Falling Inside the Black Collaberation One Shot

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Permalink Reply by Bobina156 on September 4, 2010 at 12:21am

“What did I do?! You’re the one who brought up Wynter! You’re the one who made me mad! This is your fault!” I roared, “I hate you, you idiot! Thanks to you I’ll have to freeze in my sleep! Well at least I’ll know how Wynter felt when I let her drowned in that damn lake!”

Egan, taking deep breaths to calm his temper, replied, “Just sleep in the den. In there you can have a bit of privacy. Now just shut up and go there while I call someone who can fix this wall.”

“You can’t tell me what to do old man! I’m not a god damn little kid anymore! In just a few months I’ll be a full citizen! When I turn 18, I hope I never see you filthy mug again!” I snapped at him as I stalked out of the house, smashing everything in my wake. Our bookshelf went tumbling down, as did several lamps, and chairs.

I blindly grabbed the keys to my old Rabbit, and stormed out into the garage. I got into my car, backed out of the small space, and down the icy driveway. My hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white, my thoughts weren’t of my few fellow drivers lives, but on a more dangerous and painful topic; Wynter’s death. It played over and over again in my head. And every time I remembered her beautiful face slipping beneath the frigid water for the last time, my fury and my need to stop the pain at any cost grew twice as high as the previous remembrance.

In a very small part in the back of my mind, a voice small enough to be easily ignored screamed that I was driving recklessly; that what I was going to do was the stupidest thing I would probably ever do, that it would make Egan feel what I felt. It screamed that I was losing my mind; it screamed that I’d never go through with this; that the Canadian laws would make sure I’d never be able to through with this. But I pushed that little irritating voice down to the deepest darkest most unvisited part of my brain.

I was breathing hard as I turned the corner of my street. At least if I didn’t make it to the one building that would help me, I’d be able to help myself on this road. It wouldn’t be as Wynter had been helped, but then again neither way was. I was so absorbed in my blood racing with fury, that I almost ended my mission right then and there as a car backed out of its driveway. I swerved instinctively, and continued on my thirst for help.

Somehow in my blinding rage I ended up at Davy Jones Liquor Locker at the edge of town. The brick building seemed lonely and outcast in the line of all the other stores. They all had people smiling and laughing in them, while the liquor store only had a single shabby man that sat behind the outdated cash register.

I slammed the door to my run down rabbit—idly hearing the squealing of the bolts in the door as it clicked back into place. I walked across the close to empty parking lot, and pushed the stain covered glass door open. The bell above the door jingled happily—as if there was something to be happy about. Truthfully, it only made me more pissed off. Who puts something so mediocre and childish in a place where only angry and hopeless people come?

Walking hurriedly out of the sight of the man's watchful eyes, I headed to the back coolers of the store. I looked through them diligently, searching for the beer with the highest alcohol percentage. I had beer before—at parties and friends houses. It wasn't like I was anyone new to the drunken life. I just didn't do it often because Wynter hadn't liked it. But there was nothing stopping me now. Not a damn thing.

I reached into the blowing freezer and grabbed a twelve pack of cheap beer, and carried it easily to the counter. As I slammed it on the surface, I met eyes with the robust man, and his eyes seemed to judge me. They were black and soulless, and his rat like face was bitter and uncaring. I wordlessly pulled out my wallet while he continued to glare at me.

“I'm gonna need to see some ID.” He snapped, not moving to ring out the beer. I bit down on my trembling lip.

“Just sell me the damn beer.” Of course I didn't have the ID for beer—I was only seventeen. But who made that stupid law anyway? Was life any less painful at seventeen? In those meager months between turning eighteen were you any less mature than you would be eighteen? No. So what did age really have to do with buying beer? I wanted it, and god dammit, I would have it.

“I can't sell you beer unless you have an ID proving you’re eighteen. So if you’re not; then get the hell out of my shop, punk.” He spat. The bubbling began in the bottom of my stomach and rigidly started to climb up my body. The heat was starting to seep into my muscles and nerves, setting them on fire.

