Song For The Undead by Double Rainbow
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Chapter 1 by Double Rainbow
Decalogue


Chapter 1


I guess a lot of people say that through every tough thing, you find more of yourself. I have no idea if that was true or not for me then, but it definitely is now. Lost isn't the word I'd use for me then. I'd say very disillusioned. I had dreams, big ones, because without dreams, why is life worth living? I had them, but I didn't know how to get to them. I had ideas, and I tried, but I didn't really do any of it the right way, didn't work hard enough for it. I always thought it was meant to happen, so as long as I tried just a little, it would happen, ya know? Wrong. I'm always wrong, even now. I’m not good at telling things, or writing. I’m not the most useful person, and the one thing I was good at still couldn’t bring me any success in life. But that was my own damn fault. Failure is second nature to me anyway.

Life, to me… I thought, well, you can only live once. The biggest excuse I had to party my life away. I still live by that motto now, but in a different way. A better way. It's that thought that killed my dreams then, but keeps me fighting to survive now. Life is funny that way...



Tuesday, April 3, 2012
10 days before Infernal Friday

"Life sucks," Nick muttered as he drove along the highway. It had been a long drive, one he’d never wanted to make in the first place.

For him, a simple road trip was an admission of failure. He knew he'd never hear the end of this. Years ago, he had thought by the age of twenty-five, he'd be far more than what he was now at twenty-eight years old. So the U-Haul truck sped its way down the mostly unoccupied roads. Few people drove at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning down the interstate.

The rain began to fall, which just added on to his sour mood. He wasn't a lover of rain; that was why he had loved California so much. It was a place of consistently sunny days, beaches, beautiful women, and a place where he thought he could get his life going.

Wrong.

His mind wandered because there wasn't much else he could do. His only companion was the cheerful golden retriever, Spunky, who was laying next to him in the passenger seat. He’d bought the pup as soon as he had moved to California, having always been a dog lover but forbidden by his parents to take the dogs when he moved out. He'd talk to her, but she was sleeping, probably because she was bored herself.

California was behind him now, and so, it seemed, was his heart. Not because of any girlfriend. Nick Carter didn’t put much validity into attachments like those. How could he? He’d seen his parents’ own marriage dissolve before his very eyes. Then he’d had to see them both remarry other people. His mother had even gotten a divorce for a second and, later, a third time. Love wasn’t something he really took in. If it happened, marriage could actually destroy it. Back on the west coast, he’d had flings with girls, and nothing more. They knew it when they got with him, too. He never told them anything less than the truth. He had a goal to aim for, and that was more important. Well, that and partying it up, so that he could live life to the fullest.

Not that it ever got him anywhere. That was what frustrated him the most. He had been pounding the pavements of Hollywood for eight years now, and all it had ever given him were bit parts and little attention. The idea of never making it, when, constantly, people told him how talented he was, grated his skin the worst. Back home, he had done talent competitions all his life, minor kid shows that aired on the local networks of Tampa. But as soon as he’d gone for it at the age of twenty, nothing had come. The big break he’d been searching for never found him.

He had tried community college after high school, more for his mother, who was never satisfied with him. Never a university because he’d be the first to say book smarts were beyond him, and his high school records weren’t impressive. Still, he’d had hopes that maybe he would find his niche in college.

Wrong.

After two years, he had known it’d never work out for him. In the end, Nick had decided to use all the money he’d been saving from working at the nearby deli and move to where the opportunity was.

Not that it ever knocked or anything.

He released a sigh as he watched the roads. It was too quiet in the truck, Nick realized. Why hadn’t he even bothered to turn on a radio after leaving the hotel earlier that morning? He finally did flip the switch and turned the dial, scanning for a decent station. He settled on one that played both current rock and older, as the song “Headstrong” by Trapt filtered through the speakers. He banged his head to the music as he drove. Nick had always been a rocker at heart. If he’d ever felt he had musical talent, he would have gone that route rather than acting.

The song soon ended, and the voices of radio DJs were heard. “...On the world front, the troops in North Korea are at a standstill, while London is held by enemy forces. Kim Jong-il is giving no sign of trying to talk for the treaty both Canada and France desire. McCain says negotiation is not an option and never was...”

