I am such a terrible person… I LIED! IT WILL REMAIN THE SAME! AND IT'S BACK FROM THE DEAD, A**HOLES! Now… after upsetting a good amount of readers… I do have a reason… but I will explain later… for now… here it is… the return of my first work, 'No Longer Alone': Now a collaboration between myself and MadManMatt64, a huge supporter of this fic and a good person for the assistance. Here plot-holes will be fixed, all characters will be focused on, and even more detail will be present. To readers of it, I truly am sorry… But here, we will prove that even the best performance can be done better than before.
From MadManMAtt64: Hey fans of VG Cats! It's me MadManMatt64, back from the writer's block blues. I have to say, working with Lux on this story has been an honor as well as a pleasure. As a huge fan of the original story, knowing everything inside and out, I can tell you all without a doubt from a fan's perspective that this is easily ten times as good from the original. You know what they say, third time's the charm. As for readers of Feral, I promise that it will be done by the end of the year, and after that I won't be doing anything VG Cats related besides this for a while. I have other projects that I've been ignoring. Yes I know that this is a shameless plug, but what better place to put this? Anyway, Lux and I don't own VG Cats. If we did, we can guarantee you that this would be cannon.
No Longer Alone
Redone for the 3rd time
A collab done by LuxUmbra2012 and MadManMatt64
Scars of the Past
Fate… is cruel. I despise fate because it led me down this path of pain and sorrow, agony and misery… that's all it has done for me… no one understands the mental pain I go through… no one cares about the injuries I sustain… no one bothers to help me when I lie in the street, injured badly and bleeding profusely… and no one will ever care… because of that wretched thing known as fate. Oh, how I despise it for setting my future in solid stone, just like God's Ten Commandments… Yeah I'm a Christian… but frankly, I don't give a shit. If the omnipotent existed, then can't he change the way things are? Yes… he just chooses not to, because mankind and animal-kind fucked up years ago and now we have to suffer the infernal torture known as living, breathing, and dying… I hate it. Especially with all of those fancy pants asshole celebrities saying that they were born to do what they do… bullshit. Michael Jackson was born to become a legend in music, that's no lie, but not them… Not these stupid assholes… Frankly I don't give a damn about these new risers like Lady Gaga, Rebecca Black, and my most hated one. You can guess who… But I'm getting ahead of myself. As I was saying… because of the stupidity of others, the rest of man and animal-kind has to pay the ultimate price for what they were responsible for… how unfair… that people are given set destinies by conception… Some die inside, never to know what life will be… Some die young, never to know what adulthood is like… Some are born with fatal or lifelong diseases… Some people are born with mental problems, like me and my ADHD, schizophrenia and on top of that paranoia … Sad, isn't it? Nah… cause no one gives a shit about others… It's like what Willem Dafoe said in Spider-Man: The Movie… Here's what he said, but with my own twist: "There are 6.5 billion life forms on this planet and each and every one of those people exist for the sole purpose… of lifting those considered exceptional onto their shoulders…" I guess I'm one of the few who don't even get to lift in the slightest… I sure as hell know I won't be exceptional… How can a mistake like me be someone who is worth so much? Probably by doing a lot of ass-kissing or other crap. In any case… yeah, I'm a mistake… literally… my whole life has been a mistake. I might as well start saying why… not like you care anyways… No one does, and why? Because of our goddamn pre-set fates! Oh well… here ya go…
My name is Dante. Dante Jeice Riley… But I prefer the term 'DJ' over that goddamn curse of a name… I hate my name… because it reminds me of my bastard mother… I hate my last name… because it reminds me of my bastard father… I hate them both… I despise them… I wish they would just drop dead…Gramps says that saying that is mean… Hah… they would be the choice words he would say if he stepped in my shoes. Why do I hate them? I'll tell you. Play some tragic music if you want… not like you'll care. I'm 17… 17½ years old… My eye color is brown. My birthday is… Ahh, who gives a flying fuck? Certainly not you… but then again, you are reading this… I'm just your basic miserable 5'7 feet tall, skinny guy (sucks to be short); my ethnic root would be something called a certain "n" word… Not like I care, that word means ignorant so therefore the morons who call me that just to insult me are ignorant. Still, it doesn't make it right to say that word in particular. I'm okay looking: tan complexion, manageable hair, brown eyes, slight mustache coming in, good build (nothing crazy like those damn jocks), and unfortunately, three very noticeable scars on me: One on the back of my head (glass bottle breaking on the back of my head. Thanks dad), one on my right cheek (butcher knife cutting my cheek during preparations for dinner. Thanks mom), and one stretching from my left shoulder down to my wrist (a goddamn riding crop. I didn't even know those things still existed). All of this and so much more were done to me by mommy dearest and good ol' pa. Do you understand why I hate them? That's not even the worst part… They did this to me for the first early years of my pathetic life, and when the injuries were noticeable, I had to lie to everyone who would ask where I got them from or they would kill me… and not the playful kind, like "Little bro, Imma kill you for deleting my save files on Smash Bros!" then noogie the kid on his noggin, I mean the literal kind, like they will put me 60 feet under the damn apartment complex. My early years were hell… and it was their fault. I can never forgive them for putting me into this infinite cycle of life and death… especially since I was an accident to them. Yup, my birth was accidental. That's what my dad gets for using a broken condom… Fucking dumbass can't think for shit, fucker only thinks with his dick… Daddy was 16, mommy was 15… 7 years of hell go by after I entered this damn wheel of existence… and on my 7th birthday… I couldn't take it anymore. Everything that happened under the roof of that squalid apartment, I couldn't take it anymore… As my parents argued about beer money, crack money, whatever the hell kind of money it was… I remembered the number to call the police so they could take bad people away. Heh, thanks South Park… The cops came, but my parents found out first and began beating me… My cries were heard throughout the entire apartment complex. The cops, the landlord, and other kind people busted in and pulled them off of me, but not before leaving the scar on my arm. When they were taken away, they said the words that would devastate my very soul… "YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BASTARD! YOU GODDAMN ACCIDENT! WASTE OF FLESH, I WISH I NEVER GAVE BIRTH TO YOU, DANTE!"
