D (pt 1)
Ahhhhhh... I had to read some stupid short story in English class called "The Yellow Wallpaper". Anybody read it? Anyways, it made me completely bonkers yesterday. So I decided to get rid of my headache by writing! Hurray!
Title: D
Info: WIP (will be posted in parts as I finish them)
Genre: Strangeness
Rating: T
Pairing: Smoker/Ace eventually
Summary: I'm screwing with your mind. 8D
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D
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“So tell me, class - what words can the letter ‘D’ stand for? Any volunteers? Come on now, don’t be shy! Ace, why don’t you try? Do you know any words that start with ‘D’?”
“… Doubt.”
--
There was something strange about the house.
Not the house. Rather, the attic of the house.
On days when he paid extra close attention, Smoker could see the slightest, furtive shadow within the darkened window panes underneath the shingled roof. Perhaps it was merely his imagination, a product of a mind that was bored, but it sometimes seemed as if there was somebody in the attic. The briefest twitch of the heavy drapes, a blur of movement that always vanished much too soon… almost ghostly. Haunted. But he was a curious man, not one that was superstitious.
“What is in your attic?” Smoker asked his companion. “Do you ever go in there?”
Monkey D. Garp, a large man with a laughter-wrinkled face, replied in his booming voice, “Of course not, Smoker! There’s nothing up there. Nothing at all.”
If Smoker persisted, Garp would adamantly answer in the same fashion. It made Smoker unreasonably suspicious. But every time, he would quickly dismiss the notion that Garp had lied to him, for what would be the point in deceiving him about the contents of an attic?
The D.s were an age-old family. Garp had asked Smoker - as a favour for an old friend - to look after his only grandson. “He’s a handful,” the old man admitted. “You just can’t trust him to stay home alone without causing trouble.”
So Smoker agreed to watch over Monkey D. Luffy, Garp’s bothersome grandchild once a week, Sunday afternoons. And every time he walked up the macadam leading to the D.s’ home, Smoker would feel as if there was something in the ‘empty’ attic…
The people in town pitied him. “Smoker, that poor thing,” gossiping ladies tittered. “Dealing with that family. The D.s are crazy, every single one of them!” And on and on they would titter, acting as if they were unaware that Smoker was behind them, hearing every rumour-filled word that they said. “That poor thing.”
The attic bothered him. Really, it did. But over time, he ignored the strange messages his subconscious sent him, and eventually the attic’s mystery lost its allure to Smoker.
After all, there was nothing up there. Nothing at all.
--
“See, that wasn’t very hard, was it? Do you have any more words you’d like to share?”
“Delivery.”
--
A letter. A very strange letter.
Smoker rarely received mail. He beheld the curious envelope lying innocuously below the mail slot of his door. Messy scrawls were on the front, depicting his name and address. Smoker tore it open.
“Please,” the letter implored, “talk to me.”
Never was there a more curious letter! It baffled Smoker to no end. He flipped it every which way, trying to find a name, an address to reply to, yet it was a vain search for things that did not exist. So he crumpled the letter in frustration and tossed it into his fireplace. Really, how could he possibly talk to the letter’s author?
However, more letters arrived daily. “I’m lonely.” “Can we be friends?” “Write to me.” “I want to talk to you.” All of them, unsigned! It was enough to drive someone mad. Envelope after envelope dutifully delivered themselves into Smoker’s hands for nearly three weeks, until the last arrived; it was longer than the rest, and more confusing than its predecessors.
“This is my last paper and envelope. Please find me. Portgas D. Ace.”
Although it was by far the most mysterious, Smoker had at least gleaned a small hint: D.
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“Those are some very complicated words! Do you have any more?”
“Discovery.”
--
Curiosity allegedly killed the cat.
Luckily, Smoker was not a cat. With this in mind, he went to the D.s’ house Sunday afternoon, and asked Luffy, “Who is Portgas D. Ace?”
Strangely, the talkative boy had no reply! No matter how often Smoker inquired, Luffy remained tight-lipped and uncooperative. When he grew exasperated with his lack of answers, Smoker resorted to asking Garp the same question.
“Who told you about him?” Garp replied, his voice mildly shocked and touched with a hint of concealed anger. But after a second or two, the amiable man resumed his amiability. “Portgas D. Ace was my oldest grandson,” Garp explained, “but he passed away soon after he was born.”
“Luffy seemed to know about him,” Smoker stated, frowning.
“Of course!” Garp scoffed. “We told him a long time ago about his brother’s death.”
“Why have I never heard of Portgas before?” Smoker questioned.
Garp shook his head, melancholy. “Luffy has always been upset about not having an older brother,” he said sorrowfully. “He never mentions this subject. So please, promise me to never speak of Portgas D. Ace again.” End of conversation.
Smoker remained true to his word (really, he did!) despite his growing suspicions. Why have I never heard of Portgas D. Ace? he wondered. There had never ever been a mention of Luffy’s mysterious and deceased sibling. Doubt gnawed on Smoker’s mind every Sunday afternoon as he walked into the D.s’ large home. His subconscious resumed sending him strange messages, imploring him to think, to converse with it…!
Then one day, when smoking in the D.s’ garden while watching Luffy admire the butterflies, something in Smoker’s mind clicked with a calm clarity. He wanted to confirm whether or not he was correct. But he was a curious man, not one that broke his promises. So instead of repeating the same inquiry he had posed constantly after receiving the final cryptic letter, Smoker chose the next question that came to mind and asked Luffy, “What is in your attic?”
And Luffy hesitantly replied, “My brother.”
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