Categories > Cartoons > Class of the Titans > Awake in a Dream: From Heavens Above


by NuuoaEclaire 3 reviews

Purple: The color of loneliness, and the color of mystery. A plea for help, and darkened emotions. Mix red with blue, despair, and you get purple.

Category: Class of the Titans - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst, Drama, Fantasy, Romance - Warnings: [!!] - Published: 2007-03-11 - Updated: 2007-03-12 - 1545 words

Authors Note: I need to update a lot today, and in a short period of time. I'm going away on vacation for about eight days, so I won't be able to update in that time. But I'll smother you all in love, in the form of writing, when I return. Can't say much else, must write. Miss you all! -Nuuoa Eclaire
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to Class of the Titans. But I've been plotting to kidnap Archie.
"I'm not the same, I changed. We all change, things change... maybe it's not always for the best."-?
Awake in a Dream: From Heavens Above
Chapter 2: Purple
Rain pelted lightly against a figure in a long black trench coat. The hooded human lifted its concealed face to snarl at the musky clouds. It was springtime Thursday in New Olympia, though this inhabitant had lost count of the days. But this was one day this angry person could never forget.

The smell that wafted off the grime of the concert brought this individual back to reality, as it pulled itself away from the gray sky. This human hated when the night left, because there was nowhere else to hide. And the stars were gone, banished by the orange paintbrush that gleamed in sunlight. Darn the day. Darn this day the most, to the pits of Hades.

This harsh shadow was The Wanderer. A person with a house, but never stayed, because the building was no longer home. A true loner, because it had friends, who cared and loved, but The Wanderer refused to be a part. Kicking their smiles.

Each slow footstep pulled the speck of black closer to its pain. A vague, distant memory tapping with every clunk on the ground. The color of gold-blinded crisp vision, becoming worse with its own rain, coming from the corners of The Wanderer's eyes. This person hadn't cried in a year.

Masked features, hidden under shadows turned grim. 'I've been out all night, my clothes are soaked. I need to get home.' Thoughts attacked the emotionless corpse, alive and dead all at once. But going home meant seeing it emptied, again.

Rats scurried unnoticed over The Wanderer's boots, and squeaked in pain as the same shoe kicked it violently, and rashly. 'A year ago.' This person had replaced words with thoughts, but it did less to harbor the vehement that lived under the skin.

The gloom that dwelled in the rough part of town seeped underneath The Wanderer's surface, and yet was burned away by the boiling anger. The soul consuming pain that fed of the despair of this very day.

Shivering and with a sniffle the dark clad shape leaned against the damp brick wall. 'Where have I gone this time?' The Wanderer thought numbly as eclipsed eyes surveyed the area.

Graffiti covered the long reddish wall that stretch far back to the main city. The fumes that were embedded into the air coated The Wanderer's throat with an acrid film. It wanted to cough. The new sky seemed to be grayer then normal out in this wasteland, halfway to the highway out of town, and littered with garbage. Vomit had a more alluring scent.

A sudden hacking fit brought The Wanderer to its knees. When the dry cough finally subsided its face was even grimmer. 'Damnit, now I'm sick too.' Cursing The Wanderer grasped onto the slippery surface with shaking pale hands. The thin fingers struggled to cling.

That word reminded The Wanderer of how far it was falling. Eventually it had to hit the ground, and it would hurt all the more the longer it took to reach to bottom. No one was there to catch The Wanderer. The open arms had left a year ago. And it was such a lonely fall, when you remembered that the soft voices around you were only echoes.

Life for this outcast was a frozen hell. Only because The Wanderer had left the pathway where its friends were. Still calling to no avail.

As if the momentary thought of The Wanderer's friends had brought on a cosmic connection, a fading beeping sounded from the muffled coat pocket.

The sound that confirmed when someone was lost, lying still, cold, and lifeless in a hospital bed. The heart-stopping beats that kept reminding you of death. The Wanderer's death.

