# Ending 1 - Fang's Perspective

Title: Ending 1 - Fang's Perspective
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang, Naser, Samantha, Ripley, Naomi, Trish, Reed
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: SurpriseVisitor
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Tonight’s the night.
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Saturday, May 1st, 201M2020 BC. Prom night at Volcano High. VVURM DRAMA’s second chance to finally show every good-for-nothing jackass at that school just how good we are. The looks on their faces are going to be fucking priceless. Maybe January’s fuckup will be worth it in the end, just for that.
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I give my guitar another tentative strum and fiddle with the tuning pegs. I take a deep breath, then strum again. Relax, Fang. You got this.
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The immaculate white guitar pairs great with my feathers and dress-suit. If my looks don’t blow them away, the music certainly will. Weeks of painstaking practice and research have gone into this, there’s no way it can’t.
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I check the time for the fiftieth time tonight, and decide it’s finally been long enough. I reach into my closet, pushing aside a long, flowing white dress and grabbing the outfit I bought a couple of weeks ago. I toss my black halter top and ripped jeans aside, and reach for the white, collared dress-shirt. I pull it over my head, press my wings through the back slots, and unroll it all the way out. And then roll up the sleeves; fuck sleeves, always irritating my elbow feathers.
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The grey vest goes over my head, arms through the holes, and I wrap it around the front. I yank up the article that barely qualifies as pants, grinning at my home-made rips and flares along the bottom, and wiggle my tail through the tail-hole. Button up the wings slot, button up the vest, button up the tail, and… perfect.
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I hear the front door close, an eruption of commotion following it. I pick out Mom’s cheery voice among it all, the name ‘Lucy’ catching my ears a couple of times. Damn it Mom, how many times do I need to tell you? At least that probably means Anon is here.
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I seat myself in front of the mirror, grabbing the orange eyeshadow brush. Across the undersides, don’t poke yourself. Over the eyelids, and good. Two sharp streaks of purple next, awesome. Mascara next, gently, don’t pack it on too much, and… beautiful.
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I check myself out, doing a couple poses in the mirror. Oh yeah, I’m hot. Damn, this really shows off my ass, doesn’t it? Bet Anon will like that. I consider giving it a smack, but decide against it. I pack my guitar into its case, grab it, and rush out of my bedroom.
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I peer over the banister and into the living room below.
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“Oh, Anon, you’re already here!" I call, hitting the bottom of the stairs. He looks over, and I can see his eyebrows raise. Like what you see, Anon? Of course you do. Fucking look at me.
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"Oh, I was hoping you would wear the dress I bought you, sweetheart," Mom comments, trying not to show her disappointment.
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“Mooooom. This is better, it’s gender neutral formal wear!” And it’s comfy, and it shows off my ass. Plus, Anon obviously likes it, so what does it matter?
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"Oh, Fang…” Naomi says, ever so eager to get into my business. "That’s an… Interesting outfit you’re wearing." She gives Anon a side-eye. Who the fuck do you think you’re looking at, slut? "I thought you’d be wearing some kind of dress…"
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"Nah, dresses aren’t my style," I smirk. I look her up and down. Her oriental red dress is practically shrink-wrapped to her, every crease on her skin visible. Compensating, I see. Probably going commando, too. Might as well go nude at that point.
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"I-I see… Well, your outfit certainly… pairs well with Anon’s." And you’re certainly being very careful with your words. I return the favor.
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"Oh I love your dress too, you look just like a giant pink dildo!" I swear I can see that plastic smile fade just a touch. The little shitheel is probably blistering with rage underneath it.
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"Lucy!" Mom cries.
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"What did I say about that! I already told you, my name is Fang!" I snap. She shrinks back a little and sighs.
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"Okay, sorry, Fang. But please, you don’t need to use that kind of language towards guests!" Not like that bitch doesn’t deserve it.
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“...Whatever…” At least she’s trying. Unlike some people.
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"Maybe we should just go…" Anon offers.
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"I’m not sharing a ride with her." Not unless I have permission to strangle her.
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"Well, if you insist, Fang,” Naomi sighs. Damn right, I insist. “Before you go… Anon, can I speak with you for a second?" She grabs Anon by the shoulder and drags him off towards the kitchen. I bare my teeth, but am interrupted before I can start shouting her down.
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“Fang. Please treat our guests well,” Dad chides from his stupid chair.
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“I’ll say whatever I want about sneaky orange whores talking about me behind my back,” I growl.
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“Hey! I’m not asking for much, just show them some respect.”
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“She’ll get my respect when she fucking earns it. Which is never.”
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“That’s enough! I treat our guests with respect, and by providing for this family, I expect my values and ideals to be passed onto you, and-” Mom steps in between us.
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“Now, now L- Fang…” she says, palms out towards us, desperately trying to keep the peace.
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“Back off!” I shout, glaring daggers at her. Dad shoots out of his seat, pointing a finger at me.
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“You are way out of line! That is no way to talk to your mother, young lady!”
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"I’m not a fuckin’ lady, dad!" I swear to Raptor Jesus I am going to burn this fucking house down with everyone in it. I see Anon in the corner of my eye, finally emerging from the kitchen. What the fuck was he doing? I should have been out of here by now.
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I grab him by the wrist, bash the ajar front door open with the wide end of my guitar case, and drag us outside. Finally, fresh air, no more Naomi and no more shitty parents. Time to get this fucking show on the road.
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"…’mme call a taxi or something," I mutter, taking my phone out. I quickly dial the taxi service and give them my address. We sit on the curb in silence. I take a deep breath. Easy, Fang. Just a little argument. Happens all the time. Nothing to get worked up over. You’ve got an audience to slay.
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A grimy taxi rolls up in front of us. Anon opens the door for me, and I secure the guitar case as best I can before sliding into the seat. Anon gets into his seat and- oh, for fuck’s sake, it’s this guy again.
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"Ay, it’s my favorite couple again! How’s the leg, skinnie?" he chuckles, Anon’s injury from two months earlier apparently being funny to him.
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"We’re doing fine, take us to Volcano high," Anon replies.
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“Prom I’m guessing? Ya’ two high school sweet-hearts should stay safe out there! Crazy worl’ out there innit’?" What on earth is he talking about?
