The Historian's Son

Rating: 17+

Genre: heavy angst, slice of life

Warnings: terminal illness, death

Note: For my favourite lecturer from the university.

He was an only child. Like all only children, a bit spoiled. But still well mannered. Or so he thought. After all, he was a good student. He had only As and Bs. Except for just one subject.

Ironically, history.

Why is it ironic, you will ask. Well, because he was the historian's son.

"Why do I need this?" he has been always asking his Father.

The Father has been sighing and trying to explain this, but the Son could not understand after all.

He won't like history. No, period.

Boring, stupid, useless.

He already preferred to solve equations on math or read another lecture on literature lessons.

He knew that his Dad was disappointed because of it. That his own Son did not share his passion. Because he had to admit one thing to Dad - history was his Dad's life passion. He could talk about it for hours. First he worked at school, then at the university. His students loved him for his ability to put himself in their shoes and act like a human being rather than a deity.

Dad traveled a lot, mostly to the United States. He loved this country, he fell in love with its culture and economy. He was very knowledgeable about every topic related to this country.

But the Son still hated history. He didn't need it to live. At most for computer games. But besides that, his life was happy without it.

One day, however, this bubble burst. The doctor told them about diagnosis, a crushing diagnosis.

Mum was crying. For a long time. In a pillow. She thought no one saw her tears, but her Son saw them. He even heard them.

Dad didn't cry. He was sitting in the kitchen reading a book about the USA and drinking lemon tea. As if nothing happened.

The Son was angry with his Dad. He sat down across from him, a bit offended.

"Why don't you hug her at least?" he asked firmly, trying to force his voice to not tremble.

He tried to be a strong man, after all, he was eleven years old.

"She asked me to give her a moment to settle down" replied the Father, taking a sip of his tea.

He looked at his Son and ruffled his hair.

It was too much for eleven years old boy. After a moment his cheeks were wet.

"I don't want you to die" he whispered, clutching his fingers into his Dad's plaid shirt. "I don't want it!"

Dad didn't say anything. He just patted his head.

He was silent.

Actually, he was silent for several years. He was silent about his illness all this time.

He told some students. Others didn't know. Others knew only a little of the truth.

That he is sickly, that his immunity is weak, that he has had five operations.

The Son remembered each of them well. He was always afraid that his Dad wouldn't come back.

But he was coming back. Always.

He came back on Friday too. He ate lunch, told them that the students were trying to avoid passing the exam again. That he would let them cheat anyway until the first person returned the test, so they don't have to panic. That he made an appointment with a student for Monday's duty, because she had one extra absence. And that his colleague from work greeted him five times and that his friend offered fudge to everyone. He got one too. He claimed that the fudge was good, although it stuck his teeth together for a good minute.

Then came Saturday. Dad was strangely moody and a bit broody. But they watched a controversial documentary together and played a game that was supposed to be historical. Apparently, because Dad had a lot of reservations about the correctness of the events presented.

This time it was the Son, who was silent. He didn't want to upset Dad by interrupting him, because he honestly didn't care what really happened. Besides, actually, Dad had a special gift for storytelling. You could listen to him for hours. Even as if he was analyzing a telephone directory or some quantum physics question.

During the night, Mum called an ambulance. Dad felt bad. Bad enough to complain about it.

The Son laid down on the bed next to him and looked up at the ceiling, searching for the right song in the playlist.

"What are you doing?" asked the Father.

His voice was weak.

"Music is said to ease the pain" replied Son, taking one earphone from his ear and handing it to Dad. "Take this. Maybe it will help you."

Dad smiled gently and ruffled his hair as always. He put an earphone in his ear.

They were laying like this and waiting for ambulance, listening to the music. Son almost fell asleep, but then a music stopped suddenly, which woke him up.

"What happened?" he was confused.

He looked at phone's screen. It was black.

"Crap, it discharged. I forgot to charge it."

Son looked at his Dad. A slight smile wafted across his face. His eyes were still closed.

But something was wrong. Son felt a strange coldness. But not as a temperature, but an atmosphere.

When paramedics entered his parents' bedroom, they didn't have to tell anything. At least they didn't have to tell him. He had already known that his Dad fell asleep forever.

