I’m going to live your life…
1
The wind, flinging rain about like a homicidal monster, caressed and froze itself upon the pale, smooth, supple skin of the adolescents, kissing and flirting warmly like an unwanted and dangerous lover. Long flesh-and-purple worms, slick and thin, stretched across the rivers of concrete sidewalk, drowning as if victims of a massacre. Later, in the sun, they would cook and become hard, brittle, frozen pieces of desperation.
Two high school girls raced out of the rain, arms—pink and black—bouncing off of each other loosely, with elbows half-locked, clinging to each other frantically. They finally entered the spacious—cold and very airy but dry—shelter of the school, and their loose clinging became hungry. One of the girls flounced and reached up to suck a raindrop off the other girl’s cheek, and they giggled behind locked lips.
A young man, with hair a bit long and in smooth, soaked, jet-black strings, shoved past the girls, who parted like two surprised, mating beetles. The boy ignored them and shoved through the second set of doors with a heavy thump. His faded black hoody had some worn edges and holes ripped through the cuffs for his thumbs, and his baggy black pants swung about, making a hurried fabric noise and a dangerous clinking as his chains bounced on the back of his legs and hips.
The girls gave him a glance of disdain as he disappeared from sight. They turned back to each other and one girl grabbed the other girl’s neck in a powerful grip, pressing the girl into her. A long scream from the hallway wrenched them apart, and in panic the girl with the dark hair and cold eyes clawed into the blonde girl’s neck, who gave out a yelp.
“What the hell??”
There were explosions and pattering crashes and more screaming.2
The door exploded open, the small pane of glass in it shattering, and the young man in the black and chains swept in, jaw set like a tombstone and eyes burning cold and fiercely like a pool of lustful demons waiting in hell. He passed the girls who had glued desperately together in terror, and in one swift motion paused, shoved the gun in the dark girl’s open and wet mouth, and pulled the trigger. Skull pieces shattered and exploded and a blast of hot orange blood burned into the blonde girl’s skin and the walls. The blonde freckled girl screamed and fell.
#
“Good morning. Are you Tanya?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay, good, welcome to Lupine High School!” He quickly reached out and shook her hand warmly. “I’m Mr. Neslon, one of the counselors. Hold on a second…” The man, in a light blue shirt and a tie, disappeared down a small hall into one of the offices. Seconds later, he returned with several papers in his hand; two white, one light blue, and another a violent reddish orange.
“Sorry about that. Anyway, here’s your schedule, a letter to your parents, and an emergency release form. Try to get it signed as soon as you can and just turn it into the office.”
The girl nodded slightly.
“Oh, and do you have a picture of yourself that you can give to us for the yearbook? You can turn it in in a few weeks if you want. Otherwise we won’t have one of you.” To his surprise, the girl dug into her pocket with three long, beautiful, black nails, and procured a wallet-sized picture.
“Oh, thank you!” He paused. “This is yours?” He squinted at the picture and briefly scanned over the profile of a thin, smiling, blonde-haired girl with blue eyes and freckles and a small light-pink shirt with a popular brand name printed across her breast in curly white letters.
“Yes,” the girl answered, lifting her dark eyes. The man made no further comment and smiled at her.
“Would you like me to show you—Oh, here, wait, you need a map! Let me get you one…” He leaned over the counter and grabbed a photocopied map out of a stack of papers. He glanced at it and handed it to her. “D’you want me to bring you to your first class?”
“Oh, I think I’ll be fine, but thank you,” the girl answered in her quiet voice that she had pushed into a cheerful, confident, adult-like voice as she curled her left hand over her black-dyed hair and pulled it down straighter over the side of her face.
“Oh, okay, are you sure? Just come down to the office if you need any help…in anything,” the counselor told her. His tone hinted at something more.
“Okay. Thank you,” the girl answered, dipping her eyes modestly, in a sweet, syrupy-innocent voice that would have been seductive coming from any older woman. Tanya smiled cheerfully, turned, and left the office, her countenance quickly falling back into one of apathy.
The halls were silent, and the tiles were cold and clean and reflective. It was just like the psychiatric hospital she belonged in, the psychiatric hospital that she had just been released from; sterile, orderly, excruciatingly perfect. Conductive environment. Her reflection jumped around on the tiles and the windows, a shrouded figure of changing, unpatterned, uncontrolled feeling and thought. Tanya glanced sideways at her other self, and slowed briefly. She caught sight of a few freckles showing through her pale cover up, and she fingered them lightly, frowning. She, she didn’t have freckles. Tanya didn’t want them either. She turned and dug around in her burgundy-purple purse, fingertips shifting her contact lens cleaner and her colored contacts box, a nail file, a safety pin, a wallet, and a cheap cell phone. She pulled out a small makeup kit of cut-rate, plastic-crumbled powder and wiped it across her cheeks, burying the life. It was raining outside.
The main entrance doors slammed open, and a young man in dark clothes burst through, rain shaking off his clothes and sliding off his body. He shook his head and a spatter of liquid bullets speckled the floor and Tanya.
He looked up at her, and his blurry watery eyes froze as he lifted his head. The two stared.
“Didn’t I kill you?”
The girl’s face hardened and became inexpressive. “Yes.”
“Tanya?” He squinted.
“Yes.” She’d changed her name after it. She was now Tanya.
“You’re not real,” he insisted, eyes sliding off her flesh, rolling like marbles, clouded. He became overbalanced and wildly sidestepped before holding still and concentrating on her again.
“I know,” the girl said. They both knew it.
“I killed you on my way out. Your head broke,” the man said drunkenly, puzzling. He pushed closer to her, touching her. Tanya pushed herself away.
“Don’t you love me? The dead can sleep together.”
“I loved Tanya.”
“You don’t love yourself,” he disagreed.
Tanya looked down. “I know.”
“Then…then you’re not meant to live.” The man looked at her for a bit with clear eyes.
“I didn’t know…Tanya…wanted to…kill…h…” Tanya’s eyes were large. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
As Tanya watched, the man pulled a hunting knife out of his large pants pocket. Tanya stood stock still, her head slightly tilted, staring forward toward the ground, seeing inner demons. The young man reached out and picked up her arm, and slid the smooth blade along the length of her inner arm. The girl did nothing. He picked up the knife and gently pushed it along her throat. The girl flinched slightly and clenched her eyes shut as blood trickled down the pale skin of her breast. He ran the blade deeper as he dragged down, before jamming it into her heart. 3
4
5
But yours was not meant to live.
-- 6
7
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
Oh man, this story is really old...May 2006! I almost forgot about it, haha. 
But the chapter that's scary is actually chapter 8. 
See, now you have to go read it!!! 
)
