Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Black Heart of Hatred ❯ Vengeance ( Chapter 1 )

A/n: This is something I wrote quite a while ago for use on fandomination.net. It was originally a Avenged Sevenfold Fanfic, but I changed the names, along with some other things in later chapters to make it an original story. I hope you like the story. Review if you like, they're always appreciated- Dephs

 

 

I did it, I finally did it. I finally killed him. It wasn't really a big deal, one of us had to kill the other to end this war. I had promised that I would win and I did.
The war began years ago when we first met. I was ten and he was eleven. He was wearing black jeans and a Metallica shirt, scowling at me. I scowled back. There was hatred in his eyes. I hadn't done anything to him, but I knew he would never like me.

I was told to shake his hand, but I didn't want to. He didn't want to either. I reluctantly did as I was told, fearing the beating I'd get if I didn't. I put my hand up, trying to be hospitable. It was immediately slapped back down. My hand stung and before I knew what I was doing I had punched him square in the eye. He looked shocked for a moment, but he tackled me in return. As we fell my dad grabbed me and threw me into the corner of the garage. I heard a crack and a surge of blinding pain went through the back of my head. I could feel the warm blood running down my neck and onto my shirt. I heard my father yell at me to get my ass over there and apologize or he'd beat my ass so hard I couldn't sit down for a week. I didn't doubt what he said. I got up and slowly walked over to them, trying to fight the urge to pass out. I stood in front of him, but could not bring myself to apologize for something that wasn't my fault. Even being so young I was filled with pride. This was when my mom noticed the blood. She begged my dad to let me go to the hospital. He told her no, not until I apologized. I never did apologize; I lost the fight against consciousness and passed out on pavement. When I woke up they were there. He had to apologize, black eye and all, making my stitches and concussion all worth it. My dad never did apologize, but also never made good on the ass beating I was supposed to get since I hadn't apologized, so I figured it was fair.

Because the black haired demon was a year older than me, we managed to avoid each other in our first year of school together. We had only a few fights, ones that normally ended with him on the ground bloody and bruised. When I was in sixth grade he got held back and put into my class. We couldn't flat out ignore each other, it wasn't possible with the close proximity, but we couldn't beat the fuck out of each other each time we met, so we learned the art of silent torture. We threw spitballs, started rumors, the works.

When we made it to Junior High and High school we competed for everything, sports grades, girls. We were pretty evenly matched on grades, but unfortunately for both of us, he got sports and I got the girls. We graduated a year ago, but we still saw each other every so often. We beat the shit out of each other a couple of times, he loved to try and to torture me, but I never got arrested. The dumb bastard always threw the first punch.

Finally, about two weeks ago, he took it too far. I woke up to the sound of shattering glass from the front of my house. Not sure what the hell was going on, I jumped put of bed and grabbed my Sig Sauer. I stopped for a second to gain my senses and listen for where the noise was coming from. The kitchen cabinets were being torn open then slammed shut again, drawers were being dumped out, cooking instruments clattering and scattering on the floor.

I quietly moved out of my room, down the hall and into my living room. I peered over my ugly pale green couch and saw the silhouette of a man rummaging through my fridge. His face was being covered by a hood making it impossible to tell who he was. He didn't look armed or dangerous, but I couldn't really tell what he doing. In an instant I made a decision. I pulled the gun up, aimed and pulled the trigger. As the gun recoiled he looked up toward me. It was his face. He was in my house and I had shot him, hopefully even killed him. I was filled with sheer delight. He was dead!

I ran over to his motionless body and realized how short lived my elation was to be. He was still alive and breathing. I had shot him in the arm. It wasn't a fatal shot, but the wimp had passed out. He was beginning to stir and moan. I raised the gun again, but stopped myself. I didn't know if they could tell when the bullets had been fired. They might be able to prosecute me for murder. I was not going to go to jail for his sorry ass.

I grumbled and walked across the room to my phone. I was trying to avoid cutting myself on the various knives and forks all over my floor. While I was looking down realized my new grey rug was now crimson. I swore and grabbed the phone, quickly dialing 911. I told the operator all the information she would need and she told me she'd send someone out. She asked if I wanted her to stay on the line until I got there, but I told her no and hung up. I sat down at my kitchen table, staring at the idiot bleeding all over my floor. He had woken up and realized what had happened. He had started yelling and swearing at me, telling me he was going to kill me. At the same time he laid there, tears streaming down his face from the pain. It reminded me of when I was thirteen and all of us guys went hunting. He "accidentally" shot me in the leg because he thought I was a deer. I had to walk a half a mile back to camp to get my dad and brother, while he walked twenty feet behind me, laughing his ass off. Not once did I cry or pass out, even though the pain was almost unbearable. I blacked out on the way to the hospital and I never heard the end of it, even after I beat the fuck out of him. He punched me when I told him that if he were the one who had gotten shot I would have had to drag him back to camp.

