"The day we slipped away." [Covert & shinyka]

[Covert Revulsion]

It was but a love Sunday morning on May 16, a faithful day that would certainly change their lives. It had been a morning in which everything seemed perfect. The sky was it's lovely blue tone, cloudless and sunny. It was a day where people were outside, enjoying the day off to spend with their family, friends, lovers... A day in which they had hung out. She admired the lovely day, it matching with the expression of jubilation to spend time with the man she was prepared to spend the rest of her life with, her fiancée. It had been a day the young brunette of twenty-three had came to enjoy. They had gone out to eat, spent time at the beach among each other until the morning had shifted gradually to a warm afternoon, then evening.

Her eyes that were the color of a light hazel had bared fatigue from their entire day of spending outside, and she was well aware and suggested they head back to their home to catch up on some sleep before the day where they would be binded, till death do they part, to each other by their love. Everything had seemed fine, until they unexpectedly caught sight of a car driving at many miles per hour, and rammed straight into them. The attack had been fatal for the both of them. Trista Morreti merely saw a blur, glass shattering, scratching her bare flesh and face, her body feeling a sense of being thrown forward even with the seatbelt. The drunk driver's velocity had managed to flip their car over a bit, only to cause the engaged couple to fall upside down. Pain had seared into her body, spine, chest, arms, legs, her head, just everything.

Speaking words had been a labored work, which she had no chance of doing, until her body felt weak, lifeless as her life slipped away from an accident that shouldn't have taken the life of the couple. Moments later, sirens of ambulances blared, as paramedics rushed to the accident on the street, having managed to remove both bodies from the crushed and battered vehicles, there had been no chance of revival for Trista. Thus, that very night, her life gave way, to what one would hope with her lover and fiancée. Death had crept upon them, clutched them in his cold grasp and swept away.

The next day of mourning had been a heartfelt one, where both would have been buried beside each other. Families and friends wept in pure sorrow and anguish that may not be eased until quite a while. It merely comes to show, that life can slip away so much as an instant.

 

[shinyka]

Re: "The day we slipped away." [Cover & shinyka]

"A whole little merry party", Eric mocked, aware that they were afraid of him. With a cackle, he grabbed one of the beer bottles out of the over-stuffed cooler and yanked the cap off with one hand. Shooting a menacing stare, he took a sip from it, the tip coming directly into contact with his painted black lips, before he pulled the bottle away from his mouth. Laughing like a maniac, he turned the bottle upside down, pouring it's contents all over the couch that several of the party goers were on, causing them to flinch. He was especially happy to see the expression on Mark Steepak's face, one of sheer terror.

Laughing and shaking his head, Eric grabbed a second bottle, this time dumping its contents all over the floor, causing a rather large puddle to spill all over the shag carpet. He took a second and pressed down on the carpet, causing some of the cheap booze to rise up, and spill over even more carpet, making the alcohol infested stain even larger. He once again shot a look to Mark, glee rising in his non-beating heart when he saw that Mark was obviously afraid of him. Finally, content, Eric shoved him down, causing him to hit the soaked floor just a short ways from where he was standing.

Shaking his head in near disgust, Eric approached the high-light of the evening, a large metal keg set up on one of the car tables decorating this flat. Silently, he grabbed the nozzle and yanked it off, showing strength that wasn't his at all. It was obvious that the recently gleeful alcoholics had been putting a lot of effort into emptying it, yet there was still plenty of beer left in it, or at least, enough to be a fire hazard, which was what Eric wanted. He began to muster a laugh as he watched it's contents empty onto the floor, his cackling intimidating the drunks even more, to the point that one man, looking barely over 21 or so began crying. Eric ignored him and watched as the last of the massive quantity of booze emptied onto the now soaked shag carpet.

Eric turned to face Mark one last time. He was now on the floor, writhing in agony from where Eric had dropped him, no doubt also troubled by the black eye and broken ribs that Eric had given him when he had first busted into this Friday-night party. It pleased Eric to see Mark, one who had caused him so much pain, to be in pain himself. Yet, no amount of hurt he could ever inflict on Mark would ever come close to what Mark and his three other friends had taken away from him. Although now, Mark was going to join David, who Eric had found just three days before. With a shake of his head, he kicked Mark a few time, adding even more pain to his already massive agony. He was careful not to knock him out though, he wanted him to be awake for what was about to happen.