“Seriously you ugly jerk; ring up the beer.” I demanded, trying to control the anger in my voice. He smiled slyly and shook his round head.

“No. Now get out of my store before I call the cops.” He threatened. The anger was almost in full control of my body; and I knew there was no way I could control it now. “I said get out. What are you deaf?”

I reached over the counter and gripped my hands around his filthy t-shirt pulling his face towards me. His rotten smell wafted up nose, burning the inside, but the numbness in my body pretty much blocked it from my mind.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. I would just ring up the beer, and not say a word about it.” I hissed.

“And if I was you; I would kill myself. You dirty, pitiful little boy.” He retorted. The anger controlled my arms fully as I lifted him from his chair and hurtled him across the way. He collided with a rack of chips and dip, sending it and himself crashing to the mark covered linoleum floor. I took his momentary distraction to my advantage and grabbed the case of beer before turning and sprinting out the door.

“Hey!” He yelled behind me, but I didn't hear it through the pounding in my ears. I yanked the door open to the car and hopped inside. I dropped the beer on the passenger seat and twisted the key in the ignition, silently thanking it for starting right away. Then I slammed my foot into the gas pedal forcing the steering wheel to the left sharply. The car roared weakly as it sped away from the store, and down the close to empty road.

My heart pounded fervently as I sped down the road, and sweat beaded my forehead. I could feel every molecule in my body like they were live wires. I was so aware of what was going on around me—it was almost like I inherited superpowers. I could feel the chilling breeze wheezing out the vent onto my hot skin, feel the hot plastic of the steering wheel under my clammy hands, and hear the generic sounds of cars and traffic around me. My ears strained to hear the sound of sirens chasing me, but the only times I thought I heard them, it turned out to be my imagination.

Once I was halfway across town it hit me that I stolen something and assaulted a man—but I wasn't going to get caught. If he had called the police and told them what happened they would be following me right now. But there wasn't a sign of any police cars anywhere near me. It had been so easy, and had passed in a few meager seconds.

Feeling just the slightest bit better; I headed towards a place I had swore never to go back too. I drove past the rows on rows of evergreen trees that were covered in a frosty glaze of snow absentmindedly. As I neared closer to the small clearing before the lake my hands began to shake on their own accord. It took twice the effort more than usual to pull the shift into park and shut the ignition off.

Ignoring the alarm bells that were ringing in my head I lumbered out the car, bringing the beer with me, and headed toward the newly frozen over pit of death. Now there was a huge sign in front of the lake that stated in big red letters “Thin Ice. Continue at own risk.”

I snorted arrogantly and passed right by it. Apparently every little thing you did now a days was a risk. Getting out of bed was a bloody risk. You could trip and break your neck at any second. You could get attacked by any random bozo and be killed. Everything in this life was unpredictable and deadly. So what was really the point of living? Why didn't we just cower in the corner of our warm houses and never refrain from them? Why did we all go on living when we knew we would just die in the end anyway?

My head began to spin with deep and thoughtful thinking, and I was forced to sit down on the very same log that had tripped me when I smashed my face into the ice three days ago. Once I was sitting still the cold started to seep through my jacket and into the pores of my skin. I began to feel the rushing of the metallic air in my veins, numbing my body from the inside slowly. I cringed at how this made me remember the feeling of the freezing water overtaking me slowly, and the way Wynter's skin felt as I made last contact with it.

There was a stab in my heart, and the tears began to form as crystals in my eyes. I ripped the first beer bottle out the pack, feeling the icy glass against my bare fingers. I twisted the cap off and threw it back in the cardboard box as I began to tilt the bottle towards my lips. As the bitter liquid spilled into my hot mouth I felt the merciless pain that had been rendering over my body for the last few days start to slip away.