Words cannot describe the infinite sadness I felt at that moment, now and forever burned into my memory…
I lived with my grandfather and grandmother afterwards… where only a year later, my grandmother fell ill and died shortly in the hospital bed. Docs said her breast cancer was benign and wouldn't spread… three days later; she's dead because the goddamn doctor was wrong! I can never trust ANYONE! BECAUSE ALL THE THINGS THAT THESE STUPID SELF-RIGHTEOUS BASTARDS THINK ABOUT IS WHEN THE FUCK THEY'RE GONNA GET THEIR NEXT 6-FIGURE INCOME CHECK FOR LETTING INNOCENT PEOPLE SUFFER AND DIE! I can only trust people who have gone through the same tragedies in life… loss, pain, regret, guilt, shame, etc. because I know that they will take things seriously than those other assholes. That's something we tragic ones share… that from pain, others who know pain will try to help the suffering. My only wish is that someone would alleviate my suffering but, alas, it is mine and mine alone. The heavy burden of guilt and pain… not to mention the constant pressure of keeping above the others in school… but with my distorted appearance and blood oozing down my arm whenever a stitch came loose, it was difficult… well, not the keeping up thing cause I was diagnosed early on and took meds for them every day... but the fact that no one would dare approach me because of my bloody arm… I was called a lot of insults and hurtful names, but the one that pissed me off the most was 'Bleedin' all over everyone'. (Girls, you might understand that one, and if you do, I am sorry for mentioning that, but people are fucking heartless. Know that.) Every fucking time someone said that, my thoughts turned downright carnage-filled and evil as I thought of sickening and gruesome ways to kill those worthless fools. It keeps me sane… no, I'm not crazy… I just need to relieve myself of my anger and this is currently the best way I can handle it… I'm an outcast because of my hatred of even the living. But living through your sorrows proves you are willing to fight through your hardships, rather than die and free yourself from this pain… (FFX reference, anyone?), so I can't give up on life. But living is a curse… every day, pain greets me with a punch to the face… sadness shakes my hand with insults… and everything else happens by everything. But I still don't end it all… because I have a dream… a goal. My goal… is to one day break fate's wheel. I refuse to go the path of my worthless parents and refuse to accept this destiny. No matter what happens, before I die, I will change my fate. I will not be doomed like the others. Those who accepted their doomed existence and simply waste away, I am not like them, nor will I ever be! I digress. I'm getting too far ahead of myself again… It's been hard for me growing up with Grandpa Max and dealing with everyone else's crap, especially that bitch (literally) Vanessa. Who doesn't hate that monster is a question that everyone can agree on the answer.
DJ Riley… that's my name… I am not Dante. My name is DJ. Respect that. I made myself an outcast to avoid suffering more pain and humiliation... did I make the right choice? Because, I think there's another person who seems to have it much worse than I do… am I being too selfish? Probably so, but I've lived all these years focusing on myself and my survival, collecting money through odd jobs and such. If I am selfish… would I fix whatever's wrong? And if I did fix those wrongs, then would someone… talk to me?
For me, life fucking sucks. Oh sure, I have parents that love me, a little brother that adores me, and an entire PSN community that fears me whenever I enter their games, save two gamers who are practically as good as I am, but outside of that little bubble, I have no friends, no social life, and an entire school shunning me because I got some stupid jock arrested. Okay, obviously I went ahead of myself here, so I'll back up a little. My name is Aeris Cole, and outside of my house everyone knows me as a goddamn slut. Heh, ironic that they would call me a slut even if I didn't do anythingwith the guy. Sorry, I went ahead of myself again, let me just start at the beginning.
