Chapter 10: FAME IS A HELL OF A DRUG.

  “Something you begin with must always have an end, no matter how much you cry, you try, the story must end somewhere.”

  December 21st, 1988.

  Three months had passed of normalcy.

  The sound of snow crunching filled the air.

  A car ran in through the snow.

  Seeing the radio read the time.

  12 PM.

  Link II sat in the back.

  The leather seats felt like cotton against his skin.

  His head lying on the seat, enjoying its momentarily soft feeling.

  His eyelids closing down…

  Slower.

  And slower.

  Like a heartbeat ready to sleep.

  Suddenly, the car stopped abruptly, moving his body forcefully upright.

  As the driver spoke.

  “Alright kid! We're here at Compton College, now gimme my money and get outta here brown boy!”

  While Link II groggily got up from his seat.

  Rubbing his eyes with his hands intertwined with unlocking his seat belt.

  Stepping outside into the cold and hesitantly handing out 20$ towards the driver.

  His hand reached out towards the driver's window as it rolled down.

  Just as Link II pulled back and asked.

  “How much do you want if I pay you extra for staying back and waiting for me?”

  While the driver, already frustrated at having to deliver a brown boy to the college, asked in irritation.

  “Kid, I already don't want to be here anymore in the cold weather.

  and I got more important people on the clock rather than somebody-”

  As Link II interrupted.

  “Sir, you do realize that I could-”

  Before the driver slapped his hand, declining and saying.

  “No, fuck no! Why the hell should I help you when you barely pay the extra fee for me driving you three hours here?!

  You don't even have enough! The only reason I let you in is because of that fine ass lady offering me something for later, Broke Brown Boy!”

  Link II hated yelling.

  Especially when it was people right in his face.

  Letting the man speak his pride out so that he could get home.

  While Link II held back, the radio unconsciously glitching into combining song lyrics with news outlets.

  “Have-you-ever-been-punched-in-

  your-motherfucking-face-ho-?”

  The radio static became louder from each channel switch.

  Sounding like a TV without a connection.

  While Link II stared at him like a dead man.

  His eyes filled with hatred, intertwined with his childlike body.

  Blood coming down into his mouth from his nose.

  Keeping his gaze on only the driver.

  The cars passing by sounded like sirens.

  Each moment intensifying like a heavy drum.

  While the driver kept slamming the radio to turn it off.

  His knuckles hurt after a few times.

  Finally ending off with a single message.

  “Answer the question, Ho.”

  And as the driver looked up at his windshield…

  Seeing a horror beyond nature.

  Darkness surrounding the driver.

  As it whispered to him, its hole of a face coming out in redness and blood dripping down its disfigured face twined with its uncanny smile.

  Eyes intensely staring like he saw raw meat.

  “You want big booty bitches, don't you?~ You want to be so consumed by lust, don't you?~

  Go ahead, be my guest…

  But always remember this will be what you'll be coming home to.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Reaching out towards him with a limb of darkness.

  And for those two minutes and forty six seconds, he experienced hell.

  Flames against his skin.

  Gunshots piercing his body.

  Boiling alive like water.

  While Link II walked into the college, barely caring for the same eldritch entity that affected him.

  Now calling him Paul, wanting something stupid to name the same stupid eldritch entity who tried to hurt him before.

  Now in his control.

  Telepathically whispering to Paul.

  “Don't kill him, dumbass.

  Just make him suffer for long enough.”

  Which was to turn in his signed forms that he waited for two years to be approved and get his degrees.

  His boots crunching the snow as he stepped into the building.

  Despite his initial doubts about submitting a form never done before.

  With no other evidence of intelligence besides these filled out forms.

  Walking towards the receptionist on his right of the building, speaking in annoyance.

  “Yes sir, how may I help you?”

  And Link II spoke very shyly.

  “Um… yes? I-I have a form for you to review… please?”

  Quickly handing it towards her, as she saw the form.

  Putting on her reading glasses and seeing his name.

  Written in crayon, but very delicate.

  A signature comparable to Da Vinci.

  But laughing at him and shouting out.

  “HA! You expect me to believe this is your form?! Nice try! Now tell me whos parent you stole this from, cutie patootie~”

  Rubbing his hair playfully from her desk, somewhat in denial of the form.

  As he walked away grumpy, his childlike body making it look like a joke to everybody else.

  A small group of adults laughing around, whispering.

  “Look at the kid, he’s acting like ‘so angy i need my mommy!’ i mean, its laughable!”

  But for Link II, he didn’t care, he knew they would have to do something about the form.

  Knowing they couldn't burn it without consequences.

  Walking out with a grin and a bloody nose.

  Smirking to himself as his boots walked against the cold snow.

  Arriving back at the car with carelessness brighter than 1,000 suns

  The driver snapped back into reality.

  Looking insanely terrified of this child in the back seat

  Realising there was more behind the eye of his innocence like a bulldog.

  Dangerous and yet, filled with a supernatural like calmness.

  Leading to the driver immediately stepping on the gas.

  Speeding faster and faster.

  Like a heartbeat stuffed with cocaine.

  While Link II felt anxious about the increasing speed.

  His hands gripped the bare bottom of the seat.

  Wanting to slow it down, but knowing that illusion he made took too much of his power.

  His eyelids turning dark with bags as he tried to slow down the car.

  As he weakly pushed back against the seat.

  The speed of the car overwhelmed him each moment he sat in weakness.

  A first for his abilities to not work in circumstances like these.

