Post by champ103 on Jun 8, 2005 13:03:25 GMT -5
DARK AVENUE[/I]
Dupin says: A new fanfiction-it's almost like a better version of 667 Street, which I wrote a while back. Enjoy it-and because I have a new story doesn't mean I'm giving up on 'Killing'. Enjoy.
SEASON ONE, EPISODE ONE
It was a warm summer’s afternoon in Dark Avenue: the sun was shining down, not even slightly obscured by clouds, and the heat was roaming around the streets like a bull, swarming like bees, stinging like nettles. It was quiet outside: most people had gone outside on a daytrip to make the best out of the warm temperature, but from one pleasant looking house, there was a chilling noise that was fully audible thanks to an open window on the ground floor.
‘You bastard!’ Amber cried, her eyes red with tears, a handkerchief in one hand. She pushed herself down on her dark beige sofa, and let tears run from her eyes, and roll down her cheeks. She felt as if she had just been hit by a bomb: distraught and unable to do anything. All she felt that she was capable of was crying and swearing at the angry man in front of her, who had a nervous glint in his eyes.
‘Look, Amber,’ he muttered, trying to make sense, and trying to make peace.
‘Shut the hell up, Minocher,’ she snarled, holding a hand out as a gesture for him to go away. ‘I don’t give a damn what you have to say, but I suggest that you just pack your things, and leave right now, okay?’ Minocher shook his head, his eyes thinning in annoyance.
‘This is my house, Amber,’ he snarled. ‘So you’re the one who’s going to be packing their bags!’ Amber shook her head, and remained seated on the sofa.
‘Listen,’ she cried. ‘You end our engagement with some crappy reason about not being ready for commitment, and then you expect me to accept being thrown out on the streets?’ She collected up saliva in her mouth, and spat it out at her ex-fiancé. It landed limply on his navy blue shirt, but his swiftly wiped it away.
‘You are out of order, Amber!’ he growled furiously. ‘You were the one who asked me out the meal in the first place: you were the one who was in such a hurry to move in with me, and you were the one who proposed. If it were up to me, to be quite frank, you’d probably still be living in your old tacky place, seeing me once every couple of weeks!’ As Minocher said it, he knew it was true, but something told him that if it was up to him, he would stay away from her as much as possible. She was insane, a control freak, an irritating, obsessive woman who threw a tantrum if she didn’t get her way. He couldn’t marry someone like that, and he couldn’t share the house with her anymore.
He just wanted her to leave.
‘You could have said a simple ‘no’,’ Amber snarled. ‘If you weren’t planning on actually marrying me, why say ‘yes’ to the proposal?’
‘Because I felt sorry for you, okay?’ Minocher roared, his hands in tight fists, his face filled to the brim with expressions of anger. ‘Please, I don’t want you around here anymore. The sooner you pack your things and go, the better, and arguing isn’t going to help fight your case.’ Amber said nothing, but stared down at her feet, angrily. She didn’t know what to do, or what to say: take in defeat, and look stupid, or stand up for herself and get nowhere. She knew that arguing, and screaming wasn’t going to help her, but she needed to free the demon of stress that had born itself inside her, and Minocher was the thing that had stepped it over the line.
She stood up, simply picking herself up graciously from the sofa, and simply turned she round, a blank expression on her pale face, and started to walk towards the slim flight of stairs in the hallway.
‘I’ll go pack my things,’ she mused. Minocher folded his arms, and smiled: Amber was finally on her way out of his house, taking all of her designer gear and stupid celebrity magazines with her. He didn’t really care what Mariah Carey did with her hair, or what shoes made people look fat. He sat down a took a deep breath: it was all over, for now. He could start focusing more on athletics: he took an interest in running, and had recently one a long marathon, winning himself $100.
The second that Amber had left Minocher’s sight, she had let her calm face go, and expressions of all sorts entered her body, making her feel angry enough to break through metal with her bare hands. She needed to let it out on something, and was determined that Minocher was not going to get away with dumping her as she entered their bedroom.
