few seconds more to unlock his house door and get inside. Just when Frank shut the door, he locked it and his breath grew rapid as adrenaline began to flow, noticing the fear and danger. The man had gotten out of his car and was running to the back of the house.
Why's he going back there??? Frank thought.
Looking around, Frank felt a cold draft coming from his basement door. Curious, Frank sped downstairs without turning the light on, realizing that the back door was being destroyed. Before Frank could react, the door wood splintered and sent chips flying everywhere, and a large hole of light to pour into the room. Frank saw the face of the attacker through the hole, and noted the axe the man was using to bust the door. Looking next to him, Frank saw an open pocketknife on the spare computer desk.
Convenient. Frank chuckled as he thought.
Grabbing the knife, Frank angled his hand, concentrating on the aim. Using what 4 years of street experience he had, Frank threw the knife with full force to the door 8 feet away.
The knife rotated vertically a number of times, cutting through the air at a swift pace, missing the last hit of the mans axe and hitting him between the eyebrows, into his forehead and puncturing his very skull. The man flew down, but not before crossing his eyes up to look at the knife in his head.
Not before ripping it out.
Not before throwing it in the direction it came from.
Not before hitting Frank in his chest.
Not before it killed frank and he died on the floor mwuhahahah
okay i'll stop now
In what seemed like small inches to Frank, he realized that the knife had just missed his heart. He stood in shock before easing the knife out painfully, slowly. Calling nine-one-one, his mother, or the police were all far from Franks mind. Instead, he decided to check to see if the attacker was dead or just merely knocked out.
Not bothering to try and open the door using the destroyed handle, he stepped cautiously through the giant hole the axe had created from just 3 blows (lets be mature about the word 'blows' okay guys?), and kicked the man softly onto his side using his feet. The man didn't stir, so as a safe test, he jumped on the mans most precious parts. The man still did not stir. Seeing this as a good sign, Frank put his fingers up to the mans neck and rested his head on his chest, feeling and hearing for a pulse.
There wasn't one.
"Whoa." Frank said, looking at the knife he still held that was dripping with a mixture of the dead mans and his own blood. He flinched away from it, dropping it with a clatter onto his concrete patio. As he dropped it, the noise brought Frank to reality, and the adrenaline stopped it's fast flow through his nerves. Running inside with a last glance to the man who lay motionless, Frank dialed the emergency number and explained what had happened.
After thanking the operator and hanging up, he opened the medicinal cabinet that was in the kitchen and began to clean the deep wound in his chest with hydrogen peroxide and a towel, packing it with gauze and sighing heavily when he finished. Calling his mother wouldn't make any sense; it was 3:50, she would be home within ten minutes.
Frank looked through the first level of his house; his kitchen seemed the same as it had been when he left it in the morning. His bowl of Cheerios (topped with mountains of sugar) was rotting away in a bowl, his mothers bus route folders lay diagonally on the red counter, there were dishes piling in the sink, and the Keurig was unplugged.
The living room was another story.
What Frank had once cherished as an Xbox 360 was now torn apart, lying smashed on the floor next a dent in the wall. His custom order remotes were busted as well, along with the cracked 50" HD TV. The white leather couches were stacked on top of one another, precariously starting from the smallest couch up with the largest couch that tipped uncertainly from side to side. His mothers laptop, along with the out-dated computer on it's correct desk, were also destroyed.
Nice going, she's gonna flip more shits over her laptop than everything else put together. Frank thought as he sighed heavily, causing his lips to blubber like they did when he sat on the bus this afternoon.
He decided he needed to calm down, so he walked to the downstairs bathroom, turned on the faucet, and waited for the water to heat up. As he waited, he stared at where the gold crested mirror used to be, now just a blank space showing the lily wallpaper he had picked out with his mom so many years ago.
He put his finger under the running water, decided it was warm enough, and buried his face in the sink. He let the water soak into his hair and pores, draining away the few tears that now seeped from his closed eyes. When he was satisfied and he felt no more feeling, he turned he water off and dried his face off with the black towels that were, surprisingly, still hanging on their metal rod. He looked once more to his bare and bandaged chest before glancing to the stairway.
He ran upstairs and opened each of the three rooms besides his own. Everywhere he looked, there was some sort of devastation. Maybe a bed had been ripped, clothing burned into ashes in a corner, window panes pushed out, and there was this smell. Frank couldn't identify it, but it smelled of rotten fish and metal. After looking solemnly at each room, he turned the knob to his own.
He had been given the first choice of rooms, and he chose the largest. It had first been purple when the house was bought, but Frank painted over it with an olive drab green colour before covering it with band posters and pages from Alternative Press magazine. He had also printed numerous pictures of his biggest heroes: Chester Charles Benningtonm, the front man of Linkin Park; the band, Silverstein; and Amy Lee of Evanescence. She was the one that Frank was inspired by the most.
The first thing Frank noticed was his mirror, shattered onto his floor. The dresser was overturned. His bed covers were missing. His art drawer had been violated, and his work had been scattered everywhere, no doubt by the man he'd just killed-
His own grandfather.
Frank walked slowly to the broken mirror, examining the damage with a slow and hazy gaze. When he reached the mirror, the gaze was met with multiple duplicates of his face, all of them staring from different shard of glass that lead to where to mirror had been hit in the center. He reached out and touched a piece of the glass gingerly before punching it.
His reflection was the last thing he needed to see.