Maybe even in the moment, when his battery's energy discharged.

Mum has been crying again. This time even longer.

A newspaper that Dad got from a friend from USA, was left opened on the kitchen table. In the sink there was still the mug that his Son had given him for his birthday. Plaid shirts and his favorite black jacket still wore his scent.

But he wasn't here anymore. He was somewhere else, somewhere beyond, unavailable, unattainable.

He vanished, as if he disappeared in the air.

Meanwhile one question appeared in the Son's mind for the first time, when he sat at the table and brushed an american newspaper with his fingers.

Maybe... It's time to start liking history?

The end

Kirei Shiroi Hana

Rating: 17+

Genre: drama

Warnings: death

Note: "Second beautiful, white flower just doesn't exist."

I'm standing next to you and I'm looking at your sleeping face. Whiteness of your clothes makes an illusion that they're brighter than a snow which is slowly falling from the sky. We have beginning of the March, after all, right?

Your hair scattered on the pillow, white as a snow, but darker than your clothes. Maybe you are an angel? On your face I can see a weak shadow of smile. Just as we met for the first time. We were kids, do you remember? But the doors to adulthood closed behind us and the past doesn't matter.

But still we should care about illnesses. And your heart had been living with it for a long time. But then it stopped during your labor and broke. It seriously stopped.

You're dead.

Your husband is standing with your newborn daughter. A girl has your eyes, you know? I kiss you on the forehead and I feel tears in my eyes again. I straighten up and finally leave you.

The voice of my beloved spouse is the last thing which I hear before diving in the darkness.

When I'm awake, I'm in home already. I sit down on the bed and I take a glass of water from my spouse's hands.

"Why good people are dying so young?" I ask, looking at my spouse's eyes, which are as sad as mine.

"When you're on the meadow, which flowers do you pick up first?" I hear a question.

I'm a little confused, because I don't understand, what's going on...

"The most beautiful..." I reply after a moment.

"So you know, why" my spouse smiles sadly.

I'm glad that I didn't lose love of my life, but nothing can replace my friendship with you.

Second beautiful, white flower just doesn't exist.

The end

Shadow in the Heart

Rating: 17+

Genre: criminal

Warnings: violence, death

Note: Narrator returns home and has to face with their psycho partner.

I enter the house and I see you. You sit in front of the TV and stare blankly at the screen.

Can you still see something? Can you see... me?

Or you stopped seeing me a long time ago?

I put shopping bags on the cupboard in the kitchen and start to unpack groceries to cupboards and fridge.

I feel anxious.

I'm always under valerian, melissa and other drugs, because my weak nerves can't stand up to what's going on in my own life. My own home.

I look at my vibrating phone, laying on the cupboard. Of course, my best friend. As always. As if he felt in some way that I don't feel good. As if he wanted to warn me about me...

Because it's only my fault. Only I can't escape this hell. Everybody tried to save me a long time ago, trying to explain to me that something is wrong with you.

And now bruises on my wrists and shoulders can confirm it. These on the neck too. And on the legs...

And all these scars left after your fingernails grew too long...

I take a deep breath as I straighten my shirt sleeves. I'm dizzy. I have to calm down. I need to not think about how you're killing my mental health, both physically and mentally. Especially mentally...

I put my phone in my pocket, finish unpacking my groceries and head to the living room. I sit in the armchair and start to watch this show about the world most expensive drumsets, pretending to be interested in it.

"You hate me, right?" you ask suddenly.

I trembled, because of fear. I look into your sad eyes which I have been looking with love into for a long time. And which, ironically, I still love.

"What are you talking about, darling?" I smile gently to you.

When you smiled for the last time...?

"You're lying" you say and stand up.

You won't punch me, you never did. But probably you'll grab my wrist, squeeze it until I start crying and lead me to the bedroom. And you'll show me who is the boss here.

I close my eyes, preparing for what is about to happen, but... You're leaving. I open my eyes and I see that you seriously left. What means only one thing.

You went for a knife again.

I go to the bedroom and, as I thought, I find you on the floor, cutting your wrist in amock.

Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut...

"Stop it" I say firmly.

You look at me, observing me.

You make another two cuts without looking on your hand. You're still looking at me.