You see, I'm a pink cat. I'm 5'8, 17 ¾ years old, have ocean blue eyes, and I always let my waist length hair remain free and unaltered. You would probably think that this would be why I have no friends, because I'm some sort of a freak of nature. Well you would actually be half right in thinking that my color of fur is the reason that I'm alone in this world, because I was singled out when they first saw me, and when I say 'they', I mean the army of sluts that I used to call my friends. They let me enter their ranks because I was pink, which apparently made me beautiful. I actually sort of wish that they made fun of me because of my fur, that way I would actually have real friends. Anyway, we always paraded around the high school, strutting our stuff, everyone getting out of our way just because we wanted them to. I'll admit it, though I'm not entirely proud of it and I never will be, I enjoyed having everybody worship us as the untouchable goddesses that we were made out to be. I liked walking down the halls hearing the boys around me whispering, "Hey…There goes Aeris Cole.", "Wow, she's gorgeous.", and "I wish that I could date her." And other flirtatious comments that would send me into a mental red-hot blush (when none were so perverted…).
That enjoyment only lasted about a week into freshman year though. See, that was around the time when my 'friends' started to show their true colors. There was this kid, another freshman, a human named Will Somins. He was the quiet type, always had his nose in a book of some sort. Why am I bringing this guy up? Well, one day my 'friends' and I were walking down the hallways, and who should he happen to walk into Jody, the leader of the group who was a rather tall peacock, but Will wasn't paying any attention to anything but the book he was reading at the time. When he knocked into her, she immediately went onto the offensive. She didn't even give the guy a chance to explain himself; she just knocked the book out of his hand and pushed him to the floor. On the floor he said something along the lines of, "Jeez, I'm sorry! What the hell was that for?"
Jody smiled the way only a peacock could, "Well I only do it because you thought that you could attack me, you little monkey."
Will looked offended and hurt, "What! I just knocked into you by accident! I said I was sorry!"
Jody stuck her beak in the air; "I'm afraid that sorry just won't cut it..." she turned to us, "Let's get this disrespectful little turd, girls!"
Every single one of my 'friends' put on wicked smiles and surrounded Will. I was the only one that stood back, confused as to why they would treat this kid so badly, even if he did do something stupid. Through a gap in the circle of people I could see that Will had a look of sheer terror and confusion on his face. As Jody's fist made contact with his face, I lost all respect for every single one of my 'friends'. I don't even think they noticed that I wasn't even part of the circle; they were just having too much fun beating this poor kid into submission. After a few minutes, they stood back and admired the mangled, bloodied body of an innocent boy that they had created. I wanted to do something, I wanted to call out to a teacher, an adult, someone, but I kept my mouth shut. I valued my position too much to be a whistle blower. After that, the rest of the day just went on normally, and that was what scared me the most. They just treated the beating of another person like you would treat talking about the weather.
The next day, we saw Will again, bruised and with a broken nose, but he was still standing. Of course, Jody and her posse decided to make Will's life a living hell again, for no reason other than she was bored I might add. Everything went the same as it did yesterday, Will getting beaten, me standing back neither hurting or helping him, then everything going back to normal after another broken bone. This went on for a whole two months, and over that time, I saw a change in Will. I had a few classes with him, and in nearly every single one, he was always the one whose hand shot up first. After a few weeks though, he started to become more recluse. His hand started coming up less and less, until it just stopped coming up altogether. The last time I saw him he had a forlorn look in his eyes, something that screamed 'Someone please help me!', but I guess I was the only one that saw it. That was the last time I saw him, or anyone saw him either. The next time I heard of him he was on the news, and you can probably already guess why he was on the news. His parents found him hanging in their garage earlier that morning.
Of course when you hear news that someone from your school committed suicide, naturally it's going to spread like wildfire. Normally, everyone would be sad that one of their own is no longer with them, but Jody, that motherfucking bitch Jody, had the stones to tell us, "Well I'm glad that he killed himself. Hah! Saves me the trouble of cleaning my feathers of his blood."
And do you know what my 'friends' did? Did they look at her with disgust and think that she was an evil bitch because she said something so horrible? No, they laughed and agreed with every single goddamn word that she said. I walked away from this with an emotional scar. I could have done something, anything to make it so that Will didn't do what he did, but no, I had a reputation to look after. Not only that, but that was the day I saw no redeemable qualities in my 'friends'. Nothing that serious happened again. I guess they made Will a very decent example. Of course, there were other kids that they beat up too, but it was a one-time thing most of the time. Why didn't I do anything to help them? Reputation. Oh, I felt sorry for them, but I didn't help them, all because I liked how people worshiped me.
