Disclaimer- Yes, I actually own it. Really? No… shut up kid. (Lovable author kicks little starry-eyed kid in the face sending him down a few flights of stairs.) There. It has been disclaimed.

A/N- Ok this is my first fic so it probably won’t seem like one. It’s more just like me stealing some names and places and poof… ok I’ve bored myself. I haven’t worked out a plot so here it goes.

Above the Unfortunately Blue Sky- Part 1

A stair creaked, another, and then another as a shadow, slouching in fatigue. trudged to the 7^th floor landing of the dilapidated apartment on Celadon’s northeast side. The shadow slid onwards to the top of the staircase, the air around it groaning as if belittling any possible cheer in the atmosphere for simply existing. Moving forward into the glow of a depressed light bulb hanging lonely, the shadow reformed itself into ragged looking man with frightful apathy bleeding from every pore. He made his way across to a door marked 714. The silence between every thud of his boots was long and periodic. Each moved the floor, the walls, and the encompassing rot, and each was requited with flickers from the bulb converting his world from a drudgery of underexposed lighting to nothing and then back again.

Around the hallway were three other doors, all dead. The slime and from the alleys below had infected this building with a plague of morbid disrepair. Once fresh, clean, and white plaster now crumbled yellow from the walls. The wood finish hacked and dirty. The paint on the wooden stair rail crumbled at the touch. The place was what you could expect to find in a place condemned in the early twentieth century, which is certainly was should become of the filthy cesspool of sin.

The man approached the door and dug his hand into his pocket searching for the key. In his tired state he let his forehead fall against the door. To his dismay instead of a brief rest, a dry crunching was the result as the forward half of his head created a generous peephole at about eye level. “Shit,” he muttered to himself dusting the pieces of wood from his scraped brow and drawing out the old, tarnished key. He stared at the little chunk of metal in his hand with a look of worn-out cynicism then promptly heaved it through a dusty, cracked, windowpane adjacent the staircase he had just climbed.

He slowly walked back over to the banister. His arms hung limp at the sides, useless and unwanted just as every breath seemed now a days. His face was no longer in shadows, and it was apparent that he wasn’t the typical alcoholic bum, twenty years past laid-off, which was so common to these parts. He was just a kid of only 19 years. He had a handsome face but skewed by years and hardship, common of a man starved in a POW camp. There were dark bags under his one eye that could be seen, his other being covered by the crow colored hair that hung down a bit lower than his nose from under a dirty grey blue stocking cap. The distant cackle from the smoke-charred lungs of an old, wrinkled hooker emanated forth from the shady depths of the stairwell. The light bulb flickered again. It reflected off his dark brown eyes as a scowl formed on his face. It grew and grew as he listened to the echoing chatter and slowly formed into rage. Rage at himself, rage at the dirt living downstairs, rage at this world of scum he found himself in. Unfortunately he was also taken over by a rage with his front door.

“(#@%$)…” he whispered to himself now shaking. The man squeezed his eyes shut and said it louder this time. Over and over he repeated the word getting ever more heartfelt as the volume increased. Red splotches clouded his vision from squeezing his eyes shut so hard, and blood began to run down his left knuckle as his fingernails dug into the palm of his hand. He grabbed the sides of his head smearing the blood across the hat, now screaming at the top of his lungs, “(#@%$)!(#@%$)!(#@%$)!” Like the blue glow from an exploding transformer he took off at the door, his black zip-down hoodie flapping open. With surprising viciousness he threw he left fist into the door just below the upper hinges. The top half shattered in a spray of wood splinters, mildew, and rot while the bottom peeled off and fell forward to the floor. He immediately pounced upon the remaining chunk, ferociously pummeling the door into dust. Blow after blow into the wood came crashing down with pieces of flesh, blood, dust and splinter being ripped off and into the air. His punches slowed down as he opened his eyes until they eventually stopped. Tears were running down the sides on his face and onto his hands. The salt stung when it dripped into the fresh wounds, but he seemed beyond it. He leaned over and fell from his kneeling position and sat against the wall. All the rage, all the anger now transformed into sadness and emptiness and loss. He just lay on his side curled in a fetal position and cried hugging his damaged appendages to his chest.

A few minutes later he rose. All the tears had dried, but nothing was healed. In their tracks was only a forlorn stare on his face. The bloody rag of a person slowly dragged himself across the undersized apartment into the bathroom. In contrast to the man’s appearance and that of the rest of the building the apartment was fairly well off. Sure it was run down and old, but having relatively nice adornments and being very well kept certainly took the edge of the dilapidation. The man had filled the sink with warm water and a wee bit of hand soap. He slowly submerged his hands wincing now that he was fully aware of the wounds. He swished them back and forth under water getting most of the grit out. He then proceeded to gingerly rub them clean. After a while he pulled them out of the bath and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the cabinet. He pored it over his left then the right. They shook as the healing burn coursed throughout his whole body, but he didn’t flinch. He simply stared at them, the pain taking him elsewhere for a few moments. For a moment he was with her again…

He walked out of the bathroom just having finished a shower. The water was reeking of iron and the faucet caked in lime but it was water and it did the job. He had shed his grey T-shirt and black hoodie and was now clad in only his old grey, torn, and baggy pants and brown belt. The man was rather skinny. His ribs could be seen, but apart from that he was rather toned. He ran his hand through his wet, crow-colored hair. The white light of a full moon streaked in through the window, and the distant cackling still interrupted the ugly silence even this late at night. Stopping at the sofa, which he had passed on his homeward hobble, the man fell into the soft comfort and was out in an instant. The door remained a pile of sawdust, but he didn’t care. The only people ever in this place were the hookers that frequented the bottom floor. It was in sleep that he was allowed to be content for at least a little while. His bleak, miserable life was outside the mind. He was inside. And so was she.

End part 1

A/N- Ok. Well I hope you liked it. I’ll be working out the plot later tonight. Yeah I sort of know what’s happening. But that’s the reason for pronouns…. Yeah. Well please review, that’d be real nice. My email is Patreeshquaa@sbcglobal.net for flames and such or if you liked it so for whatever. I’ll be out with another part real soon. TTFN