Every gulp of alcohol was a band-aid for my shredded heart that had a million cuts over it. The bitter taste turned to sweet as I sucked down the second bottle and set the first beside me. I started to feel warmth in the pit of my stomach as it drove the cold away. I continued to chug them down evidently, almost completely blind to the pain I felt before.

As I took hold of my fifth and sixth, I stumbled to my feet and clumsily dragged them across the frozen ground, onto the pure white ice. My boots slid underneath me, but somehow I made me way to the middle of the ice field. I gulped down half the fifth beer, then jumped in the air as high as I could. As my feet touched down on the ground again I expected the ice to crack from the impact; but no such luck.

I jumped up again with more force, and slammed my feet down against the ice. Still no avail. I jumped several more times, but the ice seemed determined to outlive me. I finished off the beer in the fifth glass, then smashed it down against the ice. It shattered of course, but the ice did not copy.

“Break, God Dammit!” I cursed into the air with a slurred voice. I hopped down again and again, but not a single crack came to the ice. “How come you broke when Wynter stood on you, innocent and undeserving, but you won't break underneath me? I'm a bad person. I deserve to die!” I cried, tears finally falling out of my eyes.

I waited for the ice to reply and tell me its woes and excuses. But it was a faceless enemy that wouldn't release its hold on me. “Take me down with her! I don't want to stay here!” I screamed, my vision blurred by the hot tears that muddled over.

My knees began to go weak with agony and fatigue, and I slid to the ground. I pounded my already scabbed knuckles against the ice, trying to kill it for what it did. But all my endless punches accomplished was tearing the wounds open again and making them even deeper and sicker looking. But I didn't feel hurt from it, thanks to the over consumption of beer.

When my energy came to its absolute end I took one last swing of beer before I collapsed in a helpless pile on the uneven ground. I breathed heavily, and I could see my dark puffs of breath in the crisp air that surrounded me. Tears fell from the edges of my face, making tiny 'plops' of noise as the hit the ice. They felt like acid on my face—like each one was a tiny burn of recognition for my mistakes. I deserved every single type of pain the world could thrust upon me at this point.

I was to blame for her death. I was the reason that the rest of the world would never get to feel the warming presence of Wynter Hoppkins. I was a killer.



“Asher?!”A far away and hazy voice called from somewhere. I drifted slowly out of the mist of sleep, and diligently became aware of my surroundings. I was numb all over, and my lashes were frozen to my face like tiny icicles, and I had a growing pain in my head.

“Asher?” The voice called again. I peeled my eyes open, and looked for the source of the light voice. Through the fog I saw a blonde figure sliding across the ice towards me. For a second—one single second—I imagined it was my sweet Wynter. That she was coming to save me from the darkness I had immersed in. But my mind took over at that point and reminded me that Wynter was dead and gone forever.

As my vision became clearer, and the figure closer, I saw who it really was. It was Summer, Wynter's younger sister. She was fifteen, had the same bleach blonde hair as Wynter, and was almost a perfect duplicate of her except she had emerald green eyes. Her face was puffy and red from crying, and her eyes were hollow and sad.

“Summer?” I croaked, perplexed on what was going on. How long had I been out, and why was she here?

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” She gasped, kneeling beside me, and grasping a beer bottle in her hand.

“Forgetting.” I snapped, pulling it from her and sipping down the small amount that remained in the bottom. She shook her head in disgust and snatched it from me.

“You got drunk illegally, and came out here to kill yourself? Is that it Asher?” She yelled, pulling me limply to my feet. My head spun furiously and my insides churned.

“No.” I recoiled, but her face was unconvinced and waiting. “I don't know what I was doing, okay!” I surrendered, stumbling back towards my car.

She grabbed my arm savagely, and pulled me to face her. “I can't believe you would do something like this. You could have died out here!”

“So what?” I retorted bitterly.

“So what?” She repeated in a disbelieving voice. “What about Kain? What about Egan? You think they could handle loosing you too? You think I could handle it?”