Smiling, Eric held Mark still for a second, putting a stop to his agonized writhe. Calmly and quietly, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the chest pocket of Mark's stained button up shirt. Mark began to open his mouth, but Eric quickly his finger over Mark's lips, smile with his black lips before getting to his feet. Eric fumbled around in the pocket of his white-trimmed black coat, before pulling out a small Zippo Lighter. Walking with a slight anxious spring in his step, he approached the window, peering down at the three story fall off the balcony and onto the cement parking lot below. Quietly, he opened the sliding glass door and took a step onto the balcony.

Eric held the stolen cigarette aloof, before lighting it with his red lighter. He watched a small quantity of smoke leave the exit, before he turned around, flicking the still-lit smoke into Mark's booze stained apartment. The effect was almost instant. The alcohol coating the walls, floors and people ignited quickly, turning the apartment into a blazing inferno. He began to laugh, watching the drunks try to get to the door, only to stop when they saw the booze-coated door knob ignite.

"You're all going to die", Eric said calmly but loudly, loudly enough for everyone inside to hear him over the screaming and cursing. With one final laugh, Eric hopped up on the edge of the balcony and jumped off the side. He savored the fall, as it gave him an almost weightless feel. He was sure to close his eyes for when he hit the ground, as the sight of colliding was never a pleasant one. A second later, he heard a loud crunch, accompanied with a sharp pain. Eric shrugged as he got back to his feet, the pain subsiding as his wounds healed themselves, easing the pain and making walking possible again. With one final glance over his shoulder, he caught whiff of the burning booze and sight of the flaming apartment. Eric managed a laugh as he faded into the darkness, walking silently and unseen on the walk back to Trista's grave.

"Two out of four", he said, softly and with a twinge of pain.

 

[Covert Revulsion]

Re: "The day we slipped away." [Cover & shinyka]

There wasn't all to much to remember, except one particular fact; she was alive.

Her figure would be found on the park bench, hunched over a bit, face buried in her open palms as her elbows rested on her knees. Part of her wasn't too sure why she was brought back to life, other then knowing that Eric was with her, and he was clearly taken revenge on the drunk drivers that had carelessly taken their life. She was unsure of whether to feel pain or remorse at the idea of Eric claiming the lives that claimed there. 'No... Eric isn't a killer,' she thought to herself, rubbing her eyelids before looking up. 'Violence against them isn't the answer...' she added before she slowly stood up. She began to walk, pulling her tight, knitted tanned sweater closer to her, her black boots meeting with the cement path as she eased her way out of the park.

Trista felt so alive again... her first attempt at seeing if this was really reality instead of a dream was quite scary actually. She had took chances and cut herself, it had brought her pain, yet the cut on her palm slowly began to heal itself once more. This caused her to fear and wonder what exactly was she now? She cleared her throat, a gust of wind blowing at her hair, her hand moving up to hold locks of hair in place as she walked down the street, towards where she had a feeling in which Eric would be, at their cemetery. She wasn't sure how she would react to seeing Eric again; happy of course, but the idea that he was bent on revenge saddened her exceptionally. "Eric... I'll find you and change your mind," she whispered softly, promising herself such promise.

Several blocks down, she noticed a large screen held behind a glass window of a shop, an electronic store with an array of TV's. She was about to continue until there, to her shock and horror, was the live image of a building that had be incinerated with pure intention of doing so, now merely an 'accident'. Suddenly, she bursted out into a run, managing to dodge traffic in the meantime, or rather narrowly doing so as she sprinted towards the cemetery.

 

[shinyka]

The soft Earth crunched beneath Eric's black boots as he walked along the dirt bike path that would eventually lead him back to his destination: the graveyard. He didn't bother to walk quickly or stay hidden, as being found would mean nothing. Lest someone did find him, they'd probably mistake him for a crackhead or the like. Eric smiled at the thought of that, before mentally affirming that paining his face white with black lips and eyes was a worthy investment. Besides it's ability to keep people from interacting with him, lest someone spotted him, it also struck fear into his victims. "Fear", he thought to himself, his smile fading to a thoughtful frown "That's the most important part". He smiled again at the thought of killing at least two more of the people who had ruined his life. Mark and David's reactions showed him that even the mightiest could be dragged to the ground, which was what he intended to do before his time back in this world expired.