The radio quickly went off. Nick didn’t even want to think about the wartime in which he lived. A third world war. It was something that had been coming for far too long, yet no one wanted to admit it. Really, it could be said that September 11, 2001 was the catalyst for it all. Few said it, but many thought it. Still, all that ever came during the Bush Jr. terms was an invasion into Iraq for personal vendettas that finally ceased in 2009. Then came President McCain, who had snuck a victory past Barack Obama by a tiny margin of votes.

That was when it happened. Invasions made by North Korea, China, and an alliance with other Middle Eastern countries into Europe. China invaded Japan in hopes for total control. All of it occurred during McCain’s term, which he was close to finishing out now; the next presidential election was in November. Yet America had tried neutrality for once, having been fed up from Iraq, Desert Storm, and even the long-past Vietnam days. Nick had been there to see what had finally shot America into the worst war yet...


July 4th, 2010

The day had been festive. Fireworks could be heard blasting in the distance, with songs of patriotism soon following. Sure, there was a war, but it was outside of America; for once, they weren’t getting involved.

Nick was spending his Fourth of July working the night shift at The Spaghetti Factory, in hopes of overtime. Acting in small commercials wasn’t making rent, so he needed the extra padding to his side job’s paycheck till he did make it. He was bored and flirting with a girl waiting for a blind date. He smirked at her; the restaurant wasn’t really busy that night anyway, and the other servers could handle it.

“One day, I’m gonna make it,” he told her, after explaining why he was stuck doing such a job.

She just laughed. “Big dreamer.”

“Without dreams, life is nothing but darkness. Dreams are like the fireworks they’re setting off outside right now. I’m just surprised someone as pretty as you is waiting.”

She raised a brow, glanced him over, and snickered. “That’s the best you can do? I think I’ll go find the friend who set this up.” She stood and, without a second glance, headed out the door. Nick just shook his head. She just didn’t see how great he was; she was blind. She’d learn.

His thoughts were paused when he heard a load roar from something that sounded like it was racing above his head. Before he could process that, it was followed by a series of screams coming from outside. Uncaring about his job, he ran out the door to see what was going on.

It was the sign that horrified him first, he later realized. The Hollywood sign, the symbol of glitz and glamour to many, was up in flames, as well as most of downtown Hollywood, from what Nick could see. Buildings were blazing and crumbling quickly. People ran from the chaos, and ash began to fall like a twisted rain. Remembering the sound he had heard before, he glanced up to see only slight glimmers of what had to be fighter jets.

It was the screams of horror, the sight of Hollywood destroyed, he would never forget.

That was when the war began. That was when his dreams began to fall apart.



Spunky’s excited barking was what startled him out of his reverie. He laughed and petted the dog with a chuckle. “Excited to have traveled the entire country, huh girl. I don’t know if you’re gonna like it in Florida.” He sighed once more. “After I grew up, I never did.”

The golden retriever just licked his hand and barked cheerfully in response to the master she loved. He had never connected deeply with anyone. Never made that close friendship. Sure, he’d had some friends growing up in Tampa, but in Hollywood, or Los Angeles, people made connections, not friends. He had tried to do the same. All it had done was leave him alone, never get him anywhere.

He was close, had entered the city limits of Tampa, Florida, finally. It had taken him a week to make this cross-country trip, but he’d had no choice. He was out of money almost, unemployed, and with no glimmers of hope of the big break he’d wanted so badly. The only choice he’d had left was to pack up and move back home with his dad. His mother was a no-go from the beginning. All she did was remind him of how much of a failure he was and always had been. The sad thing was that Nick couldn’t deny any of it. All he could do was start over, and even if he wasn’t old yet, he felt too old to have to do so. He knew his four siblings, three sisters and a brother, would mock him for his failure. Not they were close anyway.

None of it was something to look forward to.

He made a turn into a quieter neighborhood of middle-class homes. It felt almost like a death sentence, coming back there. Another turn was made, and in minutes, he pulled up to park in the driveway of a modest, yet cozy-looking suburban home. For a moment, he sat there before finally turning off the engine. Spunky barked and tilted her head up at him.

“Home sweet home, my ass,” Nick told her, a bitter tone not well-disguised within his voice.

He then got out of the car and walked up the steps to his childhood home, each step heavier than the last.
***


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