Seeing as I failed to check my email, and subsequently didn’t post, I will make this one interesting. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Volunteer Madman
Chapter Three: By Appointment Only
Carpets were obviously not made to stand up to this kind of abuse.
The one covering the locker-room floor was nearly threadbare, with a beige strand here and there, making it look even older than it already was. According to school legend, it was forty-eight years old, almost as old as the school, but nobody could be sure. There wasn’t anyone still around who would remember- most graduates of this particular high school tended to move as far away as possible, and lost all contact with anyone or anything associated with it. The school was that bad.
However, some of the looser panels of carpeting could be removed, and used as storing places for various illegal substances. As far as the teachers knew, everybody just really liked the showers, or something. Gaara leaned down, and, stepping on the opposite corner, lifted the edge of one square, flung it aside, and pulled out the small plastic bag of questionable orange powder. Holding it up to the light, he checked for impurities, then threw it into his bag, satisfied with its quality.
His entire plan hinged on these little bags, full of drugs, hallucinogens, aphrodisiacs, and other banned substances, which carried a penalty of rehab, jail, or fine, all of which were equally squalid and disgusting.
A rare smile crept quickly across Gaara’s face, disappearing instantly when the locker room door creaked open on its ancient hinges.
“Hey man, you there?”
Gaara cursed inwardly and jumped backwards into the shadows between the lockers, watching the intruder carefully for any signs of recognition. Thankfully, the blundering idiot had no idea he was there.
His eyes narrowed, and with a quiet spilling sound, sand flowed like quicksilver, dangerous, tainted, and deadly, towards the junkie stumbling unaware across the path of a very impatient Gaara.
omgitsabreaklineomgitsabreaklineomgitsabreaklineomgitsabreakline
The red-haired receptionist was exceedingly bored.
Having no reason to pay attention to the people walking by, she filed her nails, wondering how long it was until lunch. She jumped when a hand slammed down on her desk, demanding attention.
“Uh….” She hid her nail file behind her back, hoping nobody would notice, and smiled tensely at the man glaring at her. “Can I help you?”
He scowled. “Yes. Is there a doctor I could talk to about a possible psychopath that I’m concerned about? I want to know if it’s possible to do anything about him…”
The woman pulled out her date book and flipped through it. Tracing a line across the page to the appropriate time, she studied it for a moment before snapping it closed. “There is one doctor currently available. He won’t be too happy about being bothered, but I think it’ll be all right.” She grimaced, imagining the flak she would catch later when he found out what had happened, but it couldn’t be helped. Pointing down the hallway, she crooked a finger to indicate a particular door. “Just go right in, he’s just reading right now.” Remembering suddenly, she looked up at the man. “And who will I say came by?”
“Gaara.”
“What, no last name?”
The pissed-off teen looked accusingly at her. “No, no last name.” He stalked off.
The poor girl looked worriedly at his back, wondering why he was so agitated. Shrugging, she picked up her file and went back to work.
omgitsabreaklineomgitsabreaklineomgitsabreaklineomgitsabreakline
Several hours later, Gaara was relaxing in his own room, a personal refuge. There was no way he was going home to his stupid parents; they wouldn’t even notice he was gone, so that wouldn’t be a problem. Shifting against the white cloth wall, he closed his eyes, thinking about how the afternoon had gone- the psychologist was fairly calm about his presence, at least until Gaara was asked who the person in question was. Showing no emotion at all whatsoever, he replied that he was, indeed, the psychopath of concern. The stringy man had leapt up, clutching his notepad to his chest, and hyperventilated until he passed out, at which point Gaara rolled his eyes and pressed the security intercom button under the desk. After he explained what had happened, he asked the guard to come take care of the unconscious man.
Gaara saw him later, dashing out of the office he had just gone into, running at full tilt to the bathroom. Apparently, he had seen the body, mutilated and twisted, and had been sickened. The redheaded teen grinned. It was perfect- just the excuse he needed. After a while, the security put two and two together, figured out that Gaara had killed him, stuck him in a cell, and left him there. At least the central heating was working.