I stayed silent, knowing there wasn't anything I could argue with. “You were being selfish Asher. Trying to take the easy way out, and leave us all here with the mess!” She cried, shaking her oval head. “She would have been so disappointed in you.”

“Don't talk about her.” I whimpered, unable to dull the pain that came at her words.

“I will talk about her. I'm not going to try and forget her like you. She was real. She was my sister. I loved her. And so did you. So respect her and don't ruin your life just because she is gone.”

“She was my life! How am I supposed to move on from her?” I sobbed, not able to control the overflowing tears.

“Just live, and be happy.” She said casually. I scoffed in dismay.

“So just be fake and pretend it's all okay? Pretend like it doesn't kill me every time I realize that I will never hold her again? Pretend that I'm alright when I'm not?” I shot back.

“No. Don't pretend. Just understand that you can move on. She will be in your heart forever, but don't let her death take over your life. She would hate herself for it.” She whispered, placing her pale hand over my heart.

I yanked it away immediately, not feeling comfort at all from the touch. I didn't want to believe what she was saying—I couldn't. My mind couldn't accept what everyone had been telling me, and I wasn't sure if it ever would.

I just turned away wordlessly and stalked back to my truck, not bothering to get the rest of the beer. I didn't want it anymore—I didn't want any of it. As I sat in the vinyl seat of the car warmth started to prickle my skin and I closed my eyes trying to relax.

Once I had my emotions under some sort of control; I started the car and backed up. I wasn't sure where I was going, or what to expect, but I knew it would never be enough to for fill the hole in my chest.


One Week Later

The excruciating pain in my head was violent, unforgiving, and constant. It was like my brain was throbbing in the enclosed walls of my skull, hammering to get out. I was almost surprised that it wasn't oozing out my ears already.

I laid sprawled across the corroded couch, sheets sticking to my skin from the hot layer of sweat that filmed over my body. My breathing was ragged and moist, scratching the inside of my tender throat like a knife. I was thirsty, hunger, and overtired. But I didn't want food or water—I wanted my getaway.

The thing that saved me from the heart wrenching pain that would loom over my body ever second—the thing that made me feel like living again. And right now I was suffering madly from the lack of it. Without it I was nothing, and without it I would die in this black hole of a life.

Somehow I managed to pull my mangled and weak body off the moist couch, and stumbled across the room to the door. Maybe it was the craving for it that drove me. Or maybe it was because I had nothing else in life.

I grabbed my black windbreaker off a coat hook behind the door, and shrugged it over my bare chest and jeans. It wasn't for warmth, but to cover the many scars that ran down my arms from the drugs. The holes from the threatening tips of the needles, and the branded scar from the band that I wrapped around my upper arm when I did it. Egan hadn't seen them yet—and I hoped for his sake that he never did. He was one of those people that was excessively into the anti-drug programs in school and such. I for one had never understood it. Teens do drugs. That just how it is. What's the point of D.A.R.E and stuff? They do drugs anyway. These people were all just wasting their time.

I sneaked out of the house easily; thankful that Egan was in his room upstairs and far away from me. He had left me alone the past week which I was very grateful for. Seeing people just made it all worse. And even the strongest drugs couldn't block out the pain that my family and friends carried around with them to hurt me. I had to be alone, and I was sure I would be for the rest of my pitiful life.

As I walked into the frosty air it bit at me evilly, laughing with the wind silently. I climbed into my car and twisted the ignition savagely. When the engine revved I hit the gas pedal and sped forward. I twined around the half empty streets, ignoring the traffic and noises around me. My mind was isolated from the rest of the world, like I was in quarantine. I was just some virus that roamed around the world, looked down on by everyone. I wanted to surrender—I really did—and I eventually would. No one could stop me.

As I zoomed past uptown into downtown, the scenery changed drastically. Streets became bumpy, alley's more plentiful and shops weirder. I drove till I reached the warehouse district, where the buildings stood abandoned and ghostly. I parked on the side of the road, and began to walk down the street further. I continued around the corner where there was a chained in lot. But the gate was broken and hanging on its hinges as it had been for years.