"You're gonna hurt yourself" I come to you and put my hand on the knife. "Don't do it."

I try to take the knife from you, but I can't.

A phone is calling once again. You pull it out it from my pocket and look at the screen.

"You know, who's calling? Your best friend" you put a phone on the floor. "How typical. The knight has to protect his princess, even if she has her prince already."

I blink in confusion, not understanding what are you talking about.

I still hold that damn knife and its blade cuts my hand.

I try to take it out of your hand, but...

...I don't know if it was you who stabbed me or if it was my fault that the knife stabbed my chest by accident.

I close my eyes and drop to the floor.

It hurts. It fucking hurts so much.

Please, help me. Help me! I'm begging you!

I hear you say my name and feel you pull the knife out of my body. I can feel your hand on my cheek. You smear the blood on it, as you try to wipe my tears from it.

I'm afraid. I'm fucking scared. Someone has to save me. Someone help me!

The last sound I hear is that stupid phone ringing again.

I can't pick up the phone, my friend. Please, forgive me...

The end

Spider's Web

Rating: 17+

Genre: drama

Warnings: self-harming

Note: A short story about depressed musician.

It all started innocently. Probably in the elementary school, where other kids for the first time labeled me as "strange". Friends left me, because nobody wanted to be friend with this outsider, who prefered spending breaks in library, because he could avoid his bullies like this.

I started elementary school as a happy and funny kid, but I ended it as shy and asocial teenager. I tought that when I'll go to another school, everything would change. And it changed. But for worse.

Name-calling, locking in lockers, throwing things on the floor or taking my backpack and making me chase my bullies have become the norm. And I was able to deal with it less and less, I wanted more and more help. Parents didn't notice anything. The teachers didn't react. Well... They don't have to.

In high school nothing has changed. Still in love with the books, I had to throw the needles out of my shirt several times a day, and be careful at every PE so as not to get hit by a ball, at least not in the stomach. I vomited from the impact once and caused myself even more trouble. But at least the PE teacher did intervene. What I also got hit for...

I came back home and looked in the mirror on a cupboard. I took it and started to stare in the tired face of a seventeen years old boy. In middle school, I wanted to disappear, become invisible. Now I wanted to kill myself.

I threw the mirror at the floor. It broke and one piece fell from it. I picked it up with trembling fingers and pushed against my skin. I hesitated for a moment. I realized that I was sitting on the bed. In clothes. Blood is difficult to wipe from materials.

I took off my clothes, sat against the wall and pushed the glass into my wrist.

First cut for elementary school.

Second cut for middle school.

Third cut for high school.

I watched the blood trickle down my arm like tears down a girl's face in a bad romantic comedy. For some strange reason, it seemed beautiful to me.

I smiled. For the first time in a long time.

From that day on, it became a ritual for me. Breakfast, school, lunch, reading, dinner, more cuts, sleep.

My wrists were beautiful. As if they were covered in spider's web. I wanted to decorate the whole body like that, I wanted it to look like this. But I realized that people would notice, that they would ask questions and I don't want them to worry.

One day, however, I was so fed up that I decided to kill myself. I took a lot of pills, but unfortunately my father found me and called an ambulance.

The mental hospital is an interesting place. Sometimes you feel like you're more normal than all of them. Even than the staff. Funny, isn't it? I remember one girl who didn't have anything sharp on hand, so she broke her hand on the edge of the bed. Just like that, she hit it with all her strenght. And then, as if nothing had happened, she went to sleep.

I left the hospital after a month. Or two. I don't remember now. I had a lot of catching up to do in school, but I managed to finish it.

Exactly. I graduated. Due to this beautiful day, I decided to go to the club to have a drink and forget the whole damn world.

And then, sitting at the counter and telling the bartender about my hopeless life, I decided to become a musician. Yay! Maybe if no one can really give me such a feeling, then at least I'll get the platonic love of female fans?

My only friend from school had a band and one of the musicians left. So I joined them. And honestly it was great. Until the disband.

And then another and another, because nowadays it is difficult for a band to live long. You have to get really big fame in a short time, and if you do, you suddenly find out that you don't get along with your friends in terms of music you make. And again disband, disband, disband...

