X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ I am Death ❯ Panic attack ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, except for Rose, her I do own. Oh, and then of course, the plot is mine… but nothing else.

 

A/N: I am now officially starting an appeal. From now on I promise to review every story I read as much as one row from, just because I know how much I myself appreciate reviews. And, um… I hope you liked the chapter!

 

2:nd A/N: Than you to All my lovely reviewers, you guys rock my world!

 

I am Death

 

Chapter 6: Panic attack

 

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The darkness was overwhelming. The streetlights lit up small islands in the black night, and I found myself wishing they had been islands. If they had been, they would have been surrounded by water, and they would have been a lot safer… I stood frozen under one of the streetlights, staring back at the ocean of darkness behind me. I felt pure panic bludgeoning my nerve-ends, and I instinctively knew that my eyes were round with fear.

 

Then I heard it again, a horrifying, shambling sound, as if something heavy was dragged over the asphalt. It was coming my way. I drew a deep breath, ready to scream my lungs out, but not a sound escaped me. Blinded by the panic, and very aware of the fact that the thing behind me came closer every second, I sunk down on my knees. Sobbing and defeated, I turned my back at my persecutor, waiting for it. There was nothing left, nothing except the fear. It was close now, closer than it had ever been before. A rotten smell made my nose itch, and I heard no footsteps, just the slow dragging of dead meat against the asphalt. Then something cold and dead grabbed my arm.

 

 

I heaved my self up into sitting position, my terrified scream echoed through my room. Taking a leap out of the bed, I had only one thing in mind, turning the lights on. It could only exist in darkness; if I just got to turn the light on, It would go away. Fumbling, I searched my way through the room, ready to defend myself, no matter how useless it might be. And then my fingers touched something cold, and I could swear that my heart missed a beat. With all the strength I possessed, I swung my left fist and directed a furious blow at it.

 

The sound of cracking wood, and the pain as my hand hit something hard seemed to shock me out of my state of unreasonable fear. Hot streaks of pain shot up my arm in fast impulses. I groaned in agony. Trying not to move my aching hand too much, I walked in the direction I knew the door, and the light switch were in.

 

I must have taken longer steps than usually, or maybe I was just disoriented, but I never knew how close to the door I was, until I smashed right into it. Cursing under my breath, I raised my right hand to search for the switch. I found it, and with a feeling of relief, I turned the light on. My first thought was that there was something wrong with my room. It looked, different from what I remembered. Then I realized it.

Everything inside my room, except for the bed, had been turned upside down, literally.

 

I looked to my right, and saw my wooden closet also had been turned upside down. It must have been the thing I had punched while I was still half asleep. I approached it to discover how much damage my fist had done to it, while thinking about the nightmare. I'd had it before, but it had felt much more… real this time.

I gasped for my breath at the sight of the beautiful closet.

 

I had smashed my fist right through one of the two doors. The edges of the hole I'd made were spattered with blood. Dreading what I might see, I looked down at my aching hand. Several long, but shallow cuts covered it. To my relief, it didn't look too bad, just some scratches.

 

“From now on, I'm sleeping with my light on.” I muttered under my breath, and went into the bathroom to see if I could find some bandages. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, I realized how pale I was.

 

“Oh come on, it's not like its going to kill you.” I told the person I saw staring back at me. I curled my mouth into a grim smile. Black humour seemed to amuse me in this late hour, and why wouldn't it? After all, I was the grim reaper. With a burning sensation somewhere behind my eyes, I turned away from the mirror. I couldn't bear staring into those eyes anymore, those accusing, mocking eyes… my own eyes.

 

I raised my hand to turn off the light in the bathroom, but right before flipping the switch downwards, the dream flashed by inside my head again. I hesitated, (don't) and then let my hand drop. I closed my eyes hard, but the burning feeling behind my closed eyelids just grew more intense. Something from within forced me to draw a short, thrusting breath, and after that another one. My body began shaking, to violently for me to control. Swaggering, I tried to hold on to the doorpost. My hand grabbed a hold of it, but instantly began to slide down it instead. I felt so weak, like something had stolen every ounce of strength I'd ever possessed. The only thing that could exist within me was the expanding hole, the beast in its cage. I sank to the floor, whilst the anguish made by body shake and twitch in violent convulsions. I closed me eyes, sobbing (make it go away) …

 

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Morning, and the god damned sun that shone right into my eyes. It was forcing me to turn away, to move and meet the new day. But I didn't want to wake up, I'd had enough. If this was living, then they could keep their precious `life' to themselves. I couldn't believe that when I offered them the salvation, they would rather prefer to stay? I mean, why? This was not life or death, this was the suffering of the crossfire, if not worse, and yet they wanted to stay, why?