I walked past the gate towards the edge of the building where my regular dealer, Jinx, had set up shop. I could hear muffled voices, but I didn't think that it was anything unusual. Man, had I been wrong.

Just as I careened around the corner; time stopped, and I could see everything. Jinx stood pinned against the chain link fence, face fearful and begging. His black hair was fanned across his face; emphasizing his bloodshot eyes. The man that pinned him was taller and lankier than Jinx, with a long and gangly face. His short cropped hazel hair was covered in dirt and debris, and his brown trench coat was too.

The man was shaking, and sweat beaded his forehead heavily. As the crunch of my feet alerted him that I was there, he twisted around to face me, eyes huge with worry and grief. In the hand that wasn't pressed against Jinx's throat he held a pistol. A Desert Eagle to be exact.

I felt the wet thump of my heart as it slammed against my chest, and the surge of electricity that swam through me willing me to move. Every muscle strained to rip out my skin and run away; but my body was frozen. There was nothing I could do—and the reality of this was agony.

I swear I saw the shock that crossed the man's face as his finger squeezed the trigger to the untamed gun. I heard the click of the bullet slide into place, and then the whizzing as it sliced through the air. I only had time to close my eyes and wish that I could have escaped before it hit me.

It thrashed through the skin on the top left part of my chest, drilling deeper and deeper into my flesh. My body was thrown backwards, and I was forced down into the chilling snow. I could hear the bullet snickering as it forced the blood in my body to shoot continuous out of the hole it had created, emptying my body faster and faster of the necessary liquid.

It was striping me of my life in a few milliseconds, and the dark mist that had loomed in the back of my mind began to take control and fold over my sight. There was almost no pain—it was over too fast. But I did feel the regret that I had ended this way. I wanted to fight it; to get my life back. But I had given up when she died. I didn't even have a chance.

My last seconds were filled with Wynter. Her smile. Her laugh. Her smell. The feeling she had given me when she told me she loved me. But I was falling to fast to hold onto the memories. I was falling at extreme speeds. I was falling inside the black.


“Gunshot...heart area.” Sirens. Crying.

“Call and ambulance! He's still alive!” Movement. Dizziness.

“He's going into cardiac arrest!” Shouting. “We're going to lose him!”

“Quick hand me the paddles! Set it to 250!” A voice cried. An electric shock.

“Again!” Another shock.

A cold hand pressed against my chest, and it spread a spark through my body. “Asher, wake up.” It called. This voice was unlike the other ones...it was more urgent, but gently and harmonious at the same time.

Was it an angel? An angel coming to carry me away from this desolate place? I sure hoped so. Even though I was sure that I would go to Hell if there was an afterlife.

“Asher baby, please wake up!” The angelic voice urged again, and I realized whose voice it was. Wynter. I wanted to call out to her—to swim out of the darkness and hold her. But I couldn't do anything.

“Just breath Ash. Just let your heart beat! Please.” She sobbed. She sounded so real. So unbelievably real. It was like she was whispering into my ear just as she used to. I tried to breath, but feeling was diminished in my body. It felt like I was floating away slowly, and I couldn't anchor myself.

“Breath!” She commanded. I gasped—or at least tried to—but all I felt was rawness. I wanted to say that I couldn't do it, but I couldn't find my voice.

“Turn it to 500! I won't let him die!” Another voice called from far away and I felt yet another electric shock; but this one was much stronger. For a single second I could feel excruciating pain, but then it went back to nothingness.

“Your almost there Asher. Just keep trying to breath. Please don't let go.” She begged. I wanted so badly to spill out everything to her whether she was really here or not. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was for letting her die, how much I loved her, and how much I needed her. But all I could do was scream soundlessly.

