Fan Fiction ❯ Winter, Again ❯ Six ( Chapter 6 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Author's Notes:
I'm putting up another chapter, hope you guys like it even though it's short! Please review, I'd really like to know how you guys think of the story, so I can make further improvements.




Amidst the mourning crowd, a young man had slipped passed everyone at the funeral service. He stepped into the streets, his clenched fists thrust deep in his pockets to keep himself from punching anyone unnecessarily. He really did feel like punching...no, he felt like KILLING everyone who stood in his way. But he held back, not for the sake of everyone but for his sister.

I swear, if I see that man I'll send him to hell . He gritted his teeth angrily. But the anger that he was feeling right now was just a facade, a mask to hide his true feelings--the feeling of extreme grief and hopelessness. He didn't show it much, but he loved his sister dearly. They were opposites, yet they were also like two peas in a pod. Mostly they liked the same things, and went to the same places. One of the places was the one he was heading to now, the cliff at the west end of the plateau, overlooking the ocean just ahead. He and Cyrene had spent many of their childhood days there, sometimes talking, sometimes eating, and sometimes not doing anything at all. And they had planned to spend many days there in the future.

Cyrus shook his head fervently and rubbed his eyes to keep the tears that were threatening to flow. "I can't be like this, dammit ..." He rubbed his eyes once again and blinked, looking ahead to seek refuge at the sight of the ocean.

However, something blocked the view.

...or rather, it was someone.

Suddenly, Cyrus lunged at that someone. "BASTARD!!!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, while grabbing onto the man's neck. "You killed my sister, damn you!!!!" The gypsy man grunted and struggled violently, but Cyrus' grip on his neck only tightened. The two began to wrestle and roll against the grass, both of them struggling to be the victor--one for his life and the other for his sister. Finally the wrestle ended just at the edge of the cliff, with the young man on top of the gypsy. Cyrus reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, releasing the hammer pressing the barrel on the man's forehead.

The gypsy's face was unreadable, but he looked directly into Cyrus' eyes. "It was for your own good."

A low, dangerous voice answered him. "Die ."

And with that, Cyrus pulled the trigger. His eyes were fixed on the fallen man, but were not seeing him. Instead, he saw his sister's smiling face. He pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. And again. Finally, he heard the familiar click of the gun, signalling that the barrel was empty. He turned around to walk away, but was stopped by two policemen who had their guns raised at him.

"Drop the gun!!"

Cyrus stared right at them, dropping the gun to the ground and raised both of his hands up.