The bedroom was a large spacey room, with a neat double bed in the centre. Amber’s magazines and clothes littered the floor, and the woman kneeled down and started to scoop them up into one big pile, ready to get them into her bag. By now, she wanted to leave, and get away from Minocher. She was seeing red as she stood herself back onto her feet, and went to collect her suitcase from the wardrobe on the far side of the room, along with a few more pieces of her clothing. She opened the doors, and there was a long, dreary creak, before a pair of trousers fell out. They were Minocher’s, and as Amber picked them up to put them back into the wardrobe, she suddenly got an idea.
-
‘Come to my masked ball!’ Pandora cried, shoving a piece of card into James’s hands. He scanned the invitation slightly, reading the words carefully, before shrugging.
‘I’ll see,’ he said quietly, and began to make his way along the street. Pandora didn’t really care where he was going, as long as he was at her masked ball. So far, no one had seemed enthusiastic, but had someone else been hosting the party, Pandora would have been thrilled to get an invitation. It seemed like fun: dressing up, wearing masks, it was so mysterious and dramatic. Suddenly she heard a shout, and she turned to face the nearby house. She looked back to her remaining invitations seconds later: it was Amber and Minocher. It seemed to Pandora that if they weren’t arguing about one thing, they’d be screaming to each other about something else: in fact, she was rather surprised why she was even inviting them to her masked ball.
She decided that they sounded busy, and she’d simply post their invitations through their letterbox. Whatever they were doing, it sounded like something that she didn’t really want to get involved in. She began to walk over to their house, until she felt something skin behind her: she quickly snapped around to see what it was, but nothing was there. The whole street was blank and quiet, nothing even making a distant noise, except for inside the house of Minocher and Amber.
She posted the invitation, thrusting it quietly through the letterbox, and speed walking away from the door, hoping not to have to face either one of them. After they’d had arguments, they both-especially Amber-were rather cold to anyone else that talked to them. She guessed that it wasn’t their fault: they led stressful lives-but if they disagreed on so many things, Pandora couldn’t imagine why they would even still be engaged to marry.
As Pandora began to walk away, she heard a click behind her, and a flash in the corner of her eyes. She turned around, slightly concerned about what it was: she had just seen that no one was on the hot streets of Dark Avenue, but the clicking had sounded mechanical, not something that a bird or a plant would make. After a small thought on it, Pandora decided that it was nothing-she was known by her friends to worry a little too much-and began to walk away, slowly counting the invitations she still had to hand out.
-
Amber grabbed a pair of scissors from the bottom of the wardrobe-Amber had used them to wrap a present recently, therefore why they were in the wardrobe, along with cello tape and wrapping paper. In one swift cutting movement, the blades from the scissors cut through the trousers, one leg quickly falling down against the floor. Amber raised an eyebrow and smiled.
‘I’m not sure if that bastard will be wanting to wear these now,’ she chuckled. Just as she had wanted, she was feeling triumph and relaxation. But she couldn’t stop at one simple cheap pair of trousers: she grabbed a pile of clothes from the cupboard, and making sure that none of them were hers, started going insane with the scissors, cutting anything anywhere, ridding the clothes from sleeves and legs, collars, letting them fall down to her knees. She enjoyed every minute of it: as far as she saw it, if she was going to leave Minocher, she was going to leave with a bang.
She leaned into the wardrobe to find some more clothes, and pulled out another bundle, along with a few small sheets of paper. Amber looked at them questioningly, before finally picking on up, holding it in her long hands, and began to read it. She gave a gasp, and checked it again, and again. She read the others: they were all very similar, with slight changes in numbers and names. She gave a grin: Minocher was going to get what he deserved. She shoved it into her pockets, and placed it at the back of her mind for that amount of time, before picking up the scissors again, and continuing on her snipping spree, wrecked clothes starting to surround her like a moat.
She wondered what Minocher was doing downstairs: just waiting for her to pack? Amber began to think that she ought to start packing, and leave his clothes on the floor for him when he went to bed that night. And she would be gone by then, ready to carry out her plan, ready to send him down. Suddenly her eyes widened: instead of going straight to the police, she would go to him, and tell him what she had found. And she would use it against him: either wreck his life, or do what she wanted.
