The Darkness

Death was not a lonely man...well, not in a human sense. He was not a man of flesh therefore he did not have fleshly needs, but he was also not completly emotionless and enjoyed a voice to soothe his mind. But the problem with Death was that he, unlike many, became easily distracted and one companion would dissapear after another.
Death was a ferrier for souls. Whether they ended up with God or Satan, it wasn't his place to deciede, he simply carried the souls where they needed to go. But every once and a while he would be drawn to one particular person and he would collect their soul but would refuse to deliver...until the next lucky human feel under his watchful gaze.
Death was never determined to find love, true love, for he knew what love could do to a person. One heartbreak and a soul would be marred forever...not that he had a soul, he just perferred to keep his distance from petty human behaviors. But every once and a while Death would collect that one soul who would cling to life and breath one last 'I love you' before allowing themselves to be carried off into the darkness. And Death found that he loved those humans, only most were old and withering and spoke in raspy tones none to pleasent to the ear. He gave them to God and once again became lonely.
But once, long ago, a teenager, soft spoken and shy, called upon him and as he gathered her broken soul in his arms, he felt her love wash over him and kept her for days until another girl caught his attention. Day after day girls and boys were murdered, whether by another's hand or their own, and he would collect them and feel their love, and love them back as best a heartless man could.
Once again lonely, Death stalked the shadows of the Earth, searching for a soul who he could, perhaps, steal forever.

It was another one of those nights. Hunter- once long ago known as a boy named Peter -was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up so he could rest his arms on them as he took another drag of the cigarette. The drugs were already spreading throughout his body, but he knew he needed more. When he finally made enough sense of how to use his arms and legs again, he crawled over to the side of the bed, reaching out for the small bag that held the white crystal. But as he brought his arm back near his body, he was surprised to find the bag empty. Alright, no worries, right? He pulled himself back to the position he was in before, weak, trembling, hands shaking uncontrollably as he brought the death stick to his lips once more. How had he gotten to be this way, he did not know. Was it all those times he tried to end his life, only to wake up in the hospital a few days later? Maybe it was when his best friend- and secret lover -turned up dead, along with his girlfriend. Or was it the realization that he had killed them?

He had killed them.

The words echoed in his brain, and he dropped the cigarette onto the bedsheets, clutching at his head. "I didn't kill them!" was the first thing he screamed, along with the next string of curses that left his mouth. No one would be around to witness the fancy house of the famous Hunter Rathinson burn down, because he had chosen a flat far away from the rest of the town. It was up on a cozy stretch of land, where he could easily hide his passion for art, his brains, and himself from the real world. Days later they found the body in a swimming pool, spots on his chest and lower left leg burnt, and words etched into his body that were probably made by the razor lying nearby. And they would assume that the famous Hunter Rathinson had set his house on fire, accidentally burning himself in the process, before going outside to make his last attempt at suicide. They had no reason for how his body ended up in the pool, perhaps he had fallen, or maybe he had let himself sink as he felt the life draining from his body. No matter, they would mourn him for sometime, and then they would forget.

Hunter- Peter, wouldn't.

Genevieve- or as she introduced herself as, Genna- walked along the desolate streets, alone. No, not really alone. People passed her by, but they didn't know she was there, so in reality she was alone. No one saw the small bag full of codeine she hung onto for dear life, or how she looked. Frail and lifeless came to mind. No, she was alone, and she would always be alone.

Genna found her way to the bench that she had been using as a bed for the past few days and got out her small, ragged blanket. It didn't really shied her from anything, but it was her safety net. She had already downed more than half of the small bottle of codeine, and it was only doing so much. Lately, nothing was stopping the memories of her life. Genna was still not asleep an hour later when three large men walked up to her bed. "Benny, I think this is little Genna. It's been what, four months?" one of them said, shaking the frail girl by her shoulders.

Genna woke up very quickly, her hand reaching for the bottle of codeine reflecsively. Her thin fingers wrapped around it just as she was pulled up quite roughly. This always happened. She knew the three- part of a small gang in town. She had stayed with them for a while- just until she had gone compleately over the edge. "What do you want?" Genna asked calmly, stepping back. "I think you still owe us something" the first man- Rod, said, looking her over.

"I owe you nothing. I payed back all I took and I payed my dues while living with your gang, Robert" Genevive hissed, looking up at the man- he was a lot taller than the small blonde girl. "No, no, I do think you did forget to pay all of what you owed to us. I think you borrowed some cash for your drugs and never payed it back. Right, guys?" Rob asked, and the other two rushed to agree. Pathetic, but Genna knew she was in trouble, even if she had payed it all back. So, she began to run.

It didn't take to long for her to hear gunfire, and an even smaller amount of time for her arm to be shot. She fell, screaming, and compleately blacked out.

The next morning, people still woke up, and her murder wasn't reported by the news- however horrific. After her arm had been shot, she wasn't dead. No, they waited for her to come to, just a little, before they raped her. After that, they just left her to die, crying, on the street. Early morning commuters would later report they heard her crying, but didn't do anything. She didn't get any headlines, either. The best she got was a small article. It read [b]"Homeless Raped and Murdered". She got nothing else. Not even her name was mentioned. Just 'homeless'.

Is that all she deserved? "Homeless?"

Death kneeled over the broken and bruised body, his hands cradling her limp blond head. He pressed his lips to her fragile skin and murmmered, "Come with me, my love." Awakened by the sound of Death's voice, the girl's eyelids fluttered and Death gracefully gathered the light soul in his strong arms. She would not awaken until Death asked her to, and she looked so peaceful he did not wish to ruin the beauty by awakening some saucy wench. It had happened one to many times before and Death was not fond of it.
Death laid her beside the boy he had collected earlier. He too was still 'dead' for Death had found him oddly attractive even as a corpse, which was rare. He stood over the two bodies and studied them. Finally, as though finding the answer he needed he leaned down and gave the boy the 'Kiss of Death' which would awaken him. The boy oppened his eyes.