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"Yeah I guess..."
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"Not too much party in you. You sure you guys are going to prom?" You should mind your own business, jackass. And you should cheer up a bit, Anon.
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"We’re sure."
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"Well, if you say so."
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The cab starts down the street at what was easily twice the speed limit. The engine is mercifully quiet and gives me some time to think. Song lyrics, guitar chords, melody and rhythm. An audience erupting into applause. I’m ready. Of course I’m ready.
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"Please don’t,” Anon pleads with the driver, who hums in response, then goes quiet. What did I miss?
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"You kids uh… You feel like stopping by a restaurant or something by any chance? I know a good Chinese place around here… I can wait outside if you two want to, y’know… I won't even add onto the bill..."
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"I’m on a schedule. We’ll pass," I answer. Would say no even if I wasn’t.
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"No thanks," Anon backs me up.
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"Sure, sure," the driver sighs. You should really consider minding your own business, jackass. Eventually, the cab pulls up to the school gymnasium, illuminated by celebratory decorative string lights. I pull my wallet out to pay the driver.
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"Uhh… Y’know what, it’s on the house this time, kids," he says, waving my wallet away.
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"Wait, really?" Anon replies.
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"Sure, yeah. Just have fun, y’know, and uhh… If you need a cab again, you know the number."
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"We know, we know,” I groan. “Get lost."
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"See you," Anon waves. The taxi pulls away from the curb and rounds the corner back onto the main road. I check my phone for the time.
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"We still got about an hour before Spears told us to be on," I say.
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"Sounds like we got plenty of time."
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"You’d be surprised. Come on." I start power walking towards the gymnasium. I look at the glow and clench my teeth. I can feel my chest tightening further with every step I take. I pick up the pace, my wings and feathers flexing and bristling lightly. Relax, Fang. Keep it together. You’ve been practicing for this. Everything is going exactly how it should be.
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"What song are you going to play?" Anon asks, catching up to me.
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"Just something simple me and Trish wrote up, why?"
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"Just curious about what's going to knock the prom out of the park, what about Reed?"
"He was busy." Busy being smoked out of his fucking mind, that is. He better not fuck this up.
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We finally enter the building, filled with flashing lights, students milling about, and smoke that smells suspiciously like a certain raptor hooked up his personal stash to it. The red oriental decorations remind me of a certain pink cunt’s dress. I doubt that’s a coincidence; she’s vain enough to want it and influential enough to pull it off.
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I spot Reed and Trish in a secluded corner, sipping from some red party cups. Seeing us, Reed waves us over.
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"Yooo buddy, how's it going?” Reed calls. “Ready to see us kill it up on the stage?"
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"Yeah man!” Anon replies. “Fang said you guys were going to keep it pretty simple with what's up there?"
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"Yeah, don’t want to do something super complex, just wanna keep it simple and cool for these guys."
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"When are you guys starting?"
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"Forty-five minutes."
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"Forty-five?” I gawk. “Shit, I thought we were later than that, we need to start getting prepped."
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The four of us haul ass to the music room. Forty minutes now. Plenty of time, more than enough time. I pull out my guitar and take a spot next to Trish. Strum… damn it, I thought I tuned this thing. Reed starts ordering Anon for tools and parts, the drum kit slowly taking form. Trish stays relatively quiet, deferring to only occasionally commenting on tune and sound.
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Strum… no, that’s not it either, damn it! How did this thing get so out of tune? I fiddle with the pegs some more. Strum… fuck! How am I gonna wow anyone with an out-of-tune guitar? I sharply turn one of the pegs and give the strings a quick jam-
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*TWANG*
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“SHIT!” I scream in surprise. The sound instantly puts me on edge, wings flaring. I look down at my guitar. One of the strings is split in two, the halves curling away from each other.
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Ten minutes. Ten fucking minutes to get on stage and this happens. A drum thuds against the floor.
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"Don’t you have a spare?" Anon asks. Of course I do. I glance into my guitar case. My completely empty guitar case.
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"...At home…" I moan. Why the fuck didn’t I prepare for this? Why the fuck are my guitar strings sitting at home? How do I forget something as basic and essential as fucking guitar strings?
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"There’s got to be some here!” Trish shouts. “Reed! Anon! Look arou-"
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"We don’t have time!" We need this stuff moving NOW.
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"What? But- " Anon gets cut off by Reed.
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"A spare guitar, maybe?"
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"We do not have the time!" Why is nobody listening to me?
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"Look me and Reed can- " My last nerve snaps.
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"ANON YOU’RE NOT HELPING!" No, fuck, calm down, calm down…
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"Look, Anon, we just need to focus right now. Just go outside so we can figure something out. Please, Anon?”
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“I-” A protest forms, but he drops it, nodding. “Yeah… sure…” He leaves the room, leaving it dreadfully quiet. Fuck. I’ll apologize after we’re done. I just cannot have this going wrong tonight, especially not now.
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“Fang, I think-”
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“No, Reed. That drum kit needs to be ready to move fucking yesterday. I’ll…” Fuck, what can I do without a guitar?
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“Fang!” Trish calls from a storage closet. I rush over to her, and she shows me a black bass. My black bass. The same one that I used six months prior and only received ridicule and scorn.
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“Fang,” she says again, catching my attention. “This is what we’ve been practicing for. For weeks, months, hell, years at this point. This is the climax. This is the part we look back on in ten years as the moment we figured out who we were. We’re gonna go out there, and show every single one of those jerks who we are. We’re gonna fucking kill them. Right?” I feel the tension in my wings loosen, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
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“Yeah. Yeah! We’re gonna fucking kill them!” I cheer. I grab the bass, giving it a quick strum. I can work with this. It’d take some improv. The song we’re playing is meant to have a guitar. It’ll be fine. We’ve come too far to fail now.
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Reed gets his drum kit mobile, and we rush to the backstage of the gymnasium. Even from behind the stage, we can hear Principal Spears preparing to announce prom royalty. Looks like we’re just barely in time, thank fuck.
"And your winners. For the one Mil. Twenty-twenty class. Aaaaaare…." Let me guess, Naser and Naomi.
