Fan Fiction / Zoids Fan Fiction ❯ Lonely Girls ❯ Taking over my Head ( Chapter 1 )

Lonely Girls

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One: Taking over my Head

I can remember the very first time I cried

How I wiped my eyes and buried the pain inside

All of my memories, good and bad that's past

Didn't even take the time to realize....

-

The ink pen scratched hoarsely at the paper, its trail of ink shining wetly in the fluorescent lighting. Arc, loop, line, cross. Fi-oh-na. Her blonde hair dangerously close to the fresh ink, Fiona examined her signature. Despite its brevity, it looked like a child's scrawl. She added an experimental underline, narrowing her sunset eyes. With a sigh, she crossed the whole thing out.

The paper was covered in seemingly random scribbles, all of which were crossed out several times. Tossing the pen onto the table, Fiona eyed the pile of untouched paperwork that was supposed to be done an hour or so ago. The main office of Dragon Head Base was strangely empty, and silence hung heavily within the concrete walls. With a sigh, Fiona darted her glance around, and finally made up her mind. Without a second thought, she slipped out the door.

The infamous red dust that covered Red River Valley sparkled in the early afternoon sunlight. The muted chatter of desert insects echoed up from the river gorge, and all but drowned out the sound of the river itself. Waves of heat rose waveringly from the horizon, and the few scraggly trees clinging to the lip of the gorge danced in their wake.

Fiona lowered herself to sit on the edge of the observation tower, leaning her gloved forearms against the railing. The warmth of the metal, coupled with the rising temperature of the afternoon, made her sleepy, and her eyelids drifted lower and lower, until she was viewing the world through crimson slits.

Directly below her was one of those impossibly alive trees, its weak branches trembling under the weight of three large birds. They were jet black...not ravens. Crows, maybe, waiting for some garbage to be throw out for them. Under her gaze, one of them turned its beady eyes to consider her. It seemed almost...inquisitive.

Do you remember? It was a hoarse, rattling whisper, not unlike the scratchy sound of an ink pen on paper.

She tilted her head. Remember what?

Do you? The crow stared unblinkingly back at her.

Fiona thought for a moment, then slowly shook her head. No.

How sad. The crow hunched its shoulders and took off in a flurry of beating wings and flying dead leaves. How very sad. Its fellows followed, the whup-whup of their glossy wings fading into the insects' drone.

Fiona watched them go, then turned her gaze back down to the tree they'd just left. The limb that had so bravely wielded the crows' fat bodies waved for a moment, then with a sharp crack, broke. The claw-like tips of the branch disappeared soundlessly into the gorge.

Fiona stared after it for a few minutes, studying the jagged edge of the severed branch, and took in how the tree stood unflinchingly at the edge of its doom. Because, certainly, that was its fate: to break into rough pieces and fall into the river...until only the dead roots remained, a ghost of its presence.

Remember what? Life, maybe. Death, maybe. She, of course, remembered death all too well, having stared the Deathsaurer in its monstrous face more than once. She was a member of a dead race. By all rights, she should be dead.

Fiona's eyes followed the path of the river, snaking across the wasteland until it faded into the cerulean sky. There were no distracting clouds to mar the blue deep, and her eyes danced across the expanse, finally meeting the sun.

Resting her cheek on her arm, she gazed steadily at the blazing orb, afterimages swirling in her vision. They took strange shapes, some of reaching hands (What do they want from me?), some of feminine silhouettes (Mother? Is that...you?), but most disturbing was when they didn't take any sort of shape at all, just seething black masses that threatened to swallow her whole.

Her breath came faster, unable to tear her gaze from the pulsing power that reached for her, closer, closer, always threatening to take her hand and lead her away form the warm sunlight forever. Black tendrils snatched at her fingers, intertwining themselves and racing up her wrist, her arm. And the rasping whisper came again.

How sad, It said. You don't remember.

Yes, yes, I do. I promise. Her voice came slowly, as though she had to struggle to pull them manually from her throat.

