Author Note: I have always wanted to examine the complicated relationships between the young and old and supernatural and non supernatural. Well, here is the result of my thinking, the birth child of my own fair mind's womb. I don't typically write in this sort of chopped, burned, splayed and fried style but I shall try it for now. I figure that I must write like a teenager because this is a story of teenagers, of their love, their shadows and their bleeding crimson passions all stirred in the pregnant belly of art.

"Shoko! Time for school!" Cried her mother from the kitchen.

Shoko threw off the covers, watched the alarm clock that evilly and bitterly screamed its time to her, played its ring, ring, ring, and went to the mirror.

She was a pretty with long black hair, big blue eyes and tiny, blushing lips.

"I don't wanna go to school!" Shoko screamed angrily at her mother as she rushed downstairs. "I wanna stay home!"

Her mother looked at her. "…but," she said with big, bulbous tears in her eyes. "You've already stayed at home."

That was right. Shoko had been sick for a year, recovering from a car crash. She wanted to forget that because it had hurt so bad.

"What's breakfast?"

"Carcass." Her mother threw bacon at her daughter.

"Omigod, mum! Don't throw—agghh!" Shoko fell over, clutching her heart through her shirt, writhing on the floor as her mother threw the last piece of bacon.

"Stop overreacting, Shoko, and stand up!"

"I'm—" She choked. "I'm allergic to bacon. Omigod I hate you! I'll hate you forever."

Her mother sighed. "It's just a case of teenage angst. So stop angsting and stand up."

Shoko cried big, mean tears that burned her face. "But mumma. I'm allergic to bacon." She stood slowly, accusingly up.

"Shut up and go to school. You're such a drama queen. I was only kidding. I swear, one day you're going to have to learn to stop trying to cause problems where there were none."

Shoko hated her mum. One day, she would kill herself just to make her mother feel bad. What a wonderful day that would be.

At school, everyone was mean to Shoko and threw pencil erasers at her. But there was one girl in particular, an evil, snide girl named Bitcoho who was the worse.

"Feel good today?" Bitcoho asked. "How're the allergies?"

Shoko just turned her face down and sniffed. "There's a terrible scent in the air. Either that or the sewage has crawled from the toilet."
Bitcoho smiled a stereotypically evil girl smile. "It has. I'm looking at it right now. It likes to talk tough. But it's really just a stupid little, hypochondriac piece of crap. Complain about your allergies, Shoko, come on, just for me. I sooo want to hear it."

"Do you really care?" Maybe Bitcoho had had a change of heart, maybe she was nicer now. Maybe…just maybe…Shoko could have a friend. Make a friend from an enemy.

"Of course."

"I'm allergic to cardboard boxes because they come into contact with fruit on the shipping line and I'm allergic to fruit. I'm scared of toilet snakes and—"

Bitcoho could barely contain her smile. She burst, laughing and pointing at Shoko.

"I can't help my allergies," Shoko said, inching away from the terrible laughter.

"Whatever," she said, flipping her hair and turning on a heel.

"I really can't."

Did nobody care about her? She looked left and right down the crowded halls and not one person spared her a glance or a smile or a something.

No, nobody did.

She went to class, near tears, despairing. The teacher droned on about biology but all Shoko could do was put her head down, cry from bruises, as onslaught after onslaught of erasers were thrown at her.

There was a boy sitting behind her, a pale, deathly boy, with raven black hair that reflected no light, and a strong chin, tall, with a handsome face of a god. God. God was standing before her. And this god raised his hand and said when the teacher called on him.

"Leave her alone."

The children all sat chilled by the god boy. And Shoko trembled, humbled under his great beauty, crying in her joy, rubbing her beautiful bruises, her heart aflutter, twittering beats in her chest.

The teacher even stood frozen.

The boy strode to Shoko and took her hands. "She looks sick. I understand she has health problems, allergies, yes?" He looked at her with his ever changing autumn eyes.

"Yes," Shoko whispered.

His hand on hers, tight, her skin burning from the touch, he led her out the room.

"I want to kill myself," she whispered quietly.

"I do too," the boy said. "but I can't. You can. Consider that a blessing."

"What do you mean?" Shoko said, face cocked. He drew her chin to his lips, then turned her head so he whispered in her ear.

"I know your pain. You suffered in a car crash. My father died in a car crash too. It was terrible."

"I hate cars."

"Me too."

"I'll never drive one."

"Me neither."

He kissed a blush of her lip. "Good. We have something in common."
She was frozen. "Let go of me."

"I just wanted to see what it would be like." He drew away, blushing madly. "I couldn't help myself.

"Wanna see my poetry?"

He smiled. "Yes."

She showed him her poetry.

"This is beautiful." He said, awed by it, and read it outloud back to her in a breathy, horse whisper that made her heart just sink out of her chest.

"Love." He read. "A wild chariot race, this love. So full so pretty. Like fire on lightning like something found, something given, something killed. I am a dark blanket, covering my heart, while cutting my wrist. Love. Love. Love. Die."

She blushed. "Do you like it?"

"It is the single most greatest poem I have read in my entire life. And that's a lot of life."

"Thank you."

They rushed back to class except Bitcoho stopped them at the door.

"Oh. Shoko. Have an epileptic shock? Did you do us all a favor? If you don't die quick enough, I'll be more than happy to rub bacon all over your face until you do. At least, you'll leave behind this fabulous boyfriend. Ello, handsome."

"My name is Jiro."

"Jiro. Come over here and I'll show you something nice."

Shoko trembled on Jiro's arm. He was her only friend. Her only one. Oh god, don't let this beautiful, unkind girl take him from her.

"Unless what you're going to show me is either money or blood, I'm not interested."

"blood? Huh?" Bitcoho raised an eyebrow.

"God, you're such a bench." Shoko burst.

Bitcoho jerked to her. "Aren't you dead yet!?"

"She'll never die," Jiro said, then snatched Shoko's arm, bit it and let the blood drip freely.

Shoko held the wound, looking at him with wide accusing eyes. "What have you—?!"

"Free-aak," Bitcoho said before teleporting away.

I do hope you have enjoyed this tale of beauty and grace both dancing in the ink of your translucent computer's faceless screen. I shall continue this tale in the ensuing chapters so that it may go from chubby child to the full maturity of lithe adulthood and finally grow its man's beard. I do hope I finish my loving tale before its beard goes from bushy brown to silver old and it's too tired and too busy sleeping to be used anymore! XD Ha ha ha! I crack myself up!