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"Naaaaaser aaaaand Naaaaoooomiiiiii!" The crowd goes wild for the most obvious stunt of the night. I absorb the sounds for a few moments. That’ll all be for us in a few minutes when we blow their stupid minds. We finish pushing everything into place while Naomi runs her mouth about some garbage. We don’t need your extra time, whore, get out of our way.
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Spears finally ushers her away, then resumes speaking. "I promised your parents we’d be out of here by ten. To close off this wonderful night, I’ve asked a student band to play a few bops for us.” ‘Bops’? Really?
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"They’ve had their trials earlier in the year, but I think everyone deserves a second chance." Here it comes. Do or die.
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"Please welcome, VVURM DRAMA!!!!" Show time. The applause in the audience decreases noticeably. No doubt the name is familiar. Time to show these bastards what music is.
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We walk onto the stage, plug everything, make one last check to make sure nothing’s broken. Good? Good.
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I see Anon looking at us. Why is he so concerned? This is gonna be great. I look around at the crowd, almost dead quiet now. Fuck these clowns, we’re gonna knock ‘em dead.
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We don’t bother introducing ourselves. They already know who we are. Trish starts it off, plucking at her bass. Reed begins drumming, and I can feel my nerves straining as my cue comes closer. Here we go…
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The first strum of my bass hits me with a cold shock that blasts my entire body. It’s fine, just play. I bring my beak to the microphone and start singing. My voice uncontrollably wavers in and out of key. I bare my teeth, clench my eyes shut; anything to keep my focus.
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The scrap of melody I have with Trish is drifting away. It’s fine. The second bass doesn’t fit this song at all. It’s fine. These lyrics sound so much fucking worse than they did when I wrote them. IT’S. FINE.
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"PFFFT AHAHAHA THEY STILL FUCKING SUCK AFTER SIX MONTHS!!"
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The music stops abruptly, replaced with uproarious laughter that immediately gives me a splitting headache. Tears start streaming down my face. My wings flare and I press my knuckles against my head in a desperate attempt to relieve the pain. Balled up tissues and napkins fly past my head, Trish and Reed exiting the stage. One of the paper balls bounces off of my head. I breathe in to ready a shout. I can’t leave without giving something in return. I breathe out wordlessly. All my energy is trapped in tensed muscles and frayed nerves. All I can do is soak in the laughter and derision. Again.
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I turn to leave. Something slams into my crest, splashing me in ice-cold liquid and knocking me off balance, sending me to the ground. I shakily rise to my feet, trying to leave with whatever dignity I have left as bits of food are flung at me. Something else hits me in the back, splashing me again, and I almost slip on the fruit punch pooling at my feet.
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Principal Spears rushes over, throwing his massive caveman coat onto me.
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"ENOUGH!" he bellows. I stumble off stage and into an empty hallway. I scream in despair and break into a sprint, auto-piloting to the auditorium. I throw the door open, tossing the weighty jacket onto a seat and heading towards the stage. At the foot of the stage, I stare at the instrument in my hand, vision blurred from tears.
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This fucking bass. This is the second time this worthless instrument has humiliated me. I grip it tightly and raise it over my head. I roar as I slam it into the ground once. Twice. Thrice. It makes a sickening crack as the plastic caves, rendering it unusable. I don’t feel any better, only more tired.
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I huddle against the foot of the stage and violently sob into my knees. I feel the cold liquid seeping through my clothes and onto my feathers. My hair sticking to my shirt. My makeup smearing my face. The stench of sweat mixed with fruit juice fills my nostrils. The sounds of every jeer and taunt fill my mind.
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I hate them. I hate them so fucking much. Every single one of those fucking bastards, useless pieces of trash, worthless weeds beneath my feet. Nobody ever fucking glances at me unless it’s to laugh. Never even so much as thinks of me unless it’s to put me down. Nobody ever has.
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The auditorium door creaks open, light creeping in.
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“Fang?” Except you, Anon…
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“You alright? I mean, are you gonna be alright?”
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“...No…” I struggle to respond through my sobs.
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"Fang? Uh… Fang?"
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"I didn’t fuck up."
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"Huh?"
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"I didn’t fuck up. Right, Anon?"
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"...Nah… You did your best up there." Yeah. The fuck do they know about music? The fuck do any of them know about my life?
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"Yeah… Yeah… it’s all their fault. Right?" I hiss, still staring into my lap.
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"Whose?"
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"Who the fuck else! Naser and that BITCH! Fucking Naomi. She ruined this. She caused this all. If she had never come into my life. If she was never around Naser. If-"
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"Fang!" My mouth clicks shut at the sudden interruption. "Look, forget all of that. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters."
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"I-"
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"Naomi doesn’t matter at all. She and her stupid plan don’t fucking matter." Naomi… doesn’t matter? Anon reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. But, she...
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"Hey… I want you to do something for me, alright? Just repeat after me. Alright?" I hesitantly nod.
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"It doesn’t matter." It… doesn’t matter? Is... he right? Naomi… Naomi is just some stupid bitch. Some stupid bitch with some fucking idiot wrapped around their finger.
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"...it… It doesn’t matter," I echo. I don’t need them. "It doesn’t matter." The hiss in my voice returns. They aren’t even worth my fucking thoughts. "It doesn’t matter." Fuck them. Fuck all of them.
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"See? Feel better, right?"
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"Y-yeah. I guess. Thanks, Anon." It...it doesn’t matter.
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"Good. So. Uh."
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"...I don’t wanna be here."
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"Oh... Do you need me to walk you home?"
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"...Actually…I uh…Can I…Stay at your place? I… Don’t want to see Naser right now…"
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"S-sure. Of course! Come on, let’s go home, Fang."
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Anon dials a taxi, and it’s thankfully not that grimy raptor from earlier. The ride is somber and silent for all but the sound of the road and the patter of the engine.
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Anon waves me into his apartment, and I dive on to his cot without a word.
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"You going to sleep already?" he asks.
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"...Nooo…" I groan.
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"Maybe you should take a shower. At least rinse the punch off." And wear what, exactly?
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"I’ve uh… I think I got some clothes for ya." Hm.