Are you sure? The voice sounded doubtful.

Yes. I will never forget again. After a few seconds, the wisps of black ceased their pull. With a soft sigh, the ringlets of night released her wrist, then her fingers, one by one. Finally, they retreated back to their own pitch-black mass, and, with a discordant bell-call, winked out. The sunlight blazed through again, hot and comforting.

"Fiona?"

The girl dragged her eyelids shut, her eyes themselves feeling dry and blinded. She took a slow breath, suddenly aware of how sweat had beaded uncomfortably between her neck and shoulder, her cheek and arm. Warm hands pulled at her upper arms, and she shivered. They were so warm.

"Fiona? Are you okay?"

She slowly raised her head from her arm, squinting painfully. The metal rail left patterned, rusty imprints in her hands, and the sky had become tinged with crimson and orange. Turning, she could make out the blurry shape of Thomas, who was staring at her, worried.

She cleared her dry throat, and managed to smile weakly. "Sorry, I guess I fell asleep." Her eyes teared up, her pupils dilating in the sudden shadows, and she blinked hard, wiping her hand across them impatiently.

"With your eyes open?" He sounded doubtful, and a little scared. "You, um...looked like you were staring at the sun."

Fiona gave a non-committal shrug, still holding her glove to her eyes. Finally, she experimentally pulled it away, and was happy to notice that she could see. Technicolor afterimages no longer taunted her with their blinding intensity. Everything still seemed a little blurry, but they sharpened as soon as she thought about it.

Balancing a smile on her lips, she turned to reassure Thomas...and lost it. Her eyes widened, her lips parting. Her sunburned cheeks paled to white and her stomach lurched sickeningly. She turned her gaze to look away from him, her hand instinctively reaching for the railing as a reassurance of reality.

"F-Fiona? Are you sure you're okay?"

Real tears came to her eyes this time, and she shook her head. Her teeth chattering, she pulled her knees into her chest, burying her head in them. "I don't want it," she whispered. "Take it away. I don't want to remember anymore." She felt a touch of fingers on her arm, and shrieked, "Don't touch me!" Sobbing, she rocked back and forth, trying her very hardest to draw far enough into herself that she could disappear.

The roaring in her ears was so loud that she didn't hear Thomas stammer something about getting help, or his retreating footsteps. She whispered fiercely to herself, trying to block it all out of her mind. "I don't want to remember, why can't I just forget? Just take it away, take it away, get it out of my head!" Her scream faded into the nothingness of the wasteland.

-

It was nightfall when Van came, slipping quietly in her door. Fiona sat in her bed, huddled in a miserable little ball, her face buried in her comforter and her bangs cascading over her knees. She felt the bed give a little under his weight, but didn't move.

"Fiona?"

She didn't answer.

"Fiona. Look at me."

She shook her head violently.

"Why not?" He sounded more puzzled than hurt.

"Because." Her whisper was almost inaudible, muffled by both her blanket and her knees, and she drew her arms around her legs tighter. "Because I don't want to see it." Her knuckles turned white from the pressure of clenching her hands.

"See what? Fiona, you have to look at me."

It sounded like he'd been talking with Thomas, the first to see her after her encounter with the dark. He'd evidently heard how she refused to look at anyone. How she was reduced to a pile of shuddering nerves if she did. Steadfastedly, she shook her head again and clasped her hands tighter.

"Fi-ona." He sounded exasperated, and a little of the hurt was showing through.

"No." She shook her head again for emphasis. "Not you."

"What?"

"I don't want to see it happen to you." Her shoulders shuddered a little, and she felt hot tears escape her eyes. "Not to you."

"O-okay." He shifted his weight, moving up to sit beside her. He slid his hand across her trembling shoulders, hesitantly at first, but then with a little bit more confidence after she didn't scream at him in the way that had really scared Thomas.