Oh, but that isn't the half of it. No, something even worse happened a year later, the something that made me the hard ass social pariah I am today. It all had to do with this jock in senior year, a lion named Eric Jacobs. That name still gives me a bad taste in my mouth. Eric was the most popular kid in the school, the person every guy wanted to be and every girl wanted to be with. He was the star of the football team, and he was also the biggest sex magnet in the whole school. Every month, he would choose one of the girls from the 'popular' crowd to be his girlfriend, and as soon as he had his way with them, he would dump them and break their stone cold hearts. Then, almost immediately, they would join the group of his other past girlfriends and follow him around in an almost stalker-ish fashion. Nearly every girl has had their turn with him, and soon enough it was mine.
It was nearing the homecoming game and Eric had broken up with Jody a few days before. Yeah, secretly I took pleasure in that. Anyway, it three days until homecoming and Eric needed a new girlfriend to be his date to the dance and someone to have congratulatory sex with after the game that he was surly going to win. It just so happened that he chose me. It was at the end of the school day and I was waiting outside the school for my dad to come and pick me up. After about a minute I heard someone shouting my name. I looked around and saw Eric coming up to me, smiling in a charming sort of way. When he walked up to me he said, "Yo Aeris. I'm pretty sure that you know me so I'm gonna cut to the chase, will you be my girlfriend?"
Even before this moment I hated this guy. I hated that arrogant personality, what he did to every girl he met, and the fact that he was a bully on top of that made me automatically dislike him. I looked to the street, looking for my dad, and said dryly, "Thank you, but no thank you Eric. I don't really like you very much."
He scoffed, "Are you kidding me?"
I turned back to him, "No, I'm not. You know what? To tell you the truth; I hate you and everything you stand for. How you ever became popular is a wonder of the modern world if you ask me. So if you could please leave me alone, I would like it."
He gave me a vindictive look just as my dad pulled up to me, "No one has ever said no to Eric Jacobs."
At that point, as I was walking over to my dad's car, I spoke to him harshly, "I can't believe I'm using such a clichéd line, but I think I just did."
He looked at me, confused, "Do you mean using a clichéd line or saying no to me?"
I opened the car door, "Both." And slammed the door.
The next day all the talk around the school was about me turning down Eric. Apparently Eric wasn't lying when he said that nobody said no to him before, and I was the first person to say no to him ever. Honestly, I really didn't care about what anybody said about me and him, just as long as it didn't turn violent. Although I saw him once or twice in the halls, and each time, he gave me a weird look whenever he saw me. I ignored it, but then something happened, something that sealed my fate as a social outcast. I had missed school earlier that week because I had a cold (boy, was that hell…) and the day I came back, we had to run a mile in gym class, so, unfortunately for me, I had to make it up after school. That was relatively uneventful, but after that was over everything went straight to hell in a hand-basket. I'm a slow dresser, so I was the last person in the locker room. As I started to change out of my gym uniform, I heard the door to the locker room open. I ignored it, figuring that the other girls had finished changing into their school wear and left the locker room. It was only until after I slipped on my underwear that a pair of hands, lion hands, curled around my stomach and held me tightly. I was then pressed into the front of my locker, the cold metal only making the following words chill my spine even more… I heard a voice in my ear, "Hey there, beautiful…"
My eyes widened. It was Eric. My voice was laced with horror as I said, "W-What the hell are you doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious?", he replied with a snide tone, "No one's ever said no to me before you and since you were the first one to do so, I think the perfect revenge would be to do something along the lines of humiliating you like you did to me. Now I'm giving you one last chance… Be my girlfriend or you can say goodbye to your purity right here, not like you'll have it for long anyways. So… what'll it be?"
"Like hell, you motherfucker!" I shouted, anger replacing fear. I rose my foot and slammed it on his. Most of the shock was absorbed by his sneaker, but it was enough to get him to let go. When he did, I turned around and kneed him in his crotch. With a satisfying screech, he grabbed his crotch and fell to the floor, breathing shaky breaths. I quickly dressed myself and ran out of the locker room quickly then grabbed my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed 911. Long story short, the cops came and took Eric away on charges of attempted rape. You may think that this ended well for me, everybody sympathizing with me but, no, since homecoming game took place only a day later and since Eric, the star player/rapist, was arrested, our school football team lost and needed a scapegoat. And who better to make a scapegoat than the person who got him arrested in the first place? The rest of the year was a living hell on earth for me, my old 'friends' turning on me, all the people that my 'friends' hurt during my time in their ranks asking me how it felt to be one of them, all the jocks talking trash at me, and worse, people asking me how it felt to allow Will to kill himself. To reiterate, my life fucking sucks. Although, I have a new chance. My dad recently got a job transfer to Toronto, and I can only say thank God for that. I will not miss living in Ottawa by any means. Goodbye Jody and all you assholes, I'm leaving here forever… and thank God. I have a chance to start over, and this time… I will do this right.