Breakfast, rehearsal, lunch, book, dinner, knife, sleep ... Oh yeah, that's it. It's so nice to be able to put on a happy rock star mask, smile at the cameras and bandmates and then come home or to a hotel room and cry. My world, my knife, my lines on my wrists. The psychiatrist only forbade me to kill myself, but no one said I couldn't make a few cuts a day. I mean, they said... But it doesn't matter, the lines keep popping up. More and more of them, after so many years I stopped counting.

And finally, in one of the bands, I met you. I don't know, why I fell in love with you. What happened that my heart at first stopped and then started beating as if it wanted to pop out from my chest. Well, it is like that sometimes. Stupid, hopeless, bisexual weirdo in love.

I loved you with all of my broken, crushed, scattered, torn apart heart. I loved you with all of my weak soul. I loved your eyes, your smile, your lips, your soft hair, your hands, your strong arms...

But I didn't love myself. And because of that I was sitting again on the floor with a knife in hand, when suddenly you entered my room. For the same reason you mistook the rooms as I forgot to lock the door. We were too drunk. And we both sobered up right away. Me out of fear, because you discovered my secret, and you...

"Are you insane?!" you shouted so loud that probably all visitors in the hotel heard you.

You ran to me, grabbed my bleeding wrists and looked in my eyes.

"Are you crazy? Tell me that you're just crazy."

"I don't know..." I mumbled. "Let me go. It hurts."

"But you wanted it, right?" you clenched fingers on my wrists. "You wanted the pain."

"But I wanted to hurt myself" I replied. "Other people have hurt me enough in the past. Let me go."

And you let me go. You looked at me as if I was the biggest idiot on this planet. You embraced my shoulders and led to the bathroom.

You washed my wrists with hydrogen peroxide from my own first aid kit, which stang as hell, bandaged them and led me to bed. You forced me to sit on it, you put me in pajamas, though you just put the bottom over my panties... And you put me in the bed. You covered me with the quilt, then gave me a kiss on my forehead and told me to wait.

You left my room and I waited like the child waiting for his mother to say goodnight.

You came back, also dressed in pajamas, you covered yourself with the quilt and hugged me tightly.

To be honest, I didn't understand at all, what was happening.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I love you" you said. "And I won't let you hurt yourself, okay?"

I blinked. You were serious. When I realized this, I started crying. And I was crying for a long, long time, maybe even for an hour. And you were stroking my head and repeating that everything will be okay.

And it is now. My wrists are still covered with spider's web, but white. This red spiderweb has never appeared again.

The end

Wing to Heaven

Rating: 17+

Genre: slice of life

Warnings: death, based on real life

Note: Dedicated to every fan, who lost their idols.

Silence. A complete silence when I read that information.

I stared into the letters like a child who's only learning to read in English. The letters one after another formed the word "died", then "suicide".

My mug slipped out of my hand, crashing and staining the floor and my feet with the tea.

"He's dead?" I repeated so quietly I couldn't hear myself.

I could hear more clearly the sound of my breath and the heartbead, who speed up so much like it wanted to break free from my chest.

Suicide? Suicide?! In a such an unhonorable way for gods' sake!

"He's dead" I repeated louder, like I'm trying to explain this to myself, what am I reading. "He's dead."

I heard the sound of the door opening then the footsteps. I still stared into the laptop's screen, when you embraced me and pulled me closer to yourself.

"I saw those news" you said, before I could ask you, if you know. "Go wash your feet and change your socks, I'll clean the floor and pick up the pieces of the mug."

"Sorry for breaking it" I whispered, when you pet my head.

"I got it from my ex, so no problem" you said calmly.

I sighed and closed my laptop. I grabbed clean socks then went to the bathroom, watching out for the pieces of that broken mug.

The day was so happy and light. I felt like I could fly. But he was the one, who was flying. From under the ceiling to the heaven.

The end

Accusation

Rating: 17+

Genre: criminal

Series: Oneshot Challenge

Warnings: violence

Note: The only story in this challenge not about jrockers, because I would feel guilty about putting them in this... situation.

He kidnapped me. I called him Dollmaker, because he made me his Doll. At first, he put a wig on me until my hair grew. I had to be the most beautiful man. I had to have pale skin and black, long hair. I had to have neat, painted nails. I had to wear dresses and patent leather shoes. I had to be a Doll.