Fiona leaned into the reassuring contact, her grip on her hands loosening somewhat. She took a trembling breath, letting the tears come more freely. Finally, they stopped, and she relaxed. Everything...was going to be okay.

Suddenly, a hand snaked under her chin and lifted her face. Fiona gasped a struggled a little, but she was no match for Van's grip. Finally, she just squeezed her eyes shut tightly, tears starting to stream down her cheeks again. "Van, please...."

"Fiona, come on. You have to let us help you--"

"N-no one can help me." She hiccupped with new tears, and clenched her jaw.

"--But first, you have to look at me." He sounded resolute, and content to stay that way all night, if he had to. Fiona didn't move, just shook with silent tears, and finally he sighed. "Fiona, just trust me. It's okay."

She bit her lip, and finally, finally, with agonizing slowness, cracked one eye. And blinked. And started to cry again. "Oh, Van." She leaned forward, reaching up her shaky, cold hands to touch his face, make sure he was real.

Van smiled, his dark eyes softening. "See? I told you it would be okay."

Fiona didn't answer, too preoccupied with running her hands over his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. Nothing was wrong with him. At all. She fell into his arms, sobbing again...but this time, with some sort of relief. She could feel his heartbeat against her ear, and that made her cry even harder. Van rubbed her stroked her hair reassuringly, waiting a few minutes before saying a thing.

Finally, when she had calmed down, he said, "Fiona...what didn't you want to see?"

She pulled away, looking both fearful and serious. After a silent moment, she stammered, "I-I...I can see p-people's deaths." She swallowed hard, trying her best to block the memory of Thomas, his throat a gaping, tattered maw, and the wash of dark blood down his front. And worse, the way he was so very alive, asking if she was okay.

Van frowned. "What do you mean? People's deaths?"

Fiona nodded. "I-I can s-see how they will die. I-It's supposed to make m-me remember."

"Remember?"

How sad.

She nodded.

You don't remember.

Van gave her an odd look. "What are you supposed to remember?"

"I-I think...that you...are human." She went on slowly, trying to get it right. "And that...I am not. I think. I-I don't know. Of...of your mortality, maybe." She shrugged helplessly, feeling hysterical laughter bubbling up in her throat.

I will never forget again.

Van nodded thoughtfully. Maybe he was just humoring her, making her think that he believed what she was saying. Not that she'd blame him if he was. After a short quiet, he glanced at her again. "And me? What do you see when you look at me?"

Fiona gazed at him for a moment, then said dreamily, "I don't know. I don't see anything. Other than you."

Van nodded semi-seriously. "Well, that's good. But right now," he checked his watch, "it's a little late. You should go to sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow, I promise. It isn't supposed to be as hot." He patted her folded hands and stood to go.

Fiona sighed and slid her legs under her comforter, feeling much better. Van slipped back out the door just as she lowered herself to her pillows. As he shut the door behind him, the dim light from the hallway briefly illuminated the almost invisible trail of ghost-blood he had left behind from a gunshot wound in his back.

She did not sleep that night.

-

I'm staring at the cracks in the wall

'Cause I'm waiting for it all to come to an end

Still I'll curl up right under the bed

'Cause it's taking over my head

All over again....

-

Good god. I am a horrible person. O_o;

I mean, *ahem* that was #1 in the Lonely Girls series, Taking over my Head. Yes, it is over. #2 will be almost entirely unrelated. No idea when it'll be done...but considering I did this one in a few hours this morning...who knows.

I am strangely comfortable with Fiona being totally off her rocker. I dunno why. It's fun, I s'pose. And she has the background for it, come on. Anyways. Part of this stemmed from this horribly psycho dream I had last night--it was the part with the crows, although I dunno what they "asked" me.

No, this doesn't really have a plot. All of these are just sort of my idle scribblings. I'm just letting the ideas come to me, instead of desperately scrambling for them. Soo~...don't mind me. My creativity demons are playing around.

Review and lemme know whatcha think, please. -^_^-

~Taltos