  Suddenly, a car bumped into another.

  Sliding them both down the hill.

  Knocking Link II out with his head bumping the roof.

  Feeling softer than a gunshot.

  Seeing only black for what felt like ages.

  The silence sounded pleasanter only at this moment.

  Waking up slowly to find…

  A brutally mutilated driver.

  Right on top of him.

  Almost crushingly painful.

  Moving him aside with a light push, not caring if anybody found him in the crash.

  As he saw a piece of shrapnel lodged in his leg.

  Additionally some scraped his head and ribs.

  But nothing close to the brink of death.

  Keeping his cool long enough to unbuckle from the car, and steadily limp away.

  In a pace faster than a turtle.

  But less than the average bike speed.

  Limping away in what felt like agonizing pain.

  The metal feeling like sawblades piercing his skin every second.

  Walking in the cold air, shivering and limping in pain.

  Seeing the faint silhouette of his home from a mile away.

  As Link II had begun to doubt himself, asking.

  “Why? Why do these things happen to me? Why do I have to be hurt to guarantee safety? Do I or do I not deserve it?

  That's what I wonder about each day…”

  Soon enough crying as he limped closer to home, crying out in the empty, snow filled streets, lights illuminating him.

  “I miss you, Willard. You were the only person i ever had the pleasure of talking with, not like these human fucks…”

  Arriving back into the home, slamming into the frozen door to get it opened.

  Taking off his boots with his feet, slipping them off alongside his coat, which he lightly tossed onto the couch.

  Making a slight sound of rubbing fabric.

  While he limped to the bookshelf.

  His body still shivering from the cold.

  Reaching out towards the medical books on how to remove big wounds like the shrapnel in his leg properly.

  Seeing barely any information about how to remove a unique wound like this besides one thing…

  Surgery.

  Having to conduct it by himself.

  Almost bursting out in tears, realizing he need to disinfect it, and remove it without causing any major damage.

  So, he limped slowly towards the small bathroom.

  And began the torture.

  Biting into a towel he found on the counter, and setting his leg upright.

  Ready to dig into the flesh of his wound.

  Counting to himself…

  “1… 2…

  3.”

  Ripping out the shrapnel within seconds.

  His screams and groans covered by the towel.

  Tears falling like rain.

  Seeing the brutal wedge it left behind.

  Bone displayed on the inside and its bloodstream vessels.

  Witnessing his own blood felt horrifying rather than killing.

  Weakly tossing away the shrapnel into the hallway.

  And looking into the mirror.

  Seeing how the light scrapes from the shrapnel scarred him, but to that of a knife cut rather than something deep.

  Checking his lower abdomen, and seeing light scratches rather than both injuries.

  Calming down a little from the reassurance of safety from that seat belt.

  Reminiscing on him buckling each time he got into a car.

  Thankful he was safer than that driver’s corpse.

  Slowly putting more pressure on his left leg as he got into the shower.

  Later, he stepped out of his room, now having a proper measured cast on the leg.

  Including stitches keeping it closed and sanitized from infection.

  Finally plopping onto the couch.

  Still wincing in pain, but more manageable compared to the cold air.

  Reaching out towards the TV remote and pressing the power button to watch something to pass the time.

  The TV turning onto a NBC broadcast.

  It's broadcast showing a tragedy in form.

  Pan Am 103 Bombing.

  5:30 PM.

  His eyes filling back with devastation.

  The men in suits and ties explained the situation.

  While Link II desperately grabbed the remote, almost slipping in his hand and falling to the floor as he turned off the TV in a rush.

  Trying to enjoy Christmas time despite tragic news and his crippling injury.

  Teeth gritting, jaw locking to hold back tears that came unconditionally.

  Not understanding why he began to cry, just the fact that his face balled tears.

  Hating his empathy towards the unlucky people who were unrightfully damned.

  Something he already had to face with billions of versions of himself.

  Slowly getting himself adjusted to minding his own business.

  Sitting alone again, his mind bawling into a breakdown.

  The CD player abruptly glitching to a song that sounded like the 60s, but was made in the future.

  It's sound almost impeccable to make sense of.

  Like an epiphany of heartbreak and joy.

  He felt intrigued by something so positive and felt so wrong.

  Getting up from the couch and walking over to what the CD player contained.

  Seeing a title on the CD.

  Smokey Bennett and The Hoops —

  The Flames of Love

  Not understanding why a pop/rock song would play in his worst times.

  His hand reached towards the CD to stop the music and let himself wallow in grief.

  Till he listened to the song more and more.

  Its colors and emotions were vibrant and beautiful in the air.

  Yet distracting from the true meaning of the song.

  It was like seeing everything die in front of you, but had a slight sense of acceptance and happiness.

  Link II's eyes balled out tears by each moment of the song hitting him unexpectedly in the feels.

  His cries covered by the music.

  Limping back up, he began to dance softly, his legs and arms danced in the air as if he were in space.

  Pain finally gone, but from what exactly.

  His form glowing in the light.

  Floating, almost flying when dancing in the air.

  Fluid and tragic at the same time.

  His expression filled with tears that never stopped.

  Link II finally cooled off, but left him in a sense of sadness by each time the song looped into itself again.

  Staying in the dance of grief and sadness, not out of control.

  But out of accepting what he lost and gained today.

  Understanding that he may be the loneliest person in the world.

  Or maybe the most cursed person in the world.

  Defined by one line the song ended with.

  “On the flames of love…”