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"...’kay…" I force myself upright and to my feet, and trudge over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I flick the light on and strip all the wet, sticky clothes off of me. I hold the dress-shirt out in front of me, the red stains settling in. Completely ruined. God damn it. I turn the shower faucet and step into a stream of lukewarm water. Figures somewhere this shitty wouldn’t have decent hot water. I don’t bother with whatever Anon uses, settling to scrub the crap out of my hair and feathers the old-fashioned way.
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It… it doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. None of them matter. Especially not Naser, or Naomi, or...her...plan? No, it...it doesn’t matter.
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I shut the faucet off, the cool ambient temperature stinging my wet skin. I grab a towel and start drying off when Anon knocks on the door.
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"I set a change of clothes for you. Yell if you need me to do some more cutting," he says through the door. You really are the only one that actually cares about me, aren't you… right?
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My eyes fall onto the ruined clothing piled onto the floor, the feeling of fruit punch splashing against me clear in my mind. I shake my head clear. It doesn’t matter. I crack open the door and peer around it, picking the folded shirt off the floor and retreating back inside. It’s a large white shirt with a trio of holes haphazardly sliced out for my wings and tail. I wrestle it on, fitting everything through their respective holes. It’s much warmer than I expected, and I tightly wrap the front halves around me.
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I take a deep breath. It doesn’t matter. I button up the shirt and roll down the sleeves. I rifle through my clothing and pull out my black panties. Thankfully unmarred, I slip them on, stretching the shirt as far down as it can go. It’s not much, but at least it covers what I need it to. I emerge from the bathroom, quietly thanking Anon and sitting on the cot.
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"So… Wanna do something?" he asks, desperate to put all this behind us.
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"Play a game or something, I dunno…I don’t want to sleep yet," I respond, lying down and turning towards the TV.
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"Uhh… Sure…" He pauses for a moment, gears in his head turning. He reaches for a jewel case, taking the disc out of it and putting it in his game machine, turning it on. ‘Rock Ring’ appears on the screen in large letters.
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"This one’s my favorite Rock Ring story,” Anon says. A little movie starts playing, some gruff male starts talking... it doesn’t matter, Fang. Just...
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“You uhhh… wanna play first? Might help take your mind off prom…" Huh? Oh, the game part started.
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"I can just watch…" I sigh, returning my eyes to the screen. Guns fire, something explodes. The flashing lights and color fall out of focus. Naomi doesn’t matter. Naomi’s plan doesn’t matter. Naomi does not matter. Naomi’s plan...does not…
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What is Naomi’s plan? Why does Anon-
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No, it doesn’t matter. It...it doesn’t matter.
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I hear Anon rattle off about something, but the words are meaningless and without context.
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“Yeah, cool…” I reply, hoping it’s relevant enough.
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Naomi’s plan...no, it doesn’t matter. It’s probably something retarded, anyway. Something only she could come up with.
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Something so stupid, it’s funny. Yeah, that stupid bitch. Probably couldn’t plot her way out of an open closet. What’s the harm in asking? I could use a laugh right about now.
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"Hey, Anon… You said something about Naomi having a ‘plan’ earlier. What did you mean by that?" His entire body tenses visibly, like I had just asked him to meet my dad.
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"Thing is, uh… you know when I just transferred in and everything?" His words are slow and cautious. Naomi’s not here, Anon. What are you so afraid of?
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“Yeah?”
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"Well uh, Naomi kept… No, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything." It… it can’t be that bad, right? Why is he refusing to tell me?
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I sit up, levelling my eyes with his. Why are you hiding something from me, Anon?
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"It’s not nothing. What. Did. She. Do?" What are you hiding from me?
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"Now’s not a good time, we should talk about it lat-" I grab his collar, my hands shaking wildly.
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"Tell me!" I plead. Why?! What has Naomi done?
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"I-I-I can’t! Fang, get a hold of yourself!" Why not?!
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The memory of Naomi grabbing Anon’s shoulder and dragging him into the kitchen resurfaces. How long have they been plotting together? How many secret meetings have they had?
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I jump to my feet, wings flaring, the force on his collar knocking him over and onto his hands.
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"DAMMIT ANON, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN PLANNING WITH NAOMI?!" I scream. My free hand clenches open, five razor-sharp black claws ready to spill blood. "TELL ME OR I’LL-"
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"SHE PUT ME WITH YOU!" Anon cries. The room goes quiet. My hands go limp, releasing Anon. My vision blurs, and the headache from earlier returns in full force. Anon slowly stands up. Horror is etched onto my face.
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Please, Anon. Please tell me you misspoke. Tell me it’s better in context. Tell me something that clears this up. Please...
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"...Naomi made it so the two of us were together. Naser’s always worrying about you, so she wanted to get his full attention…by trying to have someone ‘fix’ you."
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I squeeze my head with my palms, claws scraping at my scalp.
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Fix...me. This entire time…
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"Fang, I didn’t have any control over it…" It doesn’t matter that Naomi was toying with me.
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"You know I really do have feelings for you, I genuinely like you." It doesn’t matter that I was just another one of her playthings.
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"It doesn’t matter what Naomi’s stupid ‘plans’ are, we still-" And every emotion I’ve felt for the last six months...doesn’t…
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The rage and hatred that had been building for years but had nowhere to go erupts all at once.
"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! THAT STUPID BITCH!! THAT, THAT, THAT GODDAMN SLUT!”
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“Fang! Calm down!”
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“SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU LITERAL, ACTUAL TOOL!”
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My claws wrap around the closest thing to me and yank, sending a set of bedsheets across the room. Anon’s pleading falls on deaf ears as I convulse, frantically looking around the room for another outlet. I feel something against my foot, and kick. A game controller rockets into the bathroom, cracking the toilet. Anon begs something, and I ignore it again, throwing myself at the shelves taking up the bulk of the room. I bash it with my fists and feet, throwing Anon’s grip off of me when he tries to stop me. I deliver what little focus I can into punching one of the doors over and over again, an enraged growl with every strike. I pull my arm back, pouring everything into another punch that goes clean through the door. More of the door explodes into splinters that scatter onto the floor when I yank my arm out, and I stumble from the recoil.