Have you ever heard of the phrase, there's always someone worse off than you? Well, in this case, in my case, there is no one who can possibly be any more miserable than I am. Don't even try searching because you found the end of the yellow miserable brick road. I'm not kidding. Do you possibly think you can find someone who has lost so much more than I have? That's impossible… Why? Because I lost everything… and at such a young age no less. You probably know who I am, huh? Toronto's local abomination and all-around freak, Leo Leonardo the 3rd. Yup, that's me. Every day is a living hell for me and it's all because of what happened oh so long ago. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You want to know what happened 13 years ago? Of course you do but just like Lemony Snicket's 'A Series of Unfortunate Events', I come with the same warnings. My life is saddening, horrible, and depressing, but you'll probably read it anyway. Besides, everyone reads good, morbid, and tragic stories to remind themselves how grateful they are compared to the protagonist.
I just turned 17 about a good 3 months earlier before now (May 19th, 20XX). I'm 5'7 tall, skinny build, and… hell… even I don't consider myself attractive in any form or manner. Seeing embarrassing pictures of me scattered around the internet, you already know what I look like.
You know me as a sick monster with the most twisted mind anyone has ever seen. Well, I wasn't always like this, well the twisted mind part. The monster thing is just an elaborate farce concocted by a maniacal… Wait… too far. What you don't know about me is that I had an ordinary life, just like everyone who's probably reading this. A stay at home mom who loved me with all of her heart, mind, body, and soul: This one woman, Karen Leonardo, was my light when I was alone as a kitten. The very reason I was happy when no one else was around was when she was always there with me, tickling me silly or telling me stories about good guys beating bad guys. Hell, even the meals she made were so delicious; I still remember their taste even after 13 years…
My father was a wealthy businessman, who emigrated from Britain to America in the hopes of seeking a more exciting and fulfilling life rather than live back at his home country and in complete extravagance. He always did tell me how boring it was to be like that. I, to this day, wonder how a natural born and raised Englishman was able to woo and marry an American tomboy like my mother, especially with that accent he had. Despite this, he was the dad who always was there for me: sneaking behind his wife to give a small piece of candy to his son whenever he got in trouble, surprising me and simply making me laugh with that accent of his, and other crazy stuff that a British man can tell his young son. He even told me how to say cigarette in England, but boy was mom so pissed.
My uncle. Good Lord, that guy is crazy beyond all compare. He is a human comic artist who made a killing off both Toronto's morning newspapers and the internet by creating a hilarious strip and web comic called the Gamer Animals, which entailed the lives of several commonplace video gaming animals, even affectionately putting me in a strip which showed how good I was playing Doom 2, making a horror gamer expert drop his jaw comically. I know he wasn't truly family, since he was human, but he's been standing by my parents for who knows how long so mom and dad made me call him 'uncle', even though I started calling him that before they told me that. He even handed me my first ever video game console. A PlayStation, the one colored like me. He also handed me my first ever video game: Pac-Cat World 20th Anniversary.
Have you ever heard of Jake Muldoon? You have? Then you probably already know that he has 3,500+ victims on his record. Why am I bringing this up to you? Why is it relevant to a seemingly happy story about a happy and carefree little kitten and his oh-so-wonderful family? Well, what if I told you that this family was to be destroyed by the very psychopath I outlined to you earlier, on Christmas no less? Do you want to hear it? Of course you do, everyone's attracted to the most morbid things.
It was a silent Christmas Eve, and there was one little kitten standing at his frost covered window on 1134 Clear River Ave. at Toronto, Ontario, Canada. With baited breath, he awaited that special moment when he would hear those bells, those bells, those bells…. I stood up in my footie pajamas looking outside my frost covered window, thawing some of the permafrost with my breath. I looked outside with such childlike wonder, as the lights flashed everywhere across the neighborhood. I looked at my Pac-Cat clock, counting down the seconds just waiting for Santa to come… I always wanted to see him: That big fat jolly man with his trademark Christmas costume, with the reindeer guiding his sleigh, merrily singing carols and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas, waking tons of little kids and pre-teens around the whole Earth who would then scream for their parents or older siblings that Santa had come. Dad even told me a cute little fairytale that if I was a good little kitty, then Santa would let me see him. He would stop once he saw me and ask, "Have you been a good little boy this year, Leo?" Then I would have to respond, "Yes, Santa! I've been really good this year! And I'll be good every year!" "Ho-Ho-Ho!"Santa would laugh, his jolly belly jiggling somewhat, his very laughter bringing Christmas cheer with him. Then he would give me the best present that he brought for me, and would let me open it. That was the story Dad told me.