Eric entered a small grove of trees, a shortcut to the cemetery. He didn't bother avoiding the branches at all; any cut or scrapes on him would fade after only a few seconds, and he was immune to the pain it would cause him. His fall earlier was a testament to that. It was nice, in a sense, being unable to feel, and Eric had found himself wondering if he would have appreciated it during life or not. Indeed, it would have stopped him from having to cease activity because he wounded himself, but would he feel Trista's touch? "Trista", he found himself thinking, his mind switching to his deceased love for the hundredth time since he had been brought back. With a howl, he looked back at the devastation he had caused. The fire was still burning visibly in the night, despite the local department's attempts to contain it. He howled before striking a nearby tree in rage, anger at the ones who had unknowingly destroyed his entire life.

With a grunt, Eric pulled his now bleeding fist away from the tree. The wounds were already healing up, and he felt no pain from them, a harsh reminder of the harsh truth. Sighing, he finished his walk through the grove before coming to a wrought-iron fence. Eric shook his head upon seeing it. Perhaps this fence served the harshest reminder of all of reality, a symbol of their containment, a symbol of their futility. On the border of tears, Eric leaped it in a single bound, before landing squarely on his feet. The impact would have at least hurt a normal person, but Eric could feel nothing but sorrow as he walked through the graves, his destination the same it had been every night now. Trista's grave.

 

[Covert Revulsion]

The graveyard could be judged to be about half a dozen blocks ahead. She continued to run, despite earning odd looking gazes from pedestrians as they narrowly moved away from her, the young woman who looked to be in a rush. 'Damn these blocks are long...' she thought. Her breathing was paced, as since she would jog and go out for runs when she was alive. Thankfully, her fitness applied to now even, which brought a bit of relief. Her boots continued to meet against the ground as she moved passed, intent on reaching the graveyard in which she had been buried in. Her run slowed down as she arrived at a red light. She laboring breathing silenced by the sudden blaring of sirens. The red and white trucks zoomed down the streets, a total of three trucks perfectly aligned behind one another. She watched them make off in the direction of the building that had been alight with fire. She gazed off in that direction, silently contemplating certain things as the gray smoke billowed into the night air.

She sighed softly, and just as the traffic light shifted to red, the young woman was off again, making her way down the sidewalk towards the cemetery. 'Only a few blocks to go,' she thought. She continued for a few minutes, before she slowly halted to a stop, her breathing ragged as she found the graveyard in sight. She bit her lower lip as she gazed at the darkened area. She slowly eased to a walk, sighing softly before she slowly made her way to the gate. Trista hesitated before she slipped through the narrow opening in the gate. She made her way through the older parts of the graveyard, where the monuments have been around for around a hundred years. Yet, her attention was solely focused on the silhouette of the man next to her grave.

Trista felt her heart nearly stop when she passed through the groves of trees, only to see the figure of a man standing besides her grave. She bit her lower lip... hoping her emotions wouldn't get to the best of her. She felt her heart rate increase, her legs threatening to give way as she slowed her stride towards the gated grave. "Eric...?" she softly spoke, gazing at him closely as she neared him.

 

[shinyka]

Eric's pulsed quickened as he approached a rather familiar set of graves, indicating to him that Trista's was nearby. With a light sigh, it finally came into his field of vision, filling him with a combination of sorrow and remorse. He shook his head as he neared it, his pacing now growing more and more unstable. Finally, he was at least in front of it, and Eric allowed himself to drop to the frosty dirt ground with a bit of a slump. He felt nothing as his knees contacted the surface, but instead just keeled in place, thousands of thoughts and memories of her all rushing through his head at once like every time he visited this lonely place. He sighed on more time, a small amount of chilled breath leaving his black lips and forming light vapor into the air. Eric paid no attention to this, but instead opted to continue his meditative stare at the carved stone surface with Trista's name and date of death.

Just looking at that single set of numbers set Eric into even more of a crazed meditation. "Sixteenth of May, 2005"
he thought to himself, that single line echoing through his mind again and again. Just thinking about the day brought back all sorts of erratic memories; the screeching of car tires, the one second where it seemed he had an entire world pressed against him. Although it was cold outside, Eric could feel the warm tarmac road and the slightly hot metal fragments of his car burning against his pale skin. With a howl, he threw himself at the ground, striking it with his fists in rage. Yet, even then, the memories continued to haunt him. The light instructional conversation carried between the paramedics, the feel of his limp body being lifted onto a cushioned stretcher. The pale mummer of "Trista..." that managed to escape his lips before his mind faded to black a final time.