He turned his head to look at the peaceful figure lying on the floor next to him, asleep. Her thin frame looked delicate, but she could defend herself; Gaara had learned that the hard way, and earned several shallow wounds in the process. Contrary to popular belief, madmen are quite social, and love company. His new roommate had been so happy; she hugged him, not letting go even when he threatened her with death. He had scowled and waited until she let him go, at which point he sat down. She had asked him his name.
“Gaara. You?”
She smirked. “Haku.” She leaned back against the wall, shifting her hips until she was facing him. “Why’re you here, anyway?”
Gaara grinned openly, exposing canines that seemed slightly longer than normal, lending him a strange ambiance. “Killing. Too much fun for my own good, I suppose…”
Haku studied his face intently. “Is that so…” She pulled her legs up and folded them in a more comfortable position. Her eyebrows inched downwards and she frowned, deep in thought. Gaara waved a hand in front of her face, and her head snapped up to meet his eyes. They stayed that way for a long time, just looking at each other, gauging the other’s strength, how far they could go before they broke. The redheaded insomniac scowled. There was no way he could figure her out; she was too strong for her own good. How long would she last? Looking at her again, he saw that she was staring through him, not really seeing him. Gaara wondered what she was thinking about.
Her lips had moved. She was talking to someone who wasn’t there, almost as if he wasn’t there at all. A tear fell from her jaw and landed on her hand, then another, but she didn’t seem to notice.
It made him wonder… what was she remembering?
He shook his head, and stared at her incredulously. She looked so delicate, but his arms and fingers remembered how strong she was, and he winced.
Why was she so happy to have company?
And what the hell was she doing in a maximum-security insane asylum?
omgitsabreaklineomgitsabreaklineomgitsabreaklineomgitsabreakline
Are you still paying attention? taps on glass Sorry for the touchy-feely moment- but in case you’re wondering, she’s not schizophrenic; she’s there for something else.
And no, I’m not going to tell you who she’s thinking about. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Zabuza!
Showing posts with label VM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label VM. Show all posts
15.7.08
Volunteer Madman (ch2)
Hey, you guys! Wow, twenty hits in the first day? I feel loved!
Alright, because of your… umm… participation? I am going to write another chapter. Enjoy. Then eat a cookie. Or an apple. But not an onion, they make your breath stinky:D
Disclaimer: I own nothing. For now, anyway. Hee hee.
Volunteer Madman
Chapter Two: First Light
Too much stuff. Gaara frowned at his backpack, and sat on it, squishing it a little and forcing the zipper closed. It didn’t have to hold it for very long, just until he got to school. A sigh escaped his lips, and he sat back down on his bed, going over his plan in his head, and pulled out his written copy to study it further.
The crumpled piece of paper was almost soft now, and if he didn’t stop worrying it all the time it would start to tear. He pulled up a chair to his desk and rewrote the plan on a cleaner, flatter piece of paper. Apart from the blaring of the television downstairs, the scratching of his favorite black pen was all he could hear, but he wasn’t focusing on that right now.
With a grimace, he looked at the newly laid-out plan. He held it up next to the older one, and, satisfied, snagged his backpack from its place on his sheet and left, sand trickling behind him like some sort of pet, the tail end of its stream flipping jauntily as it left the room for the last time.
Gaara tromped down the stairs and left.
His parents didn’t even notice.
A hand cut a bit of sunrise from the sky, raised purposefully, fingers outstretched. Behind it, a rush of sand spread and leapt up the chill air, settling grain by grain into stairs. When it was finished, he climbed the stairs to the top of the school building, gathered his sand to him, and sat down to wait.
After a few hours, the first stragglers began to arrive, followed by the teachers, and about thirty minutes later, the collective contents of the various school buses, and filed into the mouth of the school like soldiers marching to their deaths. An unusual sneer spread itself like a lazy cat across Gaara’s face. Most of them knew nothing about what would happen, but one boy paused on his way to class, turning his bandaged face to look at the roof, eyes resting on the place where Gaara had been just a second ago. It was important that nobody knew he was there. It wouldn’t work otherwise.
