Faster and Faster

Faster and Faster

Author’s Notes: *sigh* I
really don’t like this one that much. I wrote it in a rush and it’s really
short and doesn’t make much sense. I shall put it in my ‘needs revising’ pile.

Warnings: ghosts, evil Duo,
AU, OOC, gore, dark, death.

Pairings: hints of 2+1

          Heero and his cousin, Trowa, both thirteen, walked through
the woods in mid-day. Streams of light filtered through the tree tops.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird, probably a robin Heero thought, sang, not
breaking the peace of the silent woods but instead adding to it. Heero liked
spending time with Trowa, he and his cousin were a lot alike they were both
quiet and serious, and better yet, they understood each other. However, Heero
didn’t like coming to Trowa’s home town to visit. It was so boring here. So
now, all there was to do was walk around aimlessly. Still, it wasn’t too class=GramE>bad, Heero liked the sights and sounds of these woods.
Though it wasn’t as exciting as video games, it sure beat listening to his aunt
prattle on and on about her numerous china figurines. Soon, the forest was
filled with the sounds of young, joyous laughter as the two boys chased each
other in a game of tag. Heero quickly lost sight of Trowa and he dived behind a
bush. His knee hit something solid and he cursed. He looked down to find an old
Indian drum. It appeared to be made of animal skin and fur, what looked like
deer, wolf, and fox. It was decorated with different feathers and beads ranging
from yellow to aqua to red. The drum was beautiful in its age, but it was
marred by dark crimson stains that looked suspiciously like blood.

          “Trowa, look what I found!” Trowa was at his side in
minutes.

          “Wow,” he said in awe, running a finger along the tom-tom’s
soft skin, “it looks like it could be hundreds of years old! But, Heero… look
at these stains, they look like blood! I don’t think we should be playing
around here!” But Heero ignored him and sat down cross legged, the drum resting
on his lap. He rapped on the drum and as soon as his hand touched the drum, strange
power filled him. It was like what he imagined drugs must feel like. He felt
like something was taking control of him and, worst of all, he didn’t care. He kept
playing at the drum, faster and faster, he couldn’t stop.

          Suddenly, a war whoop filled the woods, followed by the
thunder of horse’s hooves.

          “Heero!” Trowa screamed. A large
black horse galloped over the hill, its rider indiscernible except for long
brown hair. Heero dropped the drum and he and Trowa ran as fast as they could. He
heard Trowa scream and turned, watching as Trowa fell to the ground, an arrow
sticking out of his chest. Heero stood there, frozen, as the horse stopped
right in front of them. Trowa was still screaming, writhing on the ground in
pain. The horse’s rider was a boy about Heero’s age. He had long brown hair
that was done up in hundreds of braids with beads the same color as those on
the drum wound in his hair. He had intense violet eyes and tanned skin. He wore
native American clothing with a hatchet at his right
hip and a bow with arrows on his back. He had a single earring, a long black
crow’s feather. Khol lined his incredible eyes and his
skin was decorated with war paint. He was exotic and unearthly beautiful. The
boy’s violet eyes bore inot hi mind and he smiled at
him. The native American got off of his horse and grabbed Trowa’s hair, pulling
his head up to look at him. Trowa’s green eyes went wide and he thrashed. The
long haired boy smiled at him, but his eyes were cold. In one fluid motion, he
slit Trowa’s throat with his hatchet and let him drop. Trowa tried to scream,
but only a wet, gargled noise came out. The violet eyed apparition approached
Heero, but he couldn’t run, it was like he was frozen.
On one hand, he was incredibly turned on, yet scared of the boy. He looked at
Trowa’s dead body and felt rage building up, but he couldn’t do anything, those
violet eyes were spellbinding.

          The boy walked to him so close that their bodies were
pressed against each other. The native American leaned
forward and Heero shuddered, in fear or lust he didn’t know.

          “I’ve been waiting,” the boy whispered in a heavily
accented voice, his breath hot in Heero’s ear. He kissed Heero on the cheek,
his lips cold, but soft. Heero watched as the boy walked back to this horse,
the long braid caressing his body as he moved. He knelt by Trowa cut his head
off the rest of the way, taking it with him and storing it in a pouch that the
horse was wearing on the saddle. Then, he was galloping back the way he had
come, deep into the heart of the forest.

          The police found Heero like that, many, many hours later, a
blush on his cheeks, staring off into the distance,
totally unresponsive. They searched the woods and found nothing. No Indian boy,
no Trowa; head or body, no hoof prints, no blood, and no old Indian drum.

The End

Too short >.< I have a
really good back story in my head for Duo, so maybe I’ll write a sequel, or
rather, a prequel.