|Son of Death
Author: Pikalover10 PM
What happens when a teenager finds out that he's the son of death? When he finds out he must help in keeping two armies at a neutral zone, or else all hell will break loose... literally. Rated T for mention of drugs, language, and possible minor romance.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy - Chapters: 2 - Words: 5,259 - Reviews: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 05-12-12 - Published: 12-27-11 - id: 2983092
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Hey guys. I know I haven't updated in a LONG time. As soon as I put this story up I got sacked with a bunch of schoolwork, band stuff, family drama, and all kinds of crap. I've been so busy I sort of forgot about this story. But now that the end of the year is coming up, everything is lightening up. So I'm able to write more! I hope you'll give me a chance again. Anyway, here's chapter 2 for anybody that wants to read. :)
Sam stared at the man, who's red eyes were focused on him. Finally, Sam was able to pull himself away from the man's stare, and walked to his mother's side. It was then that he noticed that there was a trail on her cheek from where a tear had fallen. And that was what got Sam going. He didn't know this guy, but if something had happened between him and his mom that made his mom cry just from seeing him on her doorstep, that was enough to make him hate the guy's guts. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man.
"Who're you?" He growled.
"Sam, be nice." His mother mumbled, now looking down at her feet.
"But who is he?" Sam protested, no longer looking at the man but looking at his mother's face. His mother had dark brown hair that went slightly past her shoulders, and tan skin with green eyes. She was about half a foot shorter than Sam, and compared to the man Sam only came to his shoulders.
As his mother searched for an answer, her lip began to tremble. And that pushed Sam over the edge. The guy needed to leave. Now.
"Alright, Mr. Show-up-at-these-people's-house-and-make-an-innocent-lady-cry; leave. Now." Sam snarled, shoving himself between his mother and the man.
"Hold on a minute, now." The man spoke for the first time. His voice was rough, yet smooth at the same time.
"No! Get the hell off of my property!" Sam snarled, pushing the man back off of their doorstep. The man moved a few steps back, but otherwise stood still and just stared at Sam calmly. "I SAID, get the hell out of here before I call the cops!" Sam shouted, starting to get angry now. He clenched his fists beside him, and clenched his jaws. The man watched him for maybe a moment more before smiling.
"There they are." The man smiled.
"S-Sam?" His mom called from a few feet behind them, still standing in the door frame. Sam spun around to look at her, and his mom looked like she had been struck, and was even closer to crying.
"Sam, get in the house."
"GET IN THE GODDAMN HOUSE AND GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Sam was shocked. His mom had barely ever screamed at him like that. The first time was in third grade when he'd gotten in trouble for fighting, and the latest was his freshman year, when his mother had caught him and Jayce drunk together. That had been the first and last time, so she didn't realize they still got drunk every now and then.
Sam growled in frustration, before shoving past his mother and stalking in to his room. He slammed the door shut, but leaned against it and slid down to the floor. If something happened between his mother and that creep he'd kill him. Then, a thought crossed his mind. Why had his mother looked even worse after she looked at him? Sam stood up and crossed over to his dresser, and grabbed a mirror. He looked in to it, and knew what had happened.
His eyes were red again, because he'd gotten mad. But, his mother had seen them before, so what was so wrong about it this time? Sam dropped the mirror back on to his dresser, and dove on to his bed, before shoving his face in to the pillow. About half an hour later, a light knock sounded at his door. Sam rolled out of bed and on to his feet, expecting it to be his mom.
"Listen, mom. I'm sorry about ear-" But he stopped dead cold as he opened his door to find the man in his doorway. A light smile played on his paper white skin, his night black hair accenting how pale he was. He wore a pair of black dress pants, dress shoes, a white dress shirt, a black tuxedo jacket, and a bright red tie. Sam clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms over his chest as he glared at the man.
"Sam, I need you two to come in to the living room." His mother called lightly.