Once his heart stopped thumping like it was planning to jump out of his chest, Gaara sat down again. What did that kid know? He couldn’t be sure. He frowned. A change to the plan was in order.
He would kill that kid first.
Everyone else?
Second.
--
Ooh, cliffy! No more story for you people until I get at least one review. I already have it written; all you need to do is click that little blue button… you know you want to…
Alright, because of your… umm… participation? I am going to write another chapter. Enjoy. Then eat a cookie. Or an apple. But not an onion, they make your breath stinky:D
Disclaimer: I own nothing. For now, anyway. Hee hee.
Volunteer Madman
Chapter Two: First Light
Too much stuff. Gaara frowned at his backpack, and sat on it, squishing it a little and forcing the zipper closed. It didn’t have to hold it for very long, just until he got to school. A sigh escaped his lips, and he sat back down on his bed, going over his plan in his head, and pulled out his written copy to study it further.
The crumpled piece of paper was almost soft now, and if he didn’t stop worrying it all the time it would start to tear. He pulled up a chair to his desk and rewrote the plan on a cleaner, flatter piece of paper. Apart from the blaring of the television downstairs, the scratching of his favorite black pen was all he could hear, but he wasn’t focusing on that right now.
With a grimace, he looked at the newly laid-out plan. He held it up next to the older one, and, satisfied, snagged his backpack from its place on his sheet and left, sand trickling behind him like some sort of pet, the tail end of its stream flipping jauntily as it left the room for the last time.
Gaara tromped down the stairs and left.
His parents didn’t even notice.
A hand cut a bit of sunrise from the sky, raised purposefully, fingers outstretched. Behind it, a rush of sand spread and leapt up the chill air, settling grain by grain into stairs. When it was finished, he climbed the stairs to the top of the school building, gathered his sand to him, and sat down to wait.
After a few hours, the first stragglers began to arrive, followed by the teachers, and about thirty minutes later, the collective contents of the various school buses, and filed into the mouth of the school like soldiers marching to their deaths. An unusual sneer spread itself like a lazy cat across Gaara’s face. Most of them knew nothing about what would happen, but one boy paused on his way to class, turning his bandaged face to look at the roof, eyes resting on the place where Gaara had been just a second ago. It was important that nobody knew he was there. It wouldn’t work otherwise.
Once his heart stopped thumping like it was planning to jump out of his chest, Gaara sat down again. What did that kid know? He couldn’t be sure. He frowned. A change to the plan was in order.
He would kill that kid first.
Everyone else?
Second.
--
Ooh, cliffy! No more story for you people until I get at least one review. I already have it written; all you need to do is click that little blue button… you know you want to…
Volunteer Madman
Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHING, ya hear? Although, if I did…. Well, it would be fun.
Summary: As far as Gaara can tell, nobody will ever get close to him. But when he lands in the insane asylum, he develops a certain... affinity... Rated T for now. GaaHaku, other pairings later. Review, please!
Hey, people! Yes, I have an account. I finally got past the damn spam filter, and now I’m back! (And sleepy. hehe.)
Don’t worry, a one-shot crack-fic is coming next, I just wanted to get this out of my system first. :D
Awright here goes. *cracks knuckles* Enjoy, or get all depressed.
Then go eat a cookie )
Volunteer Madman
Chapter 1:
Friends were supposed to help you, right?
Not in his case.
Nobody ever helped him, even when he was tired or sad. Not even if he had gotten beaten up that day at school. They would just ignore him and he would have to limp upstairs to the bathroom and dress his wounds himself, silent tears littering the floor.
Did they even care? He couldn’t tell. From the way they treated him, like an unwanted fly, like a piece of trash, a burden they had been forced to carry. Every single person he went to for help just told him to get over it; it would stop if he would just be a good boy. Unfortunately, in his situation, that was not an option.