In fact, days were nice, even if I couldn't go outside and I had to wear these lace clothes. Then night came and suddenly the Dollmaker remembered that I was a living human. And living people feel pain. He liked the pain. Both his and mine.

He always cleaned me after everything. With steady, gentle moves, he cleaned my pale skin with water. In fact, I liked these baths. It was a sign that the day started. They erased night's pain. They showed that the Dollmaker was, in some way, protective, even though he had done with me in bed whatever he wanted only an hour ago.

It doesn't mean that I didn't desire a freedom. I wanted to go outside, but every door and window were closed by a code which Dollmaker changed everyday. I've never been able to enter the correct one. 

"...is accused of abduction and physical and mental abuse..."

Yes, finally someone noticed that I exist and I'm not happy to be in the Dollmaker's house. I was sent to a hospital for a long time and then, I could go home. And then someone, who was some kind of fan of me, took care of me. I was the most important person for him.

I watched the blood trickle down my still pale wrist. Then he ran up to me and grabbed my wrist.

"What are you doing?" he growled, looking at my blood paiting my skin with some fascination.

Something woke up in him then. Something bad. Something that made him chain me by the leg to a bed in the basement and made him become the Wolf and me his Prey.

He loved my blood. He loved my tears. He loved my pleas for death. He loved it, adored it and couldn't do anything without it.

"...is accused of physical and mental abuse..."

And I was saved again. This time it was my Friend who realized that something is not good. He burst into that basement, breaching the door, cut the chain and carried me in his arms, which was not easy, because I was barely alive and slipping through his hands.

Now I'm calm. Dollmaker and Wolf are in a prison. My Friend has just made me a coffee and bought chocolate cookies. Since three years any scar didn't appear on my body. I just somethimes cry in the middle of the night, because of scars on my mind. But only sometimes.

"You won't eat cookies?" I ask. My Friend is surprised by that.

"You said the whole sentence" he says excitedly, then hugs me. "You managed to say the whole sentence."

I think that it's a praise. I like when he praises me. I know then that he's proud of me. I know that he's happy because of that. And when he's happy, I'm happy too. He's my Friend, who's touch doesn't hurt me, after all.

The end

Lady Shi

Story

Rating: 16+

Genre: drama, metaphor

Warnings: spoiler-based warnings

Note: Next metaphor. Enjoy.

Little Chou had a home. Inside a home, there was her family.

Little Chou was playing in the garden. Her great-grandmother, Sophie, was sitting in a rocking chair and reading her a story. Suddenly wicket opened and lady in a black coat entered the garden. Chou looked at her. Grandma Sophie stood up and gave woman her hand.

"Who's that?" asked Chou.

"Lady Shi, sweetheart." grandma Sophie smiled and went with Lady Shi.

Lady Shi closed the wicket and walked away, holding grandma's hand.

Chou never saw her grandma again.

Little Chou was playing with her uncle. Uncle put down little Chou on a ground and looked at Lady Shi, who silently snuck into the estate. He sadly gave her his hand and walked away, leaving Chou alone in the backyard.

Chou never saw her uncle again.

Little Chou was playing with uncle Peter, who was only 5 years older than her. Great-grandfather was sitting in his armchair, shooshing them from time to time, because they were acting to loud for his liking. Suddenly Lady Shi came. She gave grandpa her hand and went with him somewhere far away.

Chou never saw her grandpa again.

Chou was growing up and saw Lady Shi more often. But Lady Shi paid no attention to her, passing her and not even greeting her. At some point Chou understood, that whenever Lady Shi comes for someone, that person is not coming back. So she started to cry, whenever Lady Shi came.

Chou grew up and had... lest's call him a Friend. A Friend lived behing a glass and couldn't touch Chou. She couldn't touch him either. They could only look at each other. He perhaps didn't even see her, but he felt her presence and maybe that was the reason, he was smiling. And suddenly Lady Shi came. Chou knew, what will happen now.

"Don't take him away!" she screamed, trying to break the glass and get to her Friend. "Leave him alone! You can't do this! Like you weren't allowed to take away my uncle! You can't do this! You can't!"

