Everlasting Love (An AU Fanfiction)
Chapter One
Z A Y N
1727 - SPAIN
I laid there on top of the cold metal of my father's operation table. I was coughing erratically. My skin was a pale grey. I could see the fading blue veins that ran through my body; they were the only color left in my dying body.
Father stuck the sharp needle through my neck. I was scared. I thought I was going die. I was sure I was dying. The last image I saw before I closed my eyes was a tear seeping out of my father's eye and rolling down his rugged face. He never cried. I was only 7.
1729
I sat on the stool watching my father prepare the necessary item I need to survive. He was going over how every step was important and how it was not to be over-looked.
I had to grow up twice as fast. In the last year and a half, I knew how to perform an heart transplant and how to stitch. There wasn't anytime for going outside with my friends and playing. My mentality had changed in just one year. I was speaking Latin by 9.
1732
Father ordered me to go to the secret laboratory. I asked him why but he just yelled at me and told me to go down there and to pack up all the juice he had made. He also told me to pack his sacred black book which contained all his work. Father never let me look at, nevertheless touch it. He said to hide until then and he promised he'd be down later.
So I went and ventured down into the underground tunnel. I've never been down there alone. The decaying and overall stench of dirt pierced my nose. The lantern illuminated the eerie tunnel, leading me to the wooden door. I went inside where father and I spent most of our time together.
I did what my father wished and hid in the cabinets under the sink. I heard a rather loud boom over head. I saw the dirt from above come down from the crack in between the cabinet doors. There seemed to be a thousand voices yelling. They all shouted "Deténgase! Manos arriba! Levanta las manos!".
I heard footsteps above going everywhere in every direction. "Dónde está? ¿Dónde lo pusiste?" They yelled as they ransacked drawers and threw things around. Then when they finally gave up, I heard a gun click. Cocking. Preparing to shoot at a target. They asked him again, "¿Dónde lo pusiste?" My father kept quiet.
Then another boom. It was from the gun releasing the cold silver devil from its cage, eager to find its target. I flinched at the sound as a tear slid down my face. This was the first time my father broke his promises. He was 35..
1889 - PARIS, FRANCE
I sat down down at the cast iron table, blanketed with a thick white table cloth. I sat their patiently waiting for her to arrive. I looked out from the railing seeing the cars shine their lights through the dark starry night. The air was crisp and refreshing. The couples around me were having a nice time. Smiles and holding hands were the norm here. Roses were on every table. It was intoxicatingly romantic.
She came into view. Her hair in a ponytail, showing off those amazingly beautiful, sparkling brown eyes she had. Her cheekbones were tinted with a natural blush. Her body was fitted in a white button up blouse with black slacks with black heels. She walked past me with grace, off to wait a table for the couple whose relationship will end on the 4th of August because the man caught her cheating with his cousin.
"Excuse me, Miss," I called out to her knowing she'd turn around on her heels and came to my table.
"How may I help you, Monsieur?" She asked me politely and I smiled at her warmly.
"I would like the Confit de Canard, please and thank you," I handed her the menu, not really needing to look through it.
She wrote it down on her small notepad swiftly. "Would you want a red Bordeaux with that Monsieur?" She asked me.
I shook my head and she looked at me confused,"I brought my own drink, deary," I said raising the glass containing my sparkling red beverage.
"Oh, well would you like to order for your Madame?" She questioned. I lightly chuckled.
"I'm afraid there won't be a Madame coming tonight," I said, my finger lacing the tall glass.
"I'm so sorry Monsieur," she said, her hand touching her chest.
"Its fine and please, call me Zayn."
1727 - SPAIN
I laid there on top of the cold metal of my father's operation table. I was coughing erratically. My skin was a pale grey. I could see the fading blue veins that ran through my body; they were the only color left in my dying body.
Father stuck the sharp needle through my neck. I was scared. I thought I was going die. I was sure I was dying. The last image I saw before I closed my eyes was a tear seeping out of my father's eye and rolling down his rugged face. He never cried. I was only 7.
1729
I sat on the stool watching my father prepare the necessary item I need to survive. He was going over how every step was important and how it was not to be over-looked.
I had to grow up twice as fast. In the last year and a half, I knew how to perform an heart transplant and how to stitch. There wasn't anytime for going outside with my friends and playing. My mentality had changed in just one year. I was speaking Latin by 9.
1732
Father ordered me to go to the secret laboratory. I asked him why but he just yelled at me and told me to go down there and to pack up all the juice he had made. He also told me to pack his sacred black book which contained all his work. Father never let me look at, nevertheless touch it. He said to hide until then and he promised he'd be down later.
So I went and ventured down into the underground tunnel. I've never been down there alone. The decaying and overall stench of dirt pierced my nose. The lantern illuminated the eerie tunnel, leading me to the wooden door. I went inside where father and I spent most of our time together.
I did what my father wished and hid in the cabinets under the sink. I heard a rather loud boom over head. I saw the dirt from above come down from the crack in between the cabinet doors. There seemed to be a thousand voices yelling. They all shouted "Deténgase! Manos arriba! Levanta las manos!".
I heard footsteps above going everywhere in every direction. "Dónde está? ¿Dónde lo pusiste?" They yelled as they ransacked drawers and threw things around. Then when they finally gave up, I heard a gun click. Cocking. Preparing to shoot at a target. They asked him again, "¿Dónde lo pusiste?" My father kept quiet.
Then another boom. It was from the gun releasing the cold silver devil from its cage, eager to find its target. I flinched at the sound as a tear slid down my face. This was the first time my father broke his promises. He was 35..
1889 - PARIS, FRANCE
I sat down down at the cast iron table, blanketed with a thick white table cloth. I sat their patiently waiting for her to arrive. I looked out from the railing seeing the cars shine their lights through the dark starry night. The air was crisp and refreshing. The couples around me were having a nice time. Smiles and holding hands were the norm here. Roses were on every table. It was intoxicatingly romantic.
She came into view. Her hair in a ponytail, showing off those amazingly beautiful, sparkling brown eyes she had. Her cheekbones were tinted with a natural blush. Her body was fitted in a white button up blouse with black slacks with black heels. She walked past me with grace, off to wait a table for the couple whose relationship will end on the 4th of August because the man caught her cheating with his cousin.
"Excuse me, Miss," I called out to her knowing she'd turn around on her heels and came to my table.
"How may I help you, Monsieur?" She asked me politely and I smiled at her warmly.
"I would like the Confit de Canard, please and thank you," I handed her the menu, not really needing to look through it.
She wrote it down on her small notepad swiftly. "Would you want a red Bordeaux with that Monsieur?" She asked me.
I shook my head and she looked at me confused,"I brought my own drink, deary," I said raising the glass containing my sparkling red beverage.
"Oh, well would you like to order for your Madame?" She questioned. I lightly chuckled.
"I'm afraid there won't be a Madame coming tonight," I said, my finger lacing the tall glass.
"I'm so sorry Monsieur," she said, her hand touching her chest.
"Its fine and please, call me Zayn."
Wow. Dude you have a very creative brain. I love this story.
4/13/15