So he had grown up like this, rejected, shunned, shoved to the edge of existence, only getting peace when they didn’t notice he was there, when he didn’t complain. Learning not to make any sort of sound or noise was the hardest part for him.
Not only did he have to deal with all this shit, he had to go to school, and find food somehow; most days, he didn’t get anything, and he went to sleep hungry.
Eventually, he got used to it.
“Hey! Hey, Gaara!”
He turned around. What the hell was that kid thinking, talking to him? He’d get raped, or killed, or worse.
“Gaara! Gaara, wait!”
He stopped for a moment, letting his head fall back onto his neck to look at the clouds. He sighed. School sucked, but this annoying kid was worse. Eventually, the kid would learn better than to approach him, if he liked not hurting worse every single day than the morning before, until any inkling of an impulse to go approach Gaara was beaten out of him by the haters who roamed the school, their numbers growing faster whenever some baka got the bright idea to talk to him again.
The kid caught up to him, and hunched over, breathing heavily, resting his hands on his knees. Slowly, carefully, Gaara turned around, plastering a frown across his face, to look at the strange boy who would talk to him, on his own; he must not have been aware of the consequences. Gaara smirked. Not his fault what the assholes at school would do to this idiot once the news reached them, that someone had treated Gaara like a person, with kindness, had spoken his name, called out. Plenty of that later; for now, what did this moron want from him?
The pale blond boy looked up at Gaara, who was waiting for him to speak, the frown still present. A familiar flicker of fear flew past the impostor’s eyes, making Gaara smirk momentarily. He waited for the other to speak.
“Hey, Gaa- um… hi.” He realized his mistake, too late, but he pressed on. “You’re going to school, right? Yeah? Can I go with you?” He got no answer, which was to be expected. “Alright, ok then. C’mon, let’s go.” He straightened up, and walked past the redhead, who sighed again, and turned to follow him.
Poor kid. Must be retarded or something. He smirked to himself. What do I care?
Sitting on the steps, waiting for lunch to be over, Gaara was thinking. He had plenty of time; it wasn’t like anyone wanted to be anywhere near him, anyway. He took another bite out of his sandwich. As usual, he had no idea what was inside it, and he had no intention of finding out. Last time he had tried that, he was sick for a month. Chewing slowly, he considered the morning’s incident.
What did that kid want, anyway? Did he think Gaara was going to be his friend or something? Not that they would let Gaara have a friend even if he wanted one. He’d seen what they had done to the kid; hopefully, he wasn’t planning on trying that again anytime soon. Tch. Whatever.
Gaara threw the remains of his sandwich into the dumpster on the corner of the school building, and walked around the opposite side of the main plaza. Why was he still here, anyway? It wasn’t like anyone wanted him there, except for his goddamn uncle. He’d rather be at some shitty school where he could be alone and nobody would bother him, or anyone who wanted to be his friend, to talk freely, to even be able to avoid the whispers that always echoed down the halls. Even if he couldn’t…. he could figure something out.
He had an idea. It would work; he was sure of it. His reputation as a psycho was well known; that would make it so much easier. A rare grin split his face, and the girls walking down the hall past him sped up, huddling together warily.
---
Was it horrid? Okay? Terrible? Needs improvement? TELL ME! Review! Ps: long ones ok/preferred, don’t be afraid to be weird- the weirder, the better, k?
I will write part two only if I get a comment! Or if you don’t want me to, tell me that in your comment.
See you later! And comment! Or else… dun dun DUN…
Summary: As far as Gaara can tell, nobody will ever get close to him. But when he lands in the insane asylum, he develops a certain... affinity... Rated T for now. GaaHaku, other pairings later. Review, please!
Hey, people! Yes, I have an account. I finally got past the damn spam filter, and now I’m back! (And sleepy. hehe.)
Don’t worry, a one-shot crack-fic is coming next, I just wanted to get this out of my system first. :D
Awright here goes. *cracks knuckles* Enjoy, or get all depressed.
Then go eat a cookie )
Volunteer Madman
Chapter 1:
Friends were supposed to help you, right?