I can still remember the sheer excitement I felt as twelve o'clock displayed on my alarm clock. I sprang out of my bed as soon as those digits appeared on the clock. I ran out of my bed room and down the stairs into the living room silently, so I wouldn't wake mom and dad, and then stealthily turned to the kitchen, where mom left the cookies and milk. Some were eaten, and the milk was gone and there was no fat man to been seen anywhere. And the weird thing was that the front door was wide open. Boy, how upsetting… "Oh, well…" I said, "I'll be even better next year, then I'll definitely get to see him next year! I'll be extra good, this I swear!"I turned my attention to the living room where our very tall tree was placed, and there, right underneath the tree, was a literal trove of presents. I was so giddy that I ran without abandon towards them, giggling like someone who said a silly word, like 'titmouse'. I hastily skimmed through each and every one of the presents there. When I finished, I had learned that over half of them were mine, and many of them were huge. I was the happiest little guy in the world! I extended my paws to unwrap my first present just a little, but someone had unwrapped the present that would change everything…
A scream sounded from upstairs, stopping time faster than anyone can say, "ZA WARUDO!" or "CHAOS CONTROL!" or "TIME STOP!"or other time stopping quotes. It came from my mother.
"HEAVENLY FATHER! LEO, WAKE UP! HONEY, PLEASE WAKE UP!"
"Sorry… but he's long gone… Boy, was that easy. So, Karen… It's your turn."
"GET AWAY, PLEASE! JUST TAKE WHAT YOU WANT AND LEAVE!"
"Well… I might let you and your son live… that is… if you do something for me…"
"I WILL NEVER ALLOW ANYONE, ESPECIALLY A SICK MONSTER LIKE YOU, LAY THEIR FILTHY FUCKING HANDS ON ME! YOU MURDERED MY HUSBAND AND I WILL NEVER LET YOU LAY YOUR SICKENING HANDS ON MY SON!"
"Oh… so sure? Hmm…. Too bad… I'll make sure to tell your son you said that and let him know how futile your resistance was…. Goodbye, Karen, but don't worry, your son will follow soon."
"LEO! GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!"
I suddenly had the urge to run up the stairs into my parent's bedroom to see what the hell was going on. Evil laughter and odd squelching sounds filled my ears as I climbed up the steps as fast as I could, panic starting to take over. Since I was so small, it took me a while to open the door, and a few seconds before I did, it seemed that all the laughter, the odd noises, every single sound in the house seemed to be muted. As I opened the door... you cannot yet to begin to imagine the pain and sadness that I felt. When I opened that door, the next image I saw would be engraved in my memory forever, and like the Ten Commandments, this memory was set in stone. Leo the 2nd was spread-eagled on the side of the room closest to the door, right in front of my feet. I could already see blood on the back of his white night shirt, but when I turned him over, I was face to face with my father, now no longer a part of this world. His face was coated in blood, his monocle shattered on the floor nearby him, his eyes rolled up inside his head, and his neck was torn wide open, neatly cut with a large knife. The wound was so severe that the sinews of flesh holding his head to his body nearly snapped when I touched him. I nearly vomited. I had known what death is. One life and that's it: Game Over, No Restarts, and No Continues. Video games and good parenting can teach one a lot. My mother was lying on the bed, blood oozing from her mouth, and many other injuries riddling her once serene form. Her breathing was still present but terribly labored. The scene in its entirety had reduced me from pure happiness to pure worry to pure fear and terror and a hot batch of tears welled within my eyes. My parents... my dad was already dead, and mom was on the brink. I ran up to her screaming, "MOMMY! MOMMY!"
She looked at me and despite all the intense pain she was in; she said my name so softly I could barely hear it. I stood right there next to her, hot tears starting to flow down my cheeks. She gave me a ghost of a smile and lifted her paw to my face in an attempt to wipe the tears off. When she finished she grabbed onto my paw and squeezed it tight. She then said in a nearly inaudible voice, "Leo... I'm so sorry we won't be able to see you grow up... just remember that Mommy and Daddy will always be with you...", she started to cough up blood, "Leo, I want you to call Scott... just run outside and call his name as loud as you can... okay?", her breathing became more laborious, "Leo... I love you...".She then stopped breathing altogether and her death grip became limp… The light… the very soul that made Karen Leonardo, my mother, who she was… had faded from those eyes… those pain-filled and happy yellow eyes…
My tears resumed as I shook my parents, desperately trying to wake them up from death... how pathetic of me. I started to shout, "Please! Mommy, Daddy, please wake up!" I even said my first curse, "DAMMIT MOM! I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO!" Of course all I received in return was oppressive silence, save for what sounded like footsteps sneaking out of the room. It was around this point I said the most clichéd line to ever use in a sad moment, "NOOOOOOOOO!"
