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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Avenged Sevenfold

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Rooftops
By SteffiSevenfold

 



I shut my eyes tight, dropping my fork and pressing my fingers to my
temples.
Why can't parents do anything but fight?
Is it just mine?
Or is this a normal thing for everyone?
How come when I go to school, I'm the only one with new bruises?
Fuck.
I pressed my eyes tighter together and shook my black hair so it lay infront of both sides of my
face.
"I swear to God, Beverly, if you-"
Smash.
My eyes shot open and my hands flew from my temples to the table, ready to push away.
Mom's throwing plates again.
"Beverly, you stupid little bitch. Put that cup down, now."
Dad's voice sounded low, threatening.
Crash.
My head bolted instinctively torwards the sound.
Dad's favorite drinking glass lay shattered on the floor, a mix of wine and Russian Vodka dripping
down the wall in thin red streaks.
He looked astonished.
"You motherfucker," he shot up from his seat and reached for my mom's elbow, just missing it as she
brought it to her chest.
"Don't you ever fucking touch me, you FUCKER," she felt a need to emphasize the word.
Yes, mother, you can cuss. Congradulations, would you like a cookie?
I grabbed my fork off the table and threw it at our light, cracking the round glass around it.
"Shut the fuck up! Both of you!"
Horror flashed through my mother's eyes.
Was it because of her precious light?
My profound language?
Her scarred son?
I did push from the table now, knocking the chair down and nearly tripping over it's leg.
Why did it feel so good to yell 'shut up' at my parents?
I climbed the stairs, two at a time. Three when I felt like I could take them.
Dad was right on my heels.
He took a grab at my belt loop but missed and tumbled against a stair.
Once I got to the bathroom, I bolted inside and locked the door.
I ran to the window and pushed it open as wide as it would go, then ran to the door to make sure it
was locked right.
Once I felt safer, I walked to the window, breathing heavily in anxiousness.
I pushed one of my feet out the window, then came my leg. Then the other foot. Then the other
leg.
Once I was through, I stood on the fire escape, breathing in heavily the toxicated scent of New
York.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Pouds on the bathroom door sounding like firecrackers.
"James Fucking Sullivan, open this goddamned door right this instant!"
I looked left, then right.
Then I looked up and climbed the escape, greateful that it's there.
Once I got to the top of the escape, I looked up.
Damn this apartment building.
The fire escape stops here, but the roof isn't for another few feet.
I yearned to reach the top, just to sit and think.
My arms reached up and my fingers grasped a ledge on the building, probably someone's window.
I've only done this once before and I almost fell.
Would anyone care?
Dad wouldn't miss me.
Mom might, though. Maybe not.
Would the newspapers wright about it?
Boy fell off apartment building in New York City?
Probably not.
Fuck it, I thought. I'm climbing.
Once I felt like I had a firm grip on the ledge, I pulled my body off the landing of the fire
escape.
I pressed my feet against the side of the building as I pulled myself up, my shoes gripping it.
I pulled my knee up, resting it on the ledge and pulling my other leg up.
I reached up again, grabbing another ledge. This time the ledge dipped over and I knew it was the
roof.
I stood up on the first ledge, and pulled my body up, my arms shaking and threatening to give
out.
Again, I rested my knee on the ledge and pulled, throwing my body over the ledge.
My breath was hysterical, gasping and gulping.
I just layed there and lost track of time.
Once my breath returned normal, I stood up and grabbed the cold metal of a rail.
A long rail borders the entire top of the building to 'ensure safety'.
Yeah, okay.
I pulled my leg up and brought it on the other side of the rail, doing the same to my other leg.
Once I was over, I walked to the middle of the roof, sitting on the ground and folding my knees
under me.
The hell am I gonna do?
I mean, I can't go home. That would mean death.
I can't go to any of my friend's houses. Their parents may call my parents. That would also mean
death.
I couldn't live ont he top of this roof. That would mean death, as well.
I'm screwed no matter what.
My body felt full. My heart felt like it was being held down in my stomach by a weight.
I felt restless and tired all at the same time.
I shut my eyes again and inhaled and exhaled, liking the rythem.
My eyes shot open to the sound of a peircing scream, raspy and husky.
I looked around, shocked. Then I realized that that scream belonged to me.
I realized that my body felt lighter.
I realized that the weight on my heart lifted, just the slightest.
I realized that my mouth was parted open, my lips forming an O that kind of looked like a
grimace.
I tried it again.
I didn't even notice that I was out of breath until I was gasping.
I didn't notice that my body was forcing the scream until it was shaking.
But all in all, I felt better. Not good, but better.
I wanted to scream again, let everything inside me out.
I wanted this weight on my heart to vanish, just be gone forever.
Now I'm not restless, but I'm tired.
I want to sleep, but I want to stay awake and scream and yell forever.
I wanted to scream again, but I wasn't sure that my throat could take it.
Could I ever take it?



Random one-shot.
Inspired fromt he video and song Rooftops by Lost Prophets.
Great song, innit?
[:
Happy 2009.
steffiFUCKINGsevenfold











 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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