The man moved out of the door and motioned for Sam to go first, but Sam wouldn't have it. He jerked his head, ordering for the man to go first. The man shrugged, before obliging and walked down the hall and in to the living room. Sam shut his door behind himself as he trailed after the man. They walked in to the living room to find his mother sitting on the leather couch, the TV turned on to Boomerang with reruns of Johnny Bravo playing. However it was on mute. The man sat on the couch next to her, leaving me with the recliner that was across from the couch. I plopped in to it, and glared at the man.
"So? What's going on?" He asked, the question meant for either of them.
"Let me tell him." The man replied softly to his mother, before turning his gaze on to Sam. "Sam, I'm your father." Sam literally laughed out loud. He had never known his father. He'd run like a chicken in the middle of his mother's pregnancy, leaving her to fend for both of them and leaving Sam with a hatred for whoever was his father.
"Yeah, right!" Sam laughed. "Give me one reason why I should believe you!"
"He really is, Sam." His mother muttered pitifully. Sam clenched his teeth in anger, and shot to his feet.
"You shouldn't be here! I don't believe that you're my father but anybody who makes my mom this... this... weak looking, should go to hell!" He shouted.
The man laughed lightly. "Trust me, I go to hell everyday." Sam growled in anger. How could this jerk take her being so sad and pitiful easily! ESPECIALLY if he dared Sam to believe that he was his father.
"Get. Out." Sam snarled through clenched teeth. The man stared at him calmly, his crimson eyes boring in to Sam's eyes, which he was positive were red by now.
"No. Not until we talk."
"We are and we have talked! Get the hell out of here!" He shouted. When the man didn't move, Sam was done. "That's it." He went around the table and made to move past my mother to the man, but she held her arm out. Sam's head snapped to look at her in confusion.
"Listen to him, Sam. I knew this day would come, but I never wanted it to." She pleaded with him. He stared at her for what seemed like hours, before sighing in defeat and sat back in to the recliner. He leaned his arm against the arm of the chair, and placed his head in to his hand.
"Alright, I know this is going to sound crazy. But Sam, I am your father. And... I'm the Grim Reaper." Sam's eyes snapped to the man and he laughed, and couldn't stop laughing. This guy was a lunatic!
"Alright." He said, still laughing. "What've you been smoking?"
"Nothing. It's true." The man's voice wasn't calm anymore, it was almost as if he'd... insulted him.
"Yeah, alright. Prove it." Sam laughed, his eyes taunting. The man shrugged, and held his hand out in front of him. Suddenly black flames licked the air in front of him, before a long black rod with a metal blade appeared at one end. It was long, probably as long as the man was tall. It was a scythe.
"Woah! Where the hell did that come from?" Sam shouted, staring at the scythe.
The man shrugged. "Hell." He smirked, before the scythe was consumed by black flames and disappeared as quickly as it'd shown up. "Believe me yet?"
Alright, I know this sounds crazy, but Sam actually believed this guy now. Seeing a scythe appear out of dark flames after you'd insulted a guy who said he was the grim reaper will do that to you. But, could it really be true? Could Sam in deed be the son of Death himself? He'd always been called depressing, a goth, and lately an emo. He'd been picked on for being 'fascinated with death'. Which was sort of true. Lately whenever he drew, for he was a talented and natural artist, he drew reapers, grave diggers, ghosts, demons... almost anything having to do with darkness. Why? He didn't know. He wasn't inspired by anything to draw them, his hand just... drew it.
"How do I know you're telling the truth now though? About me being your son?" Sam asked hesitantly. He didn't want to get on this guy's bad side.
"Samuel. You know well enough it's true. Clue number one being your eyes. They've been turning red easier and easier now a days, correct?" Sam gulped, and nodded slowly. "And you seem to get angry more often?" Another nod. "Your drawn to death, demons, darkness, and the like without knowing why?" Again, another nod. "And lastly things happen that either you did and nobody find out about, or things just mysteriously happen around you without you doing anything?" Sam stopped breathing. Did this guy know about the cornfields? If he did, and he was in fact Sam's father, this could get very ugly very fast.