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"THAT’S ENOUGH!” Anon barks, knocking me out of my trance for a split second. He grabs my wrists and holds them together like handcuffs, pushing me down onto the bed. The pain in my head returns, along with new ones on my knuckles and feet. My outlet revoked, the tears return in a deluge as Anon shifts his grip to my arms.
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"I can’t even fall in love without HER interfering with it!" I wail. "You don’t like me, you just wanted to change me to something I’m not to get Naomi off your back." Anon leans in closer to speak. I brace myself against the mattress and pull my legs back.
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"That’s not true! Fang, listen to me. I do lo-" I slam both of my legs square into his chest, sending him reeling backwards
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"You took me away from my friends! You ruined our band!"
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"What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t done any of that!"
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"Well, Naomi is, and, and… you’re just doing whatever Naomi wants!"
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"Well then maybe Naomi had a point!" I glare at him, searching for a response. Something to truly hurt him.
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Realization crashes against me. This is it. I’m all alone.
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My parents resent me. My brother doesn’t understand me. My friends are going to abandon me. Even my boyfriend is just another one of Naomi’s hammers, trying to nail me down. I have no talents or hobbies. I don’t even have an identity.
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I’m just a void, with nothing, surrounded by the weeds of society.
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I turn my back to him, trying to keep what little resolve I have left.
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"Just-just shut up… I don’t…I…"
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"Here’s the reality, Fang. There are things about you that need fixing. That much I can agree with Naomi. And clearly, I can’t help you there." A sob wracks my body. He’s right. I’m just trash that people play with before throwing away when they get bored.
​
"Fang… I’m sorry." He sighs. "You’re right, I took you away from your friends and all that. I caused all this." You don’t believe a word of that, do you?
​
"No. You wish. That would be too much of an honor for you." He pauses for long enough to make me regret speaking. Damn it...
​
"Look…You're tired, I'm tired, let's just sleep and think it over tomorrow." A blanket drapes over my shoulders. I hold my hand out behind me.
​
"... I do love you, Fang." His hand squeezes mine, slowing the raging maelstrom inside me momentarily. My heart pangs when I let go, and he walks off. "... Goodnight."
​
I curl into the blanket, eyes on the wall. The lights flick off, and Anon lies down on the floor. My tears continue to wet the pillow for a while longer until a troubled sleep takes me.
​
​
​
​
I look around the dreary restaurant, scanning the few patrons scattered around the run-down tables and bar. None of them bother to glance at the secluded stage I’m on. They’ve heard it once, they’ve heard it a thousand times, if they’re sober enough to even care, that is. I lower my head to the instrument in my hands. A black bass. My black bass. My arm, covered in tattoos exotic and incomprehensible, moves to give it a test strum. It’s as good as it ever will be.
​
I look over at my bandmates, barely registering their presence. They seem ready enough. We start playing, the telltale cacophony of two basses wailing around me. It’s as bad as it ever was. The same garbage I’ve been playing all my life. The instruments screech, out of tune and out of sync. Rasped words flow from my mouth; lyrics that would embarrass even the most secluded freshman, sung at an octave that clashes with everything else.
​
The song ends, and the establishment goes quiet. Nothing has changed, outside of a couple people filing out of the entrance. Nobody cheers, and nobody laughs. Nobody cares. I might as well not have played to begin with. And yet this is all I can do. Play shitty music to the delight of no one, getting by on the only thing I know yet can never excel at.
​
This is the way it’s always been. This is the way it will always be.
​
​
​
​
I wake with a start, bolting upright in bed, sweat coating my head and neck. Just a dream. It’s just a dream. Oh god…
​
I slip out of bed and rush to the bathroom, splashing my face with water. I look in the mirror, trying to focus on myself, but the remnants of that nightmare keep flashing in my mind. I glance over to my ruined prom outfit on the floor, and the sounds of laughter and derision return.
​
And they were right. After six months, we still sucked. Six months of research and practice, sweat and tears, for what? To be nothing but a footnote in everyone’s lives, some funny story to tell their future friends? I look back into the mirror, into my bloodshot eyes.
​
Music has been my entire life. One of the only things I’ve ever loved. The one thing that’s gotten me to where I am today. But...where am I today? I’m still at the bottom. Fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years, and I’ve gone nowhere. Am I going to be playing sideshows in some piece of shit bar this time next year? What else can I do? What other future is there for someone that can only play trash? For someone that can’t even please a group of high schoolers?
​
The pain returns in full force. A pounding headache, bruised foot, and swollen knuckles all scream in unison, but all I can do is hiss into the sink. It doesn’t hold a candle to the pain in my heart. I look back to my clothes, fishing my phone out of a pocket. I catch the toilet in my eye, a crack snaking down the bowl and part-way down the base. Shit.
​
On my phone is lots of missed calls, voicemails, and texts from half a dozen different people. Right. Should probably get home before Naser starts snooping, or Dad comes knocking. Neither of us needs to deal with that right now.
​
I put on the dress pants, still sticky from last night’s performance, but it’ll have to do; can’t go running around without pants on. I get into my shoes, swipe up the rest of my stuff and move to the front door. I look back one more time at Anon, sleeping on the floor. I want to wake him, to have him wrap his arms around me again, to feel his embrace. I should really get going though… I still love you, Anon.
​
​
​
​
After leaving a taxi, I push open the front door to my house unceremoniously, hoping nobody is up at 7 AM on a Sunday morning. Part of the way up the stairs, Mom comes from around the corner.
​
“I heard what happened sweetie, I…” I glance at her, the dead look in my eyes stopping her on the spot. “I… hope you feel better, Fang.” I mutter a thanks and head into my room, shutting the door behind me. Solitude, once again. I change into some clothes not marred by last night’s memories, and throw myself onto the bed. I try to remain calm, but the silence and solitude unshackles my mind, allowing my emotions to run wild.
​
God, this entire semester has been such a fucking shitshow. Fucking Naser, inviting all those retards to my first show. I wonder if Naomi had a hand in that. Probably did. Fucking Naomi. Why can’t she just mind her own fucking business for once in her life? Stupid bitch, thinking she needs to ‘fix’ me. Pushing Anon to me…
​
I cloak myself in my wings, anything to help comfort me right now. Anon… he’s just another piece of Naomi’s plans, isn’t he? No real control over what’s going on, just falling wherever Naomi pushes him. Damn it, why can’t I hate him too?