 

“Argh, all these questions!” I growled to myself and got up from the bathroom floor. After spending a night on a cold floor, in a rather uncomfortable position, getting up is not the most pleasant thing to do. But still, nor is walking after you have gotten up either.

 

My hand was soar and swollen, but it didn't look like I'd done more than scratch myself. I'd be fine, not that that was a very comforting thought. Remembering to turn the light off, I left the bathroom. Coming out, and turning my eyes to a movement on the wall to the left, I found… another of those cursed mirrors! Growling I dashed over to it. Curse them; curse them all and their endless will to see their own reflection! My first reaction was to smash the mirror. Thrust my fist into it and see it scatter into a thousand pieces. My face lit up in a vile smile at the thought of it, and I raised my hand. I seemed to be doing that a lot these days, raising my hand and closing it into a fist, willing to cause pain, willing to do evil's chores. Suddenly the urge to break the mirror disappeared. I realized that it was not the right way.

 

Instead I took off my nightgown and put on a pair of pants. I'd come to like these pants, made of denim and comfortable. Suddenly I felt a bit more cheerful, no point in self-pity, right? Bending down to pull on some socks on my feet, something caught my eye in the mirror. On one heel, I spun around and stared into it. Something, a marking, had been burned into my skin on my right hip. It looked like a symbol of some sort, but I had honestly no idea of what it was, or what it meant. Touching it with my bare fingertips, I got a tingling feeling that shot up my hand. (I am death) Burn marked, condemner of souls, found guilty on all charges. Suddenly I needed not wonder about what it meant, it was my own signature, and I carried my own marking. How strange… With my long, thick raven hair covering my bare chest, I searched for more markings, anything that would explain why my own signature had been engraved into my skin. I searched for the marking of the divine, something that would complete the endless circle, but found nothing. Did it mean that all I was, all I existed for, was death? Would my fate ever be nothing more than a dead end?

 

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I answered before thinking twice, since I felt that the one outside would change its mind if I let her/him wait.

 

“Enter.”

The door opened and glancing over his shoulder, Pyro stepped into my room. Then his head swung round as he scanned the room for me. With a violent flinch, he took a small jump.

 

“Oh, shit!” he said, and jerked his eyes off of me, while he slammed the door shut. I laughed, who would have thought that the pyromaniac would be prude? Still laughing to myself I pulled a shirt over my head. Then I went over to the closet and closed the broken door.

 

“The next time you are undressed, you might consider warning me first.” He grinned and flicked his lighter open. I raised one of my eyebrows.

 

“For the reason to regard my own decency, or to spare you from blushing like a madman?” I was taunting him again. Somewhere I felt a bit guilty about it, but he was practically begging me to. He was always so darn defensive.

 

The look he threw me told me as much as I needed to know. With a furious expression, he turned to leave. I realised I'd gone out of line, and hurried to stop him. Grabbing his shoulder in a firm way, I said:

 

“Wait, I'm sorry okay.”

 

Though I knew his pride forbade him to, he stayed and waited for me as I gathered my stuff I needed for class. Then we headed down the corridor together. No one paid us much attention today either, I guess the students here are used to seeing new people all the time. I thought I'd seen a glimpse of Colossus as we passed by a corridor leading in a different direction, but he had his back to us. Not that it would have mattered anyway, he probably didn't remember Pyro.

 

“Quite a pretty hole you had in your wardrobe door.” My companion suddenly expressed. He sounded amused somehow, not that I understood how a broken closet could be funny. I nodded thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah, I know.” He was silent for a short while, but then the curiosity won over his stubbornness.

 

“So, mind telling me who made it? And by the way, I like your interior design. The whole upside down thing really works for you.”

 

I suddenly came to the realization that one day; I was going to punch him. Actually, I felt like punching him right now, but managed to restrain myself. Why was he so darned defensive all the time?

 

“I made it, for your information. And about my little interior `issue' I can assure you that I did not turn those furniture's upside down myself, at least not intentionally.” I bit back. He threw a glance at me, to see if I was making a joke maybe, but found me gravely serious. Inside, I was smirking. (“Heh, that shut him up.”)

 

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