Peter did not feel himself being lifted, nor being carried or laid down. The only time his eyes opened was when something seemed to touch him, but before he could even gather his thoughts he was asleep again- dead again. He had to keep reminding himself of that. After the house had caught on fire, he had attempted to make his way outside. Though something had fallen, nearly crushing his chest- the burn on the right side. His hands were burnt when he pushed it away, and then his leg was when he tripped over it. That was when he saw the razor, and he was quick to grab it with burning hands as he still stumbled towards the outdoors, towards the pool. After jumping in to clear himself of the fire, he took the razor to his skin, cutting all his regrets, his loves, passion and hate mixed in blood.

And then he was gone.

When the felt lips upon his, it was a great shock. Was he supposed to feel something? Was he supposed to be kissed? It was a strange sensation, and he found himself trying to push himself up to stay on those lips. But he found himself still weak, still too battered and bruised. It was like coming down from a high, trying to gather your bearings, your thoughts, figure out what was happening, how to walk again. He felt like a child, staring up at the figure in front of him, wanting him yet not knowing whom he was. "What are you?" At least he was able to form a full sentence, even if his voice did sound a bit raspy. He knew the figure in front of him was no normal mortal being, he couldn't be. He was dead, he knew that. Was this God? No, he certainly wasn't going to Heaven. But Satan? This didn't seem like Hell, and he doubted Satan would have kissed him... he doubted he would have wanted Satan to kiss him again. "Why did you save me? Why would you save me?" The broken boy wanted to cry. He wanted Jason, his best friend who had always been there for him. The best friend that held him when he cried, when he came down from a high. But he kept a strong front, refusing to show those things to the stranger in front of him.

Genevieve was still, cold, and lifeless. Her face still held emotion though- sadness, regret. In the way she had crumpled up in her last moments of life. She was a statue, more than ever before. She didn't feel the blood that pooled around her, and it didn't matter. The only thing good was she wouldn't need to live with the shame. Her attackers had taken something else, her virginity. That was the one thing she had cherished, and now it too was gone, along with the little life she had. It was like an eternity before she felt something again. A small kiss, to her forehead, and words. They sounded sweet, but all Genna could think was "No! They've come back, and I didn't really die, and they'll do those horrid things to me again!"

Genna wanted to thrash, to scream, to do anything, but she couldn't. She was still dead, so it made no sense for the men to have come back, and even less for her to feel anything. But she was. If she was dead, then she must be in hell. She didn't deserve heaven. So, even dead, she wouldn't see her mom or dad again. Wonderful.

When Genna tried to sit up, she found herself immobile. So, now she was weak, too. That made her sadder than anything else. She had been many things- but never weak. That wasn't her. So, she tried to scream again. Nothing came out. She couldn't scream, but she kept on trying to anyway.

(Double posted)

(And also triple posted)

A flash of light.

An instinctual bracing.

A long, screeching, rough sound.

A heavy thud.

And that was all Claire knew.

Previously, she had been driving back to the place she was staying at, her beater sputtering about as it always did. She hadn't really been paying attention - ruminating on the last few hours she had spent at the till, working with false smiles at her boring job. There was fire all around her, in her, was her -

oh. That big green truck she hadn't seen, too lost in her mind. No time to react, either of them. She would hope she didn't cause the death of the other person if she could. Another death... Well, at least it was her own. She couldn't harm anyone else. Car crash. That was okay. She had planned to do it anyway, soon enough.

Her world was blank.

Death pressed a finger to the eager boy's lips.
"Enough" he muttered.
"Who are you?" the boy asked breathlessly.
Death stood, pulling the boy up with him.
"I wouldn't ask questions if I were you," Death warned.
The kid remained silent. Death took his hand and brought it to his lips.
"Come now, silence does not need to be melancholy."
The boy nodded, managed a puzzled grin. Death dropped his hand and turned to the darkness.
"I have places to go, people to see, so if you want to join me..."
"Yes!"
"Shh!"
Death entered the darkness with the boy close behind.
*
The body was charred, so badly burned that even Death couldn't recognize the person's sex. Twisted within the metal, lost in the stentch of burning flesh, the girl lay in the remains of the car, wide eyed and waiting. The boy grabbed Death's sleeve but Death shook him off.
"Please..." he muttered, "Stay here. Wait."
Death climbed into the wreckage.
"Come now, child, come here."
The soul surrendered itself to his arms. Handeling it carefully, Death joined his companion on the pavement and they walked back to Death's sanctuary.

Can we tone down the GM-ing a little? <3 Thank you!

Though this man warned him not to ask questions, he still desired to. The only thing that stopped him was the lips that gently touched his hand, and he managed a small smile before allowing the stranger to pull him off the ground, and he followed silently wherever the stranger wished him too. He felt confused, scared even, but he didn't let it show. A strange calmness fell over him while near this figure, and he found himself holding tightly to it's hand. What he couldn't understand was how they seemed to travel. How was he even alive? But that's it, isn't it. He wasn't alive, he was far dead and long gone. It could have been years, but he knew it hadn't. "Death." he spoke silently, only a breath.

When they reached there destination, he was surprised to find himself somewhere that looked eerily familiar to, well, Earth. The world. Living, breathing things. Cops and nurses, loading bodies into backs of cars and cleaning up the mess. He couldn't help but feel jealous as the man took the other into his arms, but he hid it well, walking beside him as they made the journey back to where it had begun, where he had woken.