And Pandora's Box… the lock was broken… and it was opened…
I started to shake with grief and the tears I was crying were starting to blind me, but somehow through all the sadness, I felt compelled to run outside and fulfill my mother's last wish. I was running on sheer adrenaline at this point and woe to anyone who tried to stop me. At least that's what I thought at the time. I ran out my parent's room as fast as I could and barreled down the stairs, but right when the wide open front door seemed to be in my reach and I filled my lungs with the air necessary to call Scott, it suddenly shut, and a man stepped out of the shadows of the hallway and waved his finger in a manner similar to a certain blue hedgehog, saying, "Ah, ah, ah. You know better than to run away from home. Didn't your parents teach you anything?"
He then grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and held me in front of his face. It was the scariest thing I have ever seen in my life. Period. His face was heavily scarred and he had a lopsided, demented grin. His breath smelled of cheap alcohol and his eyes…. oh my god, those horrible blood-red eyes... I felt something sharp against my cheek as he said, "Well if your parents aren't around to teach you that running away is a bad thing... then I suppose it's my job now to punish you."
My tears turned from sadness to fear, "Please... please don't kill me..."
He laughed mockingly, a hint of sadism present in that near-demonic voice of his, "I'm not going to kill you. I'm just going yo use this here knife to cut you up into tiny little kitty bits and feed you to my good little doggies for Christmas feast. What the fuck are you thinking, kid? Of course I'm going to kill you. Christ, kids these days… They get fucking dumber and dumber…"
He took me into the kitchen and grinned sadistically as he pierced my cheek with his knife, causing me to cry harder. He loosened his composure at this point and shouted, "For the love of God kid, SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He then threw me all the way back into the hallway. Realizing where I was immediately, I opened the door as quickly as I could and ran out into the bitter cold night, shouting, "UNCLE SCOTT! UNCLE SCOTT, PLEASE HELP ME!"
Being the young, naïve boy that I was, I made the rather unwise decision of standing still while a killer was after me. After a moment of shouting I felt an impact on the back of my head, causing me to fall over. The man then dragged me back into the house, and as he did my cheek began to leave a moderately sized trail of blood on the ground. He dragged me back into the kitchen and placed my on top of the table with his hand on my chest to keep me from escaping and said, "Okay, that's it. I was trying to be a team player. Trying to be a nice guy. Trying to be a good person."
I shouted, so much hot rage and hate pouring through my young frame, "You killed my parents, you sick fuck!" I didn't even know that I knew that word. He then raised his knife above my head, "I SAID TRYING!"
I then heard another voice, "GET AWAY FROM HIM!"
The sounds of punching, grunting, fighting, and what sounded like tiny explosions, filled my ears. But the absolute terror of death had already taken its toll on my young mind as my consciousness faded at a very rapid pace. My eyes could only intake these strange flashes of red and black as my vision became more and more distorted.
"Uncle Scott..." I said to myself before I fainted.
I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to I was in the hospital with Scott sitting next to me in a chair. At first, I thought that it was some horrible nightmare... that is until I asked him where my parents were. He just looked away and didn't answer. This was around the lowest of the low points in my life. I felt empty inside, like someone tore out my soul and left a black hole in its place. I didn't want to believe it... Mom and Dad were... dead? Before I could even think straight, I faced a new problem: reporters chose at that very moment to burst into my room with doctors and police officers among the group, trying to keep them out. They pushed a shocked Scott out of the way and began asking me questions like, "Young man, how was it to learn that Jake 'Ace' Muldoon, a mass rapist and murderer, had murdered your parents?", "Do you plan to testify against him?", "How did you survive Jake's rampage?" I don't know what they were expecting to get out of me; I could barely pronounce my S's for God's sake. I'll tell you what I did do though. I cried. I cried harder than I ever had before in my life, and I don't think I'll cry that hard ever again. Unfortunately, the tabloids recorded all of my tears and would use that against me later. A serial killer? That was one thing. A mass rapist? I could only imagine what he would've done to my mom if she complied...
And do you know what all those reporters kept telling me? They told me that I was 'brave', that I was a 'lucky survivor', that 'everything was going to change for me', and other such bullshit. Although they were half right, my life did change, but for the worse... more on that later though. Every time they opened their mouths I had flashbacks... finding my parents... being picked up by the scruff of my neck... a blood-red knife raised high above me, fresh blood glistening in the moonlight. Somehow, Scott, who was no doubt filled with anger at this point, pushed all of the reporters out of the room, one of them calling him a hard ass on the way out. Upon hearing this, Scott walked outside the room and a girlish scream could be heard in the hallway. He came back in with a very smug look on his face, but that diminished as soon as he saw me and was reminded of the tragedy that happened. He walked over to the bed, leaned close on the bed and hugged me tightly, saying that he would take care of me from now on... He swore he would.