​
No family, no friends, some dreadful orange cunt breathing down his neck and controlling him every step of the way. I guess he’s kinda like me. Getting fucked over by some crazy bitch who can’t keep their snout out of everyone’s asses.
​
She’s probably going to get away with all of it too, cheerfully skipping away as I struggle to pick up the pieces of what she’s fucking done. Just a few more weeks and she’ll be out of my life… unless she marries Naser. I’d never see the fucking end of it. Mom and Dad would be over the fucking moon, and I’d be looking for bridges to jump off of. I bet that’s exactly what she wants too. Fucking bitch will do anything to take me out of the picture of her perfect little family. Fuck!
​
I hear a knock on the door. For fuck’s sake, what now?
​
“Fang? Your father and I are going shopping. Do you want anything?” Mom calls through the door. Privacy, for one.
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“No,” I call back through my wings. I look down and notice a pile of feathers that have collected in my lap, some with blood dried to them. Fuck...
​
I hear a pair of footsteps walk away and down the stairs. I hear the front door swing open and shut. I listen intensely, a car engine revving to life, rolling out of the driveway and into the distance. I hesitantly get out of bed and peek out the window, Dad’s car absent.
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She’s not going to get away with it.
​
I open my bedroom door and focus on Naser’s. It’s closed, and no light is escaping from underneath, so he’s probably still asleep. I quietly step downstairs, careful to ignore the one that squeaks. I look through the living room. Chairs and cushions are empty, TV is off, not a sound is present. The kitchen is equally quiet. I put my ear to the master bedroom door. Silence. I steel myself, slowly turning the knob and pushing my way inside. Empty.
​
I start snooping around, pulling drawers, rifling through the closet, poking and prodding through shelves. Where is it? I get onto my knees, look under the bed, and spot a small case. It’s black with a gray frame, a slot for a key front and center. Bingo.
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I drag it out, clutching it to my chest. I slide back out, closing the door behind me and returning to my room. As soon as my door clicks shut, I hear another one open. Someone knocks on the door, and I clutch the case even tighter.
​
“Fang? About last night…” Naser starts.
​
“Please, not now, Naser. I don’t want to talk about it.”
​
“I… alright. Just… you know I’m here for you.”
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“...yeah…” He walks off, a door shutting behind him. I let out a monumental sigh, sliding down the door and onto the floor. I stroke the top of the case, then stand up and gingerly place it on the bed. I look through my drawers and pick out a few bobby pins and thin bits of metal. I insert them into the lock, fiddling with it for a bit. Come on, work with me. Turn, turn...click.
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The case pops open and my heartbeat spikes. I push on the lid, the case fully opening. Dad’s black service revolver sits in the case, long forgotten. A relic, no longer needed. I trace my fingers along the cold metal barrel, ‘SMITH & PLESSON’ engraved along the side of it. I wrap a hand around the wooden grips, pulling it out of the case. I turn it over, ‘.357 HIGHWAY PATROLDINO’ engraved on the opposite side of the barrel.
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I wave it around a bit, getting a feel for the weight. My eyes fall on one of the guitars hung on the wall. I line up the sights with the soundhole, pulling the trigger. The hammer falls with a click, my heart skips a beat and my wings spasm. I point at another guitar, pulling again. Click. I point at a bit of writing on the wall, and pull again. Click. I point at the mirror and…
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I lower my shaking hands, swallowing hard and trying to catch my breath. I continue my inspection, pushing a tab on the side. The cylinder comes loose and I press it out, six empty cylinders awaiting their ammo. I glance back to the case, two speedloaders complete with ammo resting inside. I put the gun down and pick one up, popping a round off. I roll it in my fingers, rubbing the smooth brass. I run my thumb over the copper bullet, indented inwards. Hollow points.
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I stare at it, drinking in every detail. Naomi… Naomi… Naomi…
​
This one’s for you.
​
I look back at the other five rounds on the wheel, wondering what to do with the rest. Reed? No. Trish? No. Naser… no. Rosa, Stella? No, no. Anon… that hurt to even think about. I look back at the mirror, gazing into myself.
​
I won’t get away with it if I do it so openly and brazenly. Yet that’s exactly what I want. And if I give myself up, how long will I get? How long will I spend rotting in some prison, forgotten by everyone? Tossed to the side like garbage. Crushed like a weed. No…
​
I pop a second round off of the wheel, clutching it in my hand. One for the one scorned by all. One for the one with no future. One… for me.
​
And who else? I concentrate, trying to find the ones who’ve been the worst, who’ve done the most to me to deserve this fate. Who threw punch at me? Who said that no one would want to fuck me? Random faces without names pass through my mind one after another, yet nobody in particular comes to mind. No worst offender, just a collective mass of terrible people.
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They’re all guilty.
​
I place the two rounds back onto the loader and look at the second one, still sitting in the case. Wouldn’t be great to have that in my pocket, too obvious. Would I have time to fish that out of my bag and reload? Everyone would be gone by then, running and screaming for the doors. I’d have to chase them down… no, not happening. I’ll have to settle for six…
​
I pull a round off of the second loader. Seven. I’m not going unprepared. Not this time, not ever again. I grab my bag from the floor, unzipping the front pocket. Wait, one last detail. I grab a sharpie from the dresser and write ‘NAOMI’ on one of the bullets. Perfect.
​
I push everything into my backpack, zipping it up and watching my instrument vanish behind the black fabric. I grab the case and push it under the bed. My phone buzzes, and I see Anon’s name on the display. I pick it up, and it falls out of my shaking hands. Get a hold of yourself, Fang. It’s not even Monday yet. I manage to check Anon’s messages.
​
‘hey, you alright?’
‘just noticed your dad was pretty livid last night’
‘he mustve been writing all night long’
​
Yeah, that figures. Don’t worry Anon, I’ll fix this. For you, at least.