And she knew exactly what she wanted Minocher to do.
Dupin says: A new fanfiction-it's almost like a better version of 667 Street, which I wrote a while back. Enjoy it-and because I have a new story doesn't mean I'm giving up on 'Killing'. Enjoy.
SEASON ONE, EPISODE ONE
It was a warm summer’s afternoon in Dark Avenue: the sun was shining down, not even slightly obscured by clouds, and the heat was roaming around the streets like a bull, swarming like bees, stinging like nettles. It was quiet outside: most people had gone outside on a daytrip to make the best out of the warm temperature, but from one pleasant looking house, there was a chilling noise that was fully audible thanks to an open window on the ground floor.
‘You bastard!’ Amber cried, her eyes red with tears, a handkerchief in one hand. She pushed herself down on her dark beige sofa, and let tears run from her eyes, and roll down her cheeks. She felt as if she had just been hit by a bomb: distraught and unable to do anything. All she felt that she was capable of was crying and swearing at the angry man in front of her, who had a nervous glint in his eyes.
‘Look, Amber,’ he muttered, trying to make sense, and trying to make peace.
‘Shut the hell up, Minocher,’ she snarled, holding a hand out as a gesture for him to go away. ‘I don’t give a damn what you have to say, but I suggest that you just pack your things, and leave right now, okay?’ Minocher shook his head, his eyes thinning in annoyance.
‘This is my house, Amber,’ he snarled. ‘So you’re the one who’s going to be packing their bags!’ Amber shook her head, and remained seated on the sofa.
‘Listen,’ she cried. ‘You end our engagement with some crappy reason about not being ready for commitment, and then you expect me to accept being thrown out on the streets?’ She collected up saliva in her mouth, and spat it out at her ex-fiancé. It landed limply on his navy blue shirt, but his swiftly wiped it away.
‘You are out of order, Amber!’ he growled furiously. ‘You were the one who asked me out the meal in the first place: you were the one who was in such a hurry to move in with me, and you were the one who proposed. If it were up to me, to be quite frank, you’d probably still be living in your old tacky place, seeing me once every couple of weeks!’ As Minocher said it, he knew it was true, but something told him that if it was up to him, he would stay away from her as much as possible. She was insane, a control freak, an irritating, obsessive woman who threw a tantrum if she didn’t get her way. He couldn’t marry someone like that, and he couldn’t share the house with her anymore.
He just wanted her to leave.
‘You could have said a simple ‘no’,’ Amber snarled. ‘If you weren’t planning on actually marrying me, why say ‘yes’ to the proposal?’
‘Because I felt sorry for you, okay?’ Minocher roared, his hands in tight fists, his face filled to the brim with expressions of anger. ‘Please, I don’t want you around here anymore. The sooner you pack your things and go, the better, and arguing isn’t going to help fight your case.’ Amber said nothing, but stared down at her feet, angrily. She didn’t know what to do, or what to say: take in defeat, and look stupid, or stand up for herself and get nowhere. She knew that arguing, and screaming wasn’t going to help her, but she needed to free the demon of stress that had born itself inside her, and Minocher was the thing that had stepped it over the line.
She stood up, simply picking herself up graciously from the sofa, and simply turned she round, a blank expression on her pale face, and started to walk towards the slim flight of stairs in the hallway.
‘I’ll go pack my things,’ she mused. Minocher folded his arms, and smiled: Amber was finally on her way out of his house, taking all of her designer gear and stupid celebrity magazines with her. He didn’t really care what Mariah Carey did with her hair, or what shoes made people look fat. He sat down a took a deep breath: it was all over, for now. He could start focusing more on athletics: he took an interest in running, and had recently one a long marathon, winning himself $100.
The second that Amber had left Minocher’s sight, she had let her calm face go, and expressions of all sorts entered her body, making her feel angry enough to break through metal with her bare hands. She needed to let it out on something, and was determined that Minocher was not going to get away with dumping her as she entered their bedroom.