Not in his case.
Nobody ever helped him, even when he was tired or sad. Not even if he had gotten beaten up that day at school. They would just ignore him and he would have to limp upstairs to the bathroom and dress his wounds himself, silent tears littering the floor.
Did they even care? He couldn’t tell. From the way they treated him, like an unwanted fly, like a piece of trash, a burden they had been forced to carry. Every single person he went to for help just told him to get over it; it would stop if he would just be a good boy. Unfortunately, in his situation, that was not an option.
So he had grown up like this, rejected, shunned, shoved to the edge of existence, only getting peace when they didn’t notice he was there, when he didn’t complain. Learning not to make any sort of sound or noise was the hardest part for him.
Not only did he have to deal with all this shit, he had to go to school, and find food somehow; most days, he didn’t get anything, and he went to sleep hungry.
Eventually, he got used to it.
“Hey! Hey, Gaara!”
He turned around. What the hell was that kid thinking, talking to him? He’d get raped, or killed, or worse.
“Gaara! Gaara, wait!”
He stopped for a moment, letting his head fall back onto his neck to look at the clouds. He sighed. School sucked, but this annoying kid was worse. Eventually, the kid would learn better than to approach him, if he liked not hurting worse every single day than the morning before, until any inkling of an impulse to go approach Gaara was beaten out of him by the haters who roamed the school, their numbers growing faster whenever some baka got the bright idea to talk to him again.
The kid caught up to him, and hunched over, breathing heavily, resting his hands on his knees. Slowly, carefully, Gaara turned around, plastering a frown across his face, to look at the strange boy who would talk to him, on his own; he must not have been aware of the consequences. Gaara smirked. Not his fault what the assholes at school would do to this idiot once the news reached them, that someone had treated Gaara like a person, with kindness, had spoken his name, called out. Plenty of that later; for now, what did this moron want from him?
The pale blond boy looked up at Gaara, who was waiting for him to speak, the frown still present. A familiar flicker of fear flew past the impostor’s eyes, making Gaara smirk momentarily. He waited for the other to speak.
“Hey, Gaa- um… hi.” He realized his mistake, too late, but he pressed on. “You’re going to school, right? Yeah? Can I go with you?” He got no answer, which was to be expected. “Alright, ok then. C’mon, let’s go.” He straightened up, and walked past the redhead, who sighed again, and turned to follow him.
Poor kid. Must be retarded or something. He smirked to himself. What do I care?
Sitting on the steps, waiting for lunch to be over, Gaara was thinking. He had plenty of time; it wasn’t like anyone wanted to be anywhere near him, anyway. He took another bite out of his sandwich. As usual, he had no idea what was inside it, and he had no intention of finding out. Last time he had tried that, he was sick for a month. Chewing slowly, he considered the morning’s incident.
What did that kid want, anyway? Did he think Gaara was going to be his friend or something? Not that they would let Gaara have a friend even if he wanted one. He’d seen what they had done to the kid; hopefully, he wasn’t planning on trying that again anytime soon. Tch. Whatever.
Gaara threw the remains of his sandwich into the dumpster on the corner of the school building, and walked around the opposite side of the main plaza. Why was he still here, anyway? It wasn’t like anyone wanted him there, except for his goddamn uncle. He’d rather be at some shitty school where he could be alone and nobody would bother him, or anyone who wanted to be his friend, to talk freely, to even be able to avoid the whispers that always echoed down the halls. Even if he couldn’t…. he could figure something out.
He had an idea. It would work; he was sure of it. His reputation as a psycho was well known; that would make it so much easier. A rare grin split his face, and the girls walking down the hall past him sped up, huddling together warily.
---
Was it horrid? Okay? Terrible? Needs improvement? TELL ME! Review! Ps: long ones ok/preferred, don’t be afraid to be weird- the weirder, the better, k?
I will write part two only if I get a comment! Or if you don’t want me to, tell me that in your comment.
See you later! And comment! Or else… dun dun DUN…
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