​
I lie back in my bed, trying to imagine Naomi’s reaction. Her fake smile shattering the instant she feels metal against her chin. Her realization turning to mortal fear. Would she scream? Beg? Or stay silent, completely paralyzed with terror? Would I even give her enough time for me to find out…?
​
​
​
​
*DING-DONG-BING-BONG*
​
The third period bell rings. Economics. Naomi. I walk the familiar halls of Volcano High straight to our class. Naomi slips through the door, and I call her name, stepping into the doorframe behind her.
​
“Oh, hey Fang,” she replies. I can see through that plastic smile, whore.
​
“I’ve got something for you,” I grin. Her smile falters a bit, desperate to keep up appearances. I pull my bag out from behind me, unzipping the front pocket.
​
“Oh, Fang, you don’t have to…” I wrap my palm around the wooden grips, my finger laying on the trigger. I take a step forward and let go of the bag, letting it drop to the floor and revealing my gift. She takes a single step back before I place the barrel under her chin. Her facade shatters, the horror of imminent death fully realized.
​
“F-Fa-” I pull the trigger, smiling maniacally.
​
*BANG*
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A spurt of crimson flies out the other side of her head, and a speck of blood hits me in the face. The smell of copper hits me as her corpse crumbles to the floor. Screams of terror swirl around me as I point it at her again.
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*BANG*
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Another hole opens up in her head, spattering my pants with gore. I soak in the stimuli, blood pooling at my feet. I pull the gun up and into my mouth. I pull the trigger-
​
​
​
​
I gasp harshly, throwing myself upright and frantically looking around. Still in my room. I quickly check my phone. Still Sunday, 7 PM. There’s a knock on the door.
​
“Did you hear me, honey? Dinner is ready,” Mom calls through the door. Alright… last meal it is. I calm myself down, brush away some discarded feathers, and head downstairs. I smell salmon before I hit the bottom of the stairs, roasted potatoes and buttered peas following soon after. The other three are already at the table, and I take my place with them. Fuck me, I haven’t eaten since before prom, have I? And it looks like Mom pulled out all the stops for these plates. Might as well enjoy myself.
​
Dinner is mercifully quiet, just some small talk and nobody daring to touch the issue of prom. I finish up, then head back up to my room. I grab my bag, pack some makeup and a brush, then head for the front door. As my hand touches the knob, Dad speaks up.
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“And where are you going?” he asks, his tone softer than normal.
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“I… need to apologize to Anon. I said some things I shouldn’t have.” He stares for a moment, weighing his options.
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“Get to school on time. I’ll know if you don’t...be back tomorrow.” I smile wistfully.
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“Yeah…” I shut the door behind me.
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​
​
​
I test the door to Anon’s apartment, and it’s unlocked. Has he even gotten out of bed today? Shit…
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"Anon?” I call out. ”You-oh! Hey…uh… why are you huddled in the fetal position?”
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"Fang? Oh thank fuck." He slumps onto the bed. "I thought your dad was here to kill me."
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"Ah. Yeah. Sorry." I set my bag down on the kitchen table, Anon completely unwitting to what’s inside. Would he try to stop me if he found out? Would I let him stop me?
​
“So…” Anon looks to the floor, searching for words.
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“Fang, about last ni-”
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"It’s fine," I interrupt.
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"-ight.. What?"
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"It’s fine, Anon. I don’t blame you for what happened. In fact, I’m sorry for overreacting last night."
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"I… What?" Hush. Don’t make me explain any more.
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"I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like last night."
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"Even if it was my fault? I should have-" Please, stop.
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"It isn’t, Anon."
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"But-" I grab his dirty shirt, pressing my lips into his and slipping my tongue in between. He relaxes and I pull away.
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"I..wha...Fang?" I guide him down onto the bed, climbing on top and straddling his lap.
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Please, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. You’re the last one to deserve any of this.
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​
​
​
I’ve been watching the clock for hours, unable to sleep, planning every step of the day. What I’m going to do, where I’m going to go, how I’m going to do it. How long I should taunt Naomi, back up plans… not that any of it mattered. Things rarely, if ever, go according to plan.
​
I feel Anon’s heartbeat on my back, our breathing in sync. I feel the warmth he’s sharing with me. I feel his love inside of me. I wish I could keep this comfort and peace forever, but my fate awaits me. I’m sorry Anon. It’s time for me to go.
​
I wriggle out from under his arms and the covers, grabbing my clothes and bag. Anon grunts, and I quietly shut myself in the bathroom. Please, go back to sleep Anon. You can’t be with me for this.
​
I pull out my phone and turn the light on, unzipping my bag. I pull out the gun and speedloader, pressing the tab and pushing over the cylinder. Making sure Naomi’s bullet is at the top, I slot the rounds into the chambers and close it back with a click. It’s ready. I pull the lone bullet out with my free hand, staring at it in the dim digital light. I bring it close to my chest, blessing it. I slide it into my back pocket and the gun back into the bag.
​
I close my phone and slowly exit the bathroom. Anon remains still, his breathing steady. I sneak over, watching him closely. Still asleep. I reach under the desk and pull the cord to his alarm clock. One futile spark attempts to keep the circuit complete, but the clock’s display dies, anyway. As I turn to leave, I look at Anon one last time, sleeping peacefully.
​
Goodbye Anon. I love you.
​
​
​
​
Today’s the day.
​
Monday, May 3rd, 201M2020 BC. Another normal day at Volcano High. My last chance to finally show every good-for-nothing jackass at this school just who I am. The looks on their faces are going to be priceless.
​
I didn’t bother taking a taxi, electing to stroll Volcadera Bluffs to pass the time. I arrive at the entrance minutes before homeroom and settle into my seat.
​
*DING-DONG-BING-BONG*
​
The bell puts me on edge. I’m suddenly painfully aware of the bullet in my back pocket pressing against my pelvis. Of all the random conversations going on around me. Of every giggle and chuckle shared between friends. How many people in this very room had torn me apart when I was up on that stage the other night? I reach down to my bag- No, Fang. Not now. Not yet.
​
The passing hours are complete agony. Every ring of the bell closer to third period frays my nerves further. Every shift in my seat reminds me of my back pocket. Every lift of my bag reminds me of the extra weight inside of it. I felt eyes on me from all around, and I could swear they were laughing at me.