There had been a time when this simple noise would've brought The Wanderer to its feet, sprung to life, lit by the match of adventure. Fiery and alive, the call of saving the world. But it wasn't true anymore. That was when the color red was painted over The Wanderer's heart, before it had faded in the storm. The greatest tempest imaginable.

Red: Passionate, alive, and vibrant. The color of love, and the heart. Actions that are usually rash, impulsive, and brought on by feelings.
Out of nowhere a strong gust of wind causing the heavy droplets to wipe the caked dirt off The Wanderer's face. A small strand of hair fell from its place behind The Wanderer's ear, and caused a stifled gasp of anguish to escape its cracked lips.

Purple. The hated color of The Wanderer's hair. The most repulsive, ugly, loathed color of it's kind. The new color of its heart.

Purple: The color of loneliness, and the color of mystery. A plea for help, and darkened emotions. Mix red with blue, despair, and you get purple.

'Fool,' The Wanderer drew blood unnecessarily from the side of its mouth as it bit down with white teeth. 'I'm some stupid love-sick fool... Dying my hair, because- because... idiot!'


"Shut up!" The Wanderer's voice cracked at the lack of water. Its throat was parched and scratchy. Pulling the small blue radio from the pocket of the ripped coat, the hood of The Wanderer's coat was pulled further over the bleak features.

The frantic face of a girl appeared on screen. Like sunlight her worry revealed a breath-taking smile. The young woman's smile wasn't the only thing that made you think of sunlight. Her hair was streaked with threads of the sun, contrasting against gingered rogue. Her cheeks were the flushed color of roses, and her face was oval shaped and perfect.

If she had been part of a story, she would probably have been a Mary-Sue, or something along those lines. Her emerald eyes sparkled with happiness at seeing the frowning face of her friend. A perfect word for this face: happiness. A slightly pert nose, and big eyes, with long dark lashes, and high cheekbones. She blinded The Wanderer more then the bright light of the screen. Theresa.

"There you are! We were soo worried! Where have you been? Where ARE you? Are you okay? Are-" The Wanderer allowed the words to drone out into an endless blab of non-sense.
"I'm fine," a hoarse voice replied. The beautiful face of Theresa melted into one of concern.
"Is it because today is-" Theresa didn't have to finish for the Wanderer to know what she meant.

The cloaked face twisted into a pallet of hurt and anguish.
"Just leave me be!" It snapped at the screen, Theresa looked like she had been slapped, her expression one of pain.
"You've changed."

The simple words made The Wanderer's heart sing a ballad of despair. The same words it had spoken long ago, yet so close to the present.
"I'm not the same, I changed. We all change, things change... maybe it's not always for the best." The Wanderer spoke in the foreshadowed irony. The same words had stabbed The Wanderer on this day. The Wanderer had another name.

Letting the sodden hood fall away, the dirtied hard face of Atlanta met the gray air. Her smile was crocked and out of place, her twilight eyes dead like that of a slave. The night without the stars. Her star. Fluffy, and her heart. Archie.

She was a young woman that looked like she had been taken and beaten until she had turned into stone. Her pixie like attributes had morphed into an expressionless mask. Atlanta was tragically beautiful, just as Annabelle had been. But she had gone the other direction. Not sadness. Anger.


Hanging up, and cutting off Theresa's plea, Atlanta let herself sink into the wall once more. It was the day Archie had left, along with part of her heart. She wasn't whole anymore. Atlanta had been fast, but not fast enough to out-run this.

She was all alone. No, she wished she was alone. Atlanta was stuck with herself. Trapped with the girl she had left behind. Left to watch her die. Left to watch her fall. Again.


Author's Note: Yes, I changed my mind. I decided I needed to bring Atlanta back in first, before going to the lives of the others, just because it felt so much more fitting, and surprising. Bet you weren't expecting it to be Atlanta, maybe Archie? Well, look what I did to her! First Theresa, now Atlanta. What's wrong with me? Well I need to see if I can get 'The Cold Side of Heart' up, too. Wish me luck! If not, I'll miss all of you! Don't forget to review! Bye! -Nuuoa Eclaire
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