“A 1000!” The voice called, and this time when the electric current flowed through my body the excruciating pain didn't fade away. I could suddenly feel all the ache in my body, and the burning in my lungs for air. My eyelids suddenly peeled open and all I saw was a bright light that made me dizzy and nauseous.

I felt my eyes roll back into my head as the frantic calling around me continued, and I began to fall in comatose. I searched my head for Wynter; but the warm feeling was gone. She was gone. Again. But somehow, deep in my heart I still felt her touching embrace. And somehow, I knew it would all be okay.


Two Weeks Later

“So Asher, tell me how things have been going for you.” Aaron, my therapist asked wearily. Her face was tired from what I guessed was a long day at work; her bright red lipstick was faded and feathered at the edges and the wrinkles beneath her eyes where more prominent then I remembered. The sweet and familiar aroma of the office made my nerves simmer down, and the dim light let my eyes relax.

“Good. Better than I guessed they ever could.” I answered honestly. I really didn't mind therapy at all. It gave me chance to talk about how not only Wynter's death had affected me, but also her saving me. I truly did believe that without her encouraging words in my mind I would have died. Whether she was a ghost of some sort or just a figment of my imagination; I didn't care. I was alive, and she was to thank.

“Well I am glad to hear that. I have seen some miraculous changes in you Asher. Wynter would have been very proud.” She nodded, closing her notebook. It made me smile to think that she was right. Wynter got proud at everything I did, and that was something I loved about her. But really I had loved everything about her.

“Thanks. I feel so much better. I...I feel like I can live my life again without feeling guilty.” I added. It still hurt that she was gone—but I could safely think and discuss her without going into a rage or bursting into tears. Aaron had helped me so much to let Wynter stay in my heart but not rule me.

“And how is everything going at the rehab center?” She asked soothingly.

“Great. I only have a week left before I can go home.” I replied excitedly. I had lived at the local drug rehab center for the last two weeks getting over my addiction. It had been a huge fight on my part to let go of the one thing that had made me feel better, but in the end it was well worth it. And in a week I could home with Egan and start over. Start over with my life without Wynter. Go back to school, apologize to Kain, and just be a teenager again.

There was a small beeping from Aaron's gold watch, and she grinned at me sheepishly. “Looks like that's all for today.” I stood up and shook her hand gently.

“Thanks for everything Aaron. You've given me my life back. You've saved me from the black.” I mused.

“You did it yourself Asher. I was just your support. I'll see you next week.” She released my hand and gestured to the door. With one last smile I turned and walked out the oak door into the small waiting room. I pushed through the freshly cleaned glass doors into the new world. Into my new life.
It was bright and colourful. There was no darkness.

Permalink Reply by tika*thecomplexonee♡ on September 4, 2010 at 1:43am

=] ilikeit <3

Permalink Reply by Lexi Volturi on September 4, 2010 at 12:04pm

Oh my gosh. That was amazing!! The beginning of the story was so slow and depressing and true, I actually felt like crying without even knowing what was happening in the story. I continued reading and it got even better, I didnt even know that was possible. Wynter is such a peculair name, I actually laughed when I found out her sister's name was Summer. That was a good one.

You people are amazing authors. I hope one day to see a novel with your names written on it. (:

Love, Lexi Volturi

Permalink Reply by RussetWolfLuv on September 4, 2010 at 1:39pm

Aw thanks Lexi:)
Your comments always brighten my day:)

Permalink Reply by Bobina156 on September 6, 2010 at 1:16pm

Haha, :D
thx so much Lexi
so glad you liked our one shot!

Permalink Reply by ♥vamplvr27♥ on September 7, 2010 at 6:49pm

omg amazing!!! i loved it!!! great job!!!

Permalink Reply by Gii XD on October 16, 2010 at 9:23am

wow.
just wow its amazing...
i loved it so much and i'm almost crying right now.
wow your both amazing :)
GiiGiiXD

Permalink Reply by Bobina156 on October 16, 2010 at 7:56pm

Aww, thx Gii that really means alot to Russet and i