|Umm...yeah... Actually, I might turn this into an actual story, depending on how much I like it << Just some random dark depressing thing I wrote up off the top of my head to get my friggin' inspiration back >< it was hard... really hard...and it probably sucks worse than anything...but I tried... it's hard to write angst when there are happy people in the house...|
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Darkness enveloped the silent apartment like a shrowd, leaving a sense of forboding and sadness to wash the walls. Soft pellets of rain pattered against the windows and outside walls in a gentle rhythm, the echoes of distant thunder barely heard above it. The night had worn on for some time and it was nearly midnight, finding a good portion of the rest of the building asleep in their beds, or, for those unable to sleep, stuck in front of the television, watching late night talk shows.
Within the darkened apartement, however, it seemed empty. Lonely. As if no one had inhabited it for some time, and it had been left abandoned to waste away in itself. But there was one occupant, small and insignificant, seated against a large window that opened to the balcony outside, battered by the cold drops of water that fell from the sky. Thin legs were pulled to the chest, small arms wrapped around them as if for protection from whatever forces could come from the outside after it.
A blank expression was written across the pale features, dusted by soft blonde hair. Only falling to about the shoulders, the hair seemed to just lie there in straight layers, brushing colorless cheeks down the jawline to the chin. Large, beautiful eyes of the palest sky blue stared out of that foggy glass at the darkened skies, an almost pleading air about their watery depths.
The slight figure, though effeminate in several ways, was clearly a young male, probaby about the age of sixteen. Oversized black clothing hung from the gaunt form to make it appear even more youthful, almost childish. But it also brought about a fragile air. Porcelain hued skin gave an almost doll-like property to the young boy, as if just the slightest tap could cause him to shatter instantly. Thin lips parted to breath in air, an almost rasped sound as the small chest heaved ever-so-slightly outward against the clutched legs.
This was the only occupant of the empty apartment. Abandoned and lonely, left to waste away as the place itself had been. But what else was there for him except for this horrid fate? So many times he had thought to leave the place in which he had woken up not long ago, but where would he go? He was alone in the world; he knew nothing of people from his past, or if there were even people left from his past. Would he not be with them if there were? No one seemed to care for him, or even notice his dwindling existance. The owners of the apartment had come up to the room several times but never did they offer him help or explanation.
There had been several instances when the youth had thought to lift himself from his place on the floor and leave the little room. But fear gripped him with each step and always he would return to that little place. No memories flooded his mind, no thoughts of people long gone. He had awoken there, one dark night, abandoned in the decaying apartment, with no memory as to how he had gotten there or why he was there in the first place. Left to die, no doubt, on the remains of a tattered bed, his clothing all-but destoryed, his body covered in cuts and bruises, drained of energy and blood, judged by the puncture marks on the side of his neck. He had managed to clean himself in a shower that only offered cold water, and then found clothing left behind for him to wear.
He had no douts in his mind what had happened just before he woke up, but the question was why? What had happened before that? He couldn't remember any of it. But then, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. What if it was so horrible that he blocked it out and his mind forced him to forget everything just to protect him from that? Maybe that's what frightened him into staying in that apartment; the thought that he could leave and his memories might come back. Or that he could run into whatever attacker had brought him there in the first place. Of course it would have been an attacker; surely a lover wouldn't leave him to his death, broken and bloodless, in such a horrible place?
The soft rain against the glass brought the boy's attention back to the window, those eyes blinking only just barely, allowing a drop of moisture the fall from the corner of each. A ragged sigh passed his lips as a tongue carefully snaked out to moisten them. He was frightened and alone. No one seemed to know anything had happened to him, if there was even anyone who wanted to. But staying in that apartment would get him nowhere. No answers would just come to him, locked away in a darkened place, devoid of rational thought and feeling. So he had to make that move.
Carefully, legs uncurled and hands gently supported him as he pulled his shakey form up. Leaning against the window, he stared outside for quite some time, gaining back what little balance he had, before he pushed away. Glad that he didn't instantly collapsed, he turned to stumble toward the door. He had to do this. No matter his fears or injuries. He had to leave this god-forsaken room and find out who he was and why he was there. Maybe find someone he knew, someone to jog his foggy memories. Maybe...
Stopping by the door, tiny hands gripped the brass handle weakly, all of his strength going into merely standing upright and propelling himself ever foreward. What awaited him outside of that door? Nothing... But nothing awaited him inside of that little room, either, aside from a slow, painful death. Starvation. Disease. Loneliness. That was all that apartment held anymore. It held no answers. The answers were all outside.
Quietly inhaling, he pushed the door open and all but stumbled into the dark hallway. No sounds came to his ears and no light from anywhere except the little square that was the door. One hand against the wall, he slowly stumbled down the stretch, searching by instinct for the stairs so that he could get down and outside. Fear tugged at his chest with each movement, but he pushed it aside. Battered and broken as he was, he had to get away...he had to find...something. Someone.
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Bombay's Random Writings
Random randomness from the mind of a wierd little person.
That would be me.
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