Silence

When It All Began

This is my entry for the contest SinpaiCasanova is holding, I really went all out for this although I feel the ending could have been written better and I had an interesting cover station planned out that I complete forgot by the time I wrote it. Everything but the ending is edited, but I did take a quick look over it and will later to fix any mistakes I may have made.

Warnings: Bullying, murder/suicide, intense and graphic depictions of violence, disturbing content, vulgar language, slang terms that might need to be looked up.

Please proceed with caution.

Total Word Count of Entire Story: 20646
'Chapter' Word Count: 5874

I told you it was long, so long that wattpad is making me post it in three chapters, enjoy . . .

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Talking had never really been . . . for me. I found my accent annoying and wished not to be made fun of for it, I could tell that the others around me had the same belief. I found myself following the same rules my mother did: don't speak unless spoken too, for a silent wife was a good wife. But this just got me into more trouble in the future then I could ever even begin to imagine.

There was a large crash and thud that seemed to freeze everything and everyone around the source of the sound; a grunt had mixed its way in there, falling from split lips, mingling with the small flow of blood that trickled out of a smaller framed man's mouth and down his chin where it collected and dropped from his scruffy chin onto his brown and black scarf, a few even splattering onto his faded green button up. The boy's old, tattered brown book bag fell from where it had been situated on his shoulder, landing on the ground next to him and only adding to the noise, spilling its contents as the crash had finally broken the little leather strap that was suppose to hold the flap of it down. But no one kept their eyes on the objects that rolled out of the torn, single strapped bag, as everyone's focus had been captured and their gazes fixed on one of two people: the pale, green eyed brunette who was rolling onto his stomach and pushing himself up onto all fours while his arms trembled, or the equally as pale blue eyed man standing over the male on the floor, a grin on his lips as he watched the younger he'd sent to the ground attempt to get back up. He didn't give him the time to do such a thing though, he lifted one of his work boots and sat his foot on the base of his spine, shoving him forward and onto his face with a harsh kick as he laugh once more. Angry, toxic green eyes shot daggers up at the laughing man, a sneer pulled at the sides of his lips, lifting enough to show his abnormally sharp canines, putting them on display for anyone to see, even causing a few of the surrounding people to back away from the scene. Though they didn't leave. And although the man on the ground was shaking everyone in that crowd knew fully well it wasn't from fear.

Anti was never afraid.

Once again the Irishman moved to try and sit up, this time though he stayed facing the larger man, normally he'd make a show of turning his back to him, but he was getting irritated faster then usual; maybe it had something to do with that little bag that no one appeared to notice, or the strap his mother had sewn onto it before he got on the ship to come to this Godforsaken country. This time when the work boots lifted to shove him back down he reached out and snatched his thin ankle, wrapping both hands around it and giving it the sharpest tug he could manage, throwing himself back to give it even more power then it initially would have. There were gasps from all the onlookers as he brought the other man down to his level, a loud pop sounding from his leg at the tug and an even louder one from his hip hitting the pavement. He grinned with wide, insane eyes that matched his crazed giggle that busted from his bloody lips at the sight of the stronger male on the ground and the loud sound of him hitting that surpassed the sound of his victim's. But Anti was use to this treatment, he knew how to brace himself for the fall, the other did not, and the fact that he had landed on his back gave him no time to properly move, his hip bones and lower back taking the majority of the blow. But as soon as he had released his foot so he could sit and create that psychotic sound he called laughter, as soon as the shock had faded from his system, he was shoving himself onto his knees and tackling the green eyed man, holding him onto his back with his hands dug into the skin around his neck, his palms pressing against his throat, effectively cutting off the airflow through his windpipe.