"Alright, I get it. Things happen to me that shouldn't happen to average kids, oh well. I'm a misfit. It still doesn't mean that I'm the son of Death himself."
The man sighed, closing his eyes, and opened them slowly.
"You're sixteen now, correct?" Sam nodded. "Alright, hold out your hand, and picture pulling something out of the air. Anything at all really."
"Just do it. And actually try." Sam shrugged, and held his right hand out in front of him. He closed his eyes, and thought for a moment. What did he want most? A new hat? Maybe a new video game? Or a TV? Sam smirked lightly as an idea popped in to his head, and he began picturing the object. He imagined it and focused so deeply that he made himself imagine feeling the object as his hand closed around it, the gleam of the sun reflecting off of it, the chips in the frame and the wood from previous occurrences. And then slowly Sam began to realize that he wasn't imagining it anymore.
The teenager's eyes shot open to find a long, black wooden rod in his right hand, with a curved, metal blade at the end. There were small chips in it like he had imagined, but was utterly flawless other than that. He was in fact, holding a scythe.
Oh. My. God.
Sam blinked, before dropping the scythe in shock and watched as it disappeared in black flames. His heart was pounding, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Yet at the same time he was overjoyed! Could he really be the son of Death?
"Sam." His mom whispered, and Sam's head instantly shot and looked at her. "It's true. He's your father, sweetheart. Your eyes are the biggest giveaway. Red eyes are the eyes of demons and of Death himself. Just be thankful they don't turn red until you're mad. Otherwise, you'd have been killed by now." Seeing his mom in so much obvious pain and sadness broke his heart.
Same blinked and looked back to the man, but not angry anymore. More questioningly.
"If you are my father, why wait sixteen years to show up? Why did you leave?" I asked, and the man's expression turned in to one of pure sorrow.
"I didn't want to leave, Sam. Honestly I didn't, and I explained to your mom when I left why I had to. She knew I had to, and I did too, but that didn't stop the pain that came to both of us with my leaving. Especially because I didn't get to see you grow up. Anyway, with you being my son, Sam, you are half of Death himself too. And believe it or not, there are higher beings than myself. As of right now, I'm being tracked. People can know where I'm at any moment they wish. However most of the time they don't bother to, as my job is rather... gruesome at times.
"But it's forbidden for me, any demon, or any angel to breed with a human. When your mother told me you were pregnant, I felt so guilty for bringing a child in to this world that would be cursed their whole life. Sam, if I had stayed people would've gotten suspicious quick. You'd probably have died by the time you were 2, if not sooner. Why I came back when you were sixteen? Well, whenever any demon or angel hits that age, they are track able. I should've come on your birthday, but I haven't had any connection with your mom since I left, so I didn't know what day you were born.
"Sam, I'm so sorry. I know it must be hard for you. Having to take care of your mom and be the man of the house your whole life. Hating your father your whole life and have some unknown guy show up on your doorstep saying that he is your father." The man trailed off. Before Sam would decide anything, he looked at his mom again.
"Is it true?" He whispered. He would believe his mom more than anyone else in the world. She would never lie to him. When he watched as she took a shaky breath, before nodding, he knew it was true. Sam sighed and turned to look at the real man.
"Alright, Death. I believe you. You're my father. But just because I'm apparently illegal in your world and now track able, what do you want?"
"I came to convince you to come with me and learn. I want to teach you about my job, and I want to teach you how to defend yourself. You are in danger, son. If people found out about you they wouldn't hesitate to try and kill you." His father explained.
Sam sighed and placed his elbows on his knees, before sinking his head in to his hands.
"Wait, so I have to leave? Like... forever?" He asked.
"Not forever, just for a week or two. And when you come back home I'll still teach you at least once a week, maybe more. I don't want you missing out of an education here. If you can prevent living in my world, I'd prefer that." Sam rolled his eyes. Typical parent.
"Fine. When do we leave?"