Then came newer memories. The memories of just three days ago when he had felt a slight jot of warmth again. The memory of opening his eyes again for the first time in almost three and a half years. The strange feeling that laying on the cold ground at the foot of his gravestone had given him, shortly followed by the odd sensation of separating his fingers from the stitched binding that held them together. He let out a tiny whimper before pushing himself back to his knees again, resuming his silent mourning of Trista. All until a rather familiar voice shattered his erratic thoughts. It was a voice he thought he would never hear again, save for memories, and the very sound of it echoed through his entire being like he was being shaken by something rather warm.

"Trista...?", he said softly, turning to face the figure in the direction of the voice's origin.

 

[Covert Revulsion]

It was something unknown to her that awakened her. She couldn't explain it... since it had an ethereal quivering voice to it. It granted her life, offering Trista a chance at life, a chance at seeing Eric. Without any rational thinking, she immediately agreed to the terms, until there was a goal she wished to partake in such. 'Stop him from taking revenge.' That was the order she had been asked to comply to. Revenge wasn't the answer, and to know Eric had fallen victim to its temptation hurt the young woman. He was sweet, his love to her tender, and to think of her once future husband killing and causing havoc unsettled her.

Yet, here she was, standing just a few feet away from him. Part of her wondered if she should approach, her body longing to feel his arms encase her protectively, and close to his chest... where she would bury her face into it, and pour her heart out to him on how much she had missed him... But she hesitated, unsure if he would want her to approach him just yet. Being revived a day ago had her attempt to get into the gist of things again... though being a revived person had its perks, she never got hungry, not ever caught the scent of a foul odor, she actually smelt quite nice.

"Eric... it really is you..." she whispered, her expression in almost disbelief as her voice quivered. "It really is..." she murmured.

 

[shinyka]

The adrenaline. It shouldn't have been running. It was. Do the dead feel rushes, why do I feel alive? Eric couldn't shake these thoughts from his head as another resounding impact lit up the parking lot. He swung again, harder this time, he wasn't in control of his body. His anger, his hate moved his arm, kept his hand clenched around the tire iron. He swung brutally, no, not brutally, every swing had missed a vital point, David's ribs hadn't even cracked yet. He wouldn't be moving any time soon though, no, Eric's brutality saw to that. A yell echoed the air as a final whoosh filled the air, a resounding crack almost intrinsically a successor. Eric's rush faded, his rage subsided. He took a step back to marvel his handiwork. David was now no more than a man like spatter, illuminated by the glowing neon sign that overlooked his body.

He couldn't be weak. He couldn't. He had survived it. Even though it killed him, he survived it, he was back. He was no longer a man, to call him such would be wrong. He was a shadow, a fragment of the great man that was once Eric Valmer. Nay, he wasn't a shadow, he was a shade, a child of the night. He had crawled his way back from the grave, now what? Was he going to stand there and pity himself with Trista so near? Why was it that she melted him?

It was wet. That was the only thing he could think of. Wet. Was it rain? No, it didn't smell like rain, it was like soil, like something clinging to him and refusing to let go. Why? He couldn't help but wonder. What is it that's wet? He opened his eyes, or perhaps closed them. It was pitch black, either way. Where was he? It was wet, and dark. Wet and dark, like a grave. No, he couldn't be in a grave. If he was in a grave, how was he thinking this? If he was dead, how could he be alive?

Eric let out a tiny gasp as his fatigue faded, just as oddly as it had first appeared. He felt his muscles twitch involuntarily, as he once again woke up to the surroundings around him. A room, his room, this room lingering somewhere in time, even though its owner was gone. He felt awake again, clear and alive. Or, as alive as he could be while still in this condition. His senses were returning, he was once again in the present, not reliving, or redying his past happenings. No, what happened now was him.

Then, it came to him. The warmth. It clung to him, like a ever present bliss, like a salvation pulling him up to the skies. How could it though? He wasn't moving, he was still in bed. It was then he caught her presence, cold physically but warming him, thawing him, however impossible. Her: Trista. She was back, she was with him, it was like no time had passed at all, and the two were still there, like they had always been.

He turned around, slowly yet with enough speed to dictate the longing in his actions. "Trista...", he trailed off, standing in awe, once again transfixed by his old love. She was here, now he was complete again. Yet, he could not have his peace just yet. No, there was more to do.