The police and paramedics came and took his screaming body to the hospital. They loaded me into the back of the cruiser downtown for questioning. They asked me everything they could possibly think of and I answered the best I could. They checked the forensics see if my story checked out and, after a couple hours, they let me go. I walked to a hotel and got the cheapest room they had. The police were probably still at my house and I wouldn't be able to sleep there.

I crawled under the hideous floral bedspread of the small bed as soon as I had checked in. I was so tired I thought I'd pass out immediately, but I didn't I was kept awake by the thought of what had happened that night. I thought he was dead, but my stupid ass had hit him in the damn arm. Then it all went to hell. The only thing that had been even remotely happy for me after that was the fact that he had cried in front of me. It was then I realized what I needed to do and decided.

I began planning that night; I would need a couple of things, money, an alias, a plane ticket and a plan. Luckily, none of that was a problem; Chris still owed us for saving him his life. He got me a passport and a plane ticket to Dublin, Ireland along with about three hundred dollars. I withdrew all the money from my bank account, about a thousand dollars and put it, my laptop, cd's, I-pod, and some clothes in my backpack. This was all I really needed; I'd buy new stuff when I got to Dublin.

Everything was ready for me a week later. I put all my stuff in my car and drove the four miles out to his house. It was a good-sized place, on the outskirts of town and off to the side. It was secluded, which made it perfect for me. His parents were rich and his dad gave him whatever he wanted. It almost seemed like he had something on his dad half of the time. His spoiled upbringing was probably the reason why he hated me so much. He didn't want to move, he didn't want meet me, so why should he have to? He worked exclusively for his dad, earning big money on short hours with little work actually required, while I had to work wherever I could get a job, stores, restaurants, valet parking, for little money to get my white 95 Ford Escort, my pint sized apartment and my laptop.

I pulled into his driveway and parked. After checking the back seat to make sure I had everything I needed I walked around the rear of his house, which was where his room was, and looked at the window. His was the one right next to the back door. The window was open, but the screen was down. I pressed my hands against the screen and managed to move it up half an inch. I pushed my hands under it and pulled it the rest of the way up. I climbed through the window silently and quietly landed on the floor. I looked around soundlessly and was pleased to see the moonlight reflecting off his gun cabinet, which he luckily still kept in his room. My dad had made us all come and see it when he turned eighteen and his parents got it for him. I was only seventeen at the time and my dad threatened to throw me out if I didn't go. None of my friends could take me in at the time, so I went with them.

I walked around to his cabinet and opened it up. It creaked slightly and I paused to make sure I hadn't woken him up. It took a few minutes for me to locate Glock, the silencer already on it. It was my lucky day. I turned around and aimed the familiar gun at his head. The black steel was cool against my skin. I pressed the barrel against the right side of his head and pulled the trigger.

I stepped back and wiped my face. I had been sweating profusely ever since I had entered the house. I had no reason to be nervous anymore though, he was dead. After wiping the gun down, I grabbed his hand and shoved the handgun into it. I positioned it carefully, trying to make it look like a suicide. This little bitch was never going to fuck me over again.

I walked back over to the window, closing it and locking it. There was no need to suggest someone could have killed him. I turned and walked out of the room and into the hall. I went to the right and into the living room, then to the left and straight out the door, locking it behind me. I hadn't needed to bother with the window, he was trusting enough to have left the front door unlocked. I began stripping off my black exoskeleton of clothes, down to the jeans and T-shirt I had underneath. I couldn't walk into the airport decked in black sweats, a black beanie and black gloves, especially ones that were spattered in blood. I used the shirt to wipe the remnants of his blood off of my face then got in my car and sped off.

I drove out towards the woods, stopping twenty minutes later in an especially dense area. I got out, taking the clothes with me, and began walking. After a half an hour of silently breathing in the crisp, musky air I suddenly stopped. There was a little gopher hole just big enough for my clothes to fit in. I bent down and shoved them in it as deeply as I could. I walked back towards the car, leaving my old life behind me.

Now, well, now I'm driving towards the airport, off to a new life. A life without my family or friends. This should be a depressing night, but I've never been happier because I, Aidan Slane, alias Aidan Vengeance, finally killed Johnny Davin.