​
*DING-DONG-BING-BONG*
​
Third period. Economics. Naomi.
​
I escape into the hallway and pull out my phone, sending the text I drafted earlier to everyone on my contacts list.
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♪ Control over my life you denied
And now death approaches from the sky
Why'd it be me you had to vilify?
I guess this is Goodbye, Volcano High ♫
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Do or die.
​
I turn a corner, heading down another hallway. I scan every individual student clogging the hall as I walk. If I had the time and the ammo, I’d put every single one of these fuckers straight into the dirt.
​
I catch Naomi entering our class, and I pick up the pace.
​
“Naomi!” I call, sliding the bag off of my back and into my hands. I step into the doorframe behind her and she turns to me.
​
“Oh, hey… Fang…” She’s on edge, and her appearance falters momentarily. My emotions are probably written all over my face.
​
“I got something for you, Naomi.” I unzip the front pocket.
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“Oh, Fang, you don’t need to…” I feel the wood against my palm and the metal against my finger. I do need to.
​
I let go of the bag, the instrument for my final song revealed as it drops to the floor. I take a step forward, placing the barrel against her chin. I hesitate for a split-second, watching the realization hit her.
​
I pull the trigger.
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*BANG*
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A spray of crimson erupts from the back of her skull, and her corpse crumples to the floor. Through the ringing in my ears, I hear the screams of my classmates. Someone shouts my name, moving suddenly in my peripheral vision. Turn, point, fire.
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*BANG*
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The shot strikes Naser. He screams in pain and shock, tripping and crashing into the instructor’s table. That’s… I…
​
Someone pulls a fire alarm, the new ringing matching the one already present. I shake my head and rush into the hallway. Students of all stripes are panicking, running in random directions. I spot a purple one on my right, dazed and confused.
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*BANG*
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He never even saw me, the shot sending him and a spurt of blood spiralling to the floor. A gray one runs past me.
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*BANG*
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He’s hit in the back and he trips, skidding against the floor, never to get up again. A yellow one rushes out from behind me, tripping over a dropped backpack and hitting the floor.
​
*BANG*
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He twitches and goes still. I lock eyes with a green one, paralyzed with fear.
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*BANG*
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He stumbles backwards, clutching the fresh wound, then passes out and hits the floor. Something grabs my leg and I whip around. Click.
​
“Hh...aaah-” Naser is on the ground with a weak grip on my boot, wheezing in pain. He looks up at me and down the barrel of my now-empty gun.
​
“W-why…” he whispers. Even now, you don’t understand. I leave him, hearing him groan in pain as he loses grip on me. The hallway is deserted now, only the ringing of the alarm and the distant screams of panic and confusion here.
​
I take my time climbing the first set of stairs up. On the third floor, the screams subside, out of harm’s way. Damn it, Naser…
​
I climb up the second set of stairs, and sirens wax into earshot. I push open the roof access door, and am enveloped in fog. I step onto the center of the roof, watching a helicopter fly overhead.
​
Maybe Dad’s in the crowd of police, praying that I pull through and return to him. Would be a first.
​
Maybe I’m on TV, and they’re watching in horror as the events play out, some anchordino calmly trying to explain the atrocity I just committed.
​
I reach into my back pocket, retrieving the last round. I push open the cylinder, six spent casings falling to the ground. Six spent lives lowering into the ground. I slot the round into the chamber, align it with the barrel, and click it shut.
​
I look back at the helicopter encircling me, watching my every move. I look into the crowd of students, scattered and terrified, being corralled into barely ordered sections by faculty. I look at the emergency services, shouting at me to surrender as more vehicles flood in. I take a deep, ragged breath, tears falling from my eyes as I bask in it.
​
All of this, all for me.
​
The sirens wane, turning into blaring church organs, playing a song of the purest love. The gun in my hand morphs into a beautiful bouquet. The terrified crowd of students turns into friends and family, celebrating a joyous event. The hole in the suicide fence shifts into an immaculate verdana. And under it is the man I love. The only man I’ve ever loved. Anon…
​
Something brushes against my shoulder. I whip around, my fists clenched in surprise.
​
*BANG*
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“ARGH!” My assailant screams in pain, crumpling to the floor and looking up at me.
​
No...no no no, I prepared for this; I made it so this wouldn’t happen…
​
"A-Anon… WHY ARE YOU-!"
​
"AAAAH… haaaah… Fang… Why…?"
​
"Y-you weren’t supposed to be here! You shouldn’t have come here!"
​
"Fuck… Because… Because I love you! Haaaaaah." He struggles to stand, blood streaking down his leg and onto the floor. He hobbles forward and I take a step back.
​
“S-stay back!” Please, please stop...
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"Fang… please…" The revolver falls from my hand, clattering on the floor, it’s usefulness at an end. He takes another step forward and I take another step back.
​
“Anon!” Stop! Please stop! Oh God, I never wanted to hurt you, Anon…
​
"Just come downstairs with me… It’s not over, it doesn’t have to be this wa-" His leg audibly crunches, and he falls to his hands and knees. He slows down, but still looks up at me through the pain. "Please, come down with me."
​
"Oh-oh god. Oh my god. S-stop…" He looks behind him at the trail of blood. Anon’s blood. I can’t. I can’t come down. It’s… it’s too late.
​
He crawls forward and I back away. Another step and the back half of my foot lands on nothing. I turn around, looking at the drop.
​
"Fang. Look at me." I shakily turn to him. "Back away from there, please."
​
"I-I… I…"
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"It’s not over. Stay with me here, please."
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"I…"
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"Don’t leave me alone." The screaming below me intensifies, begging me not to go. I look back to the three-story drop. My last way out.
​
"Please…"
​
I look back to Anon. Despite everything, I can’t help but smile. I love you, Anon. But… this is what I want. A final moment of autonomy, with everyone watching. Something to be remembered by. It’s a shame you had to see this.
​
I step back, gravity tearing me from the roof.
​
"Fang!"
​
My wings flare, too little to catch me. My arm reaches, too short to stop me. The shouts intensify, too useless to save me.
​
Goodbye, Anon...