But Lady Shi caught her Friend, and he wasn't very happy about it. Lady Shi walked right next to Chou, dabbing her arm, then walked Friend through the wicket.

"Friend!" screamed Chou, trying to open the gate. "Friend!"

Friend turned around and looked at her sadly, then obediently followed Lady Shi.

"Friend." whispered Chou, falling to her knees.

Chou looked up. She saw Lady Shi guiding a young girl. Wasn't much older than Chou. Chou dried up. She didn't knew how to react.

Suddenly something weird happened. Lady Shi turned around, facing Chou and said:

"See? I can come for you sooner than you think. Or for someone you know, little Chou."

Then she walked away calmly, leaving Chou shocked.

Chou was thinking about this for a long time an suddenly came up with a thought:

"We never know, when Lady Shi is really coming for us."

Chou is still looking through the glass, where her Friend lived and she is still feeling his presence. And it will most propably stay like this.

The end

Fear

Story

Rating: 9+

Genre: metaphore

Warnings: -

Note: It's a metaphor. Enjoy?

Once, there was a little girl named Chou.

One april afternoon, Chou was coming home from school, when she saw a cat behind small house's fence. She looked at the cat for a while, then kept walking.

The other day, when she was going to school, she saw the same cat again. This time she also looked at it for a moment, then went.

It was September's beginning. Chou was walking to her grandma's home. She saw the cat. This time it was laying under the fence, warming itslef in sun's rays. Chou came closer to cat and pet it. Cat scratched the girl. Chou ran home, crying.

In October, she saw that again, behind the fence. She got scarred and walked past that home faster. Cat looked at her sadly. Like he didn't mean to scratch her that time.

It was December. Chou was walking to a house of a friend, who broke her leg. Cat was sitting in front of the fence and looked at her wistfully. Chou felt fear. Cat begun to approach the girl. Chou closed her eyes. She was paralyzed with fear. Suddenly, she felt something wiping against her leg. She kneeled and pet the cat.

Cat sat on a snow and looked at Chou.

"Was it that scary, sweetheart? To pet me once more? I did not want to scratch you that day."

Chou looked at the cat surprised. It knows how to speak! And he has a pretty voice.

The end

Even in tragedy's time...

Story
Rating: 14+
Genre: criminal
Warnings: violence
Note: He doesn't know, why she did it. But he knows that he is in love not with her.



Hate in her eyes. Misunderstanding. Cellphone crushed with a shoe's heel. And pain. Horrible pain. Blood on fingertips. Slowly recding footsteps. Passerby's scream. And voice. Voice I know wery well and I love.

"Don't die."

Perfumes. The same ones which wake him up, when he goes out of studio. And now putting him to sleep, when darkness surrounds him.

Glow-tube's bright light. White celling. Oxygen mask on his face. Light brown hair scattered on the pillow. Fingers holding his hand tighly. Hand taking off the mask. Dark brown hair scattered on the quilt. Closed eyes and dreams. Dreams full of fear. Delicate, long fingers stroking dark brown hair. Opened eyes. And sleepy smile.

"You woke up."

"Yes. Where am I?"

"In hospital. Somebody attacked you."

"No. Somebody tried to kill me."

Fear in eyes. Misunderstanding. Lack of knowledge.

"Why?"

"I wish I could know."

"Doctors say you'll be fine. Everything will be alright."

"I know."

"How?"

"You're here with me."

Smile. And kiss. Because there's love even in tragedy's time.

The end

I'll take you there

Story
Rating: 13+
Genre: angst
Warnings: -
Note: When the flame of love died...



I'll take you... there,
Where tomorrow's sweet taste...

"Go to sleep, tomorrow's gonna come."
"Will tomorrow be sweeter than today?"
"Much sweeter, honey..."

I'll take you... there,
Where the sun is rising for us...

"I don't wanna get up yet..."
"But we have to go."
"Sun is rising just now..."
"It's rising for us, to light our way..."

I'll take you... there,
Where time flows slowly...

"Those moments I spend with you could last forever..."
"Time is cruel though and it passes fast."
"It could slow down. Just a little bit..."

I'll take you... there,
Where nothing threatens happiness...

"Will something ever break our happiness?"
"Me, I think."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to take part in this happiness anymore..."

The end