I lived with Scott ever since. After a few weeks, a trial for that bastard was held and I testified to the best of my ability, not like it did any good though. In the end, against all odds, he got life without parole. That wasn't justice if you ask me. I even said something to that effect when Scott and I left the courtroom that day. I told him something that left a chill run down his spine even now, "He's going to jail forever? I wanted to see him die..."and that was no joke. I wanted him to fry in the electric chair, get gassed to death, lethal injection, hung, drawn and quartered, burned at the stake, beheaded, hell, even thrown in a sack with a dog, a monkey, and a snake which would then be thrown into a river but, no, he gets thrown into prison for his whole life. That's not justice. He deserved to die and I still think he does. No, I know he does.
When I started to go to school, I wasn't exactly what you would call a social butterfly. I wanted to be left alone and I couldn't even talk to anybody. Ever since Mom and Dad got murdered, I lost all my confidence with people. I became the loner, the guy that no one would ever want to talk to because he was so weird, because he wanted to be alone. After the third grade I started to regain my confidence, but before I could even get a single friend... she showed up. A wolf girl, with white fur and white eyes had singled me out from all the other students in the school. Her name is Vanessa... Vanessa FUCKING Richardson. You probably know her, everybody knows someone like her. You know, that spoiled rotten girl whose mommy gives her everything and daddy lets her do everything? Well imagine that person, make her a sadist, and make her ultra-popular. That's what Vanessa is like. The spawn of Lucifer. Why did she single me out? Well, in school, despite all my social awkwardness and my love of video games, I was a genius. It was how I could show Mom and Dad that I'm still going strong. Vanessa became jealous of me, usually because she couldn't beat me academically. Hell, I once beat her in chess in less than 10 moves. Needless to say, if she couldn't beat me with her brains, she figured that she could start beating me everywhere else. And she did... I was the social outcast and Vanessa took advantage of every aspect of this by telling all the other kids mean things about me and throwing insults my way whenever we saw each other. Although that was child's play compared to middle school, where Pandora's Box started opening wider. She got herself a boyfriend, a jock tiger with an inhuman streak the size of the fucking sun named Jason York... I curse that fucking name. Not only that, but puberty wasn't helping my situation out much, what with making me more awkward around girls and the zits. Oh the shame…
Vanessa used my new found social awkwardness to devastating effect, making me look like a twisted freak. Jason once ambushed me and shoved me into a locker in the girl's locker room, and not one of those huge lockers either, I'm talking the kind of lockers that you can barely fit your backpack in. I couldn't escape... then PE came around... and next thing you know, I went from the loner to the peeping tom.
This among other cruel pranks and twisted jokes had effectively made me the social pariah of the school. Then she turned violent. She would send out her clique and her boyfriend with his goons after me when I walked home from school. It started to become so commonplace that I had to find another route home after a while, but she soon found out that I was going a different way and would then intercept my new path, and so on and so forth... In fact, she was even able to stop Scott from helping me by pressing a molestation charge on him. He only pushed her out of the way when he saw her and her friends killing me slowly in front of my own house and bitch goes ahead and screams, 'SOMEONE HELP! HE TOUCHED ME DOWN THERE!' Fucking liar… This would continue for the entirety of middle school. During the summer before high school, I made a chart that detailed all the ways I got beat up. I counted 189 broken bones, 243 broken hands, 451 broken fingers, and no I'm not exaggerating here, 784 crotch kicks. I wouldn't be surprised if I wound up infertile. Why am I saying that, it's not like anybody's going to do something like that with me. Seriously, would anyone ever want to be with me, the freak, the outcast, the peeping tom (yes I am still called that)? I can definitely tell you that I see no Leo the 4th in my life because of that. It's all because of that cock-sucking, motherfucking bitch. I hate her so fucking much. Then high school came around, and let me tell you, middle school had nothing on this place. The beatings became 10 times as savage, and to make matters worse, Vanessa became the social queen. Because of this, it was either help me and risk being a loser for the rest of your life, or do nothing and live another day. No one would help, and some people would laugh alongside her as I was broken like a toy in front of everyone. I became truly miserable, even more so when the nightmares came back. My parent's deaths would replay every time I would see blood (which was a lot, thanks to Vanessa) and whenever I would go to sleep. It makes me feel so powerless... that I could do nothing to stop what happened. This started to become a waking reality too. Because of this I started to have suicidal thoughts and became depressed... mostly depressed though. I don't want to shame the memory of my parents by having their only son kill himself. I take medicine for the depression and the nightmares, but it doesn't do anything... nothing makes the pain go away. Especially if you're me.
So now do you see why I said I'm the single most miserable existence on the planet? My life is a complete and total hell. My name is Leo Leonardo the Third, and I am the last of the Leonardo family. I wish I could change the past and fix my life... but I can't...
I hate the world, but that's to be expected, ever since the deaths of the innocent lives of Karen Leonardo and Leo Leonardo the Second.
I am... alone... and nothing will ever change that. Nothing.