The bedroom was a large spacey room, with a neat double bed in the centre. Amber’s magazines and clothes littered the floor, and the woman kneeled down and started to scoop them up into one big pile, ready to get them into her bag. By now, she wanted to leave, and get away from Minocher. She was seeing red as she stood herself back onto her feet, and went to collect her suitcase from the wardrobe on the far side of the room, along with a few more pieces of her clothing. She opened the doors, and there was a long, dreary creak, before a pair of trousers fell out. They were Minocher’s, and as Amber picked them up to put them back into the wardrobe, she suddenly got an idea.
-
‘Come to my masked ball!’ Pandora cried, shoving a piece of card into James’s hands. He scanned the invitation slightly, reading the words carefully, before shrugging.
‘I’ll see,’ he said quietly, and began to make his way along the street. Pandora didn’t really care where he was going, as long as he was at her masked ball. So far, no one had seemed enthusiastic, but had someone else been hosting the party, Pandora would have been thrilled to get an invitation. It seemed like fun: dressing up, wearing masks, it was so mysterious and dramatic. Suddenly she heard a shout, and she turned to face the nearby house. She looked back to her remaining invitations seconds later: it was Amber and Minocher. It seemed to Pandora that if they weren’t arguing about one thing, they’d be screaming to each other about something else: in fact, she was rather surprised why she was even inviting them to her masked ball.
She decided that they sounded busy, and she’d simply post their invitations through their letterbox. Whatever they were doing, it sounded like something that she didn’t really want to get involved in. She began to walk over to their house, until she felt something skin behind her: she quickly snapped around to see what it was, but nothing was there. The whole street was blank and quiet, nothing even making a distant noise, except for inside the house of Minocher and Amber.
She posted the invitation, thrusting it quietly through the letterbox, and speed walking away from the door, hoping not to have to face either one of them. After they’d had arguments, they both-especially Amber-were rather cold to anyone else that talked to them. She guessed that it wasn’t their fault: they led stressful lives-but if they disagreed on so many things, Pandora couldn’t imagine why they would even still be engaged to marry.
As Pandora began to walk away, she heard a click behind her, and a flash in the corner of her eyes. She turned around, slightly concerned about what it was: she had just seen that no one was on the hot streets of Dark Avenue, but the clicking had sounded mechanical, not something that a bird or a plant would make. After a small thought on it, Pandora decided that it was nothing-she was known by her friends to worry a little too much-and began to walk away, slowly counting the invitations she still had to hand out.
-
Amber grabbed a pair of scissors from the bottom of the wardrobe-Amber had used them to wrap a present recently, therefore why they were in the wardrobe, along with cello tape and wrapping paper. In one swift cutting movement, the blades from the scissors cut through the trousers, one leg quickly falling down against the floor. Amber raised an eyebrow and smiled.
‘I’m not sure if that bastard will be wanting to wear these now,’ she chuckled. Just as she had wanted, she was feeling triumph and relaxation. But she couldn’t stop at one simple cheap pair of trousers: she grabbed a pile of clothes from the cupboard, and making sure that none of them were hers, started going insane with the scissors, cutting anything anywhere, ridding the clothes from sleeves and legs, collars, letting them fall down to her knees. She enjoyed every minute of it: as far as she saw it, if she was going to leave Minocher, she was going to leave with a bang.
She leaned into the wardrobe to find some more clothes, and pulled out another bundle, along with a few small sheets of paper. Amber looked at them questioningly, before finally picking on up, holding it in her long hands, and began to read it. She gave a gasp, and checked it again, and again. She read the others: they were all very similar, with slight changes in numbers and names. She gave a grin: Minocher was going to get what he deserved. She shoved it into her pockets, and placed it at the back of her mind for that amount of time, before picking up the scissors again, and continuing on her snipping spree, wrecked clothes starting to surround her like a moat.
She wondered what Minocher was doing downstairs: just waiting for her to pack? Amber began to think that she ought to start packing, and leave his clothes on the floor for him when he went to bed that night. And she would be gone by then, ready to carry out her plan, ready to send him down. Suddenly her eyes widened: instead of going straight to the police, she would go to him, and tell him what she had found. And she would use it against him: either wreck his life, or do what she wanted.
And she knew exactly what she wanted Minocher to do.