Sandstorm {Discontinued}{Rewritten}

1. It's a Rip Off of Doctor Who

This time, though, she was sure that nothing would stop her. She made sure of it. After he died ─ no, after he was murdered, Deserey had reached her limit. Too much loss. Too much pain. She couldn't take it anymore.

He was a homeless kid Dez had met when she was visiting her friend (the one who bought her apartment building, because he was a rich asshole). She'd always felt so close to the kid, both coming from similar backgrounds. But her friend ─ her brother was more like, considering they spent the better half of their lives sharing the same living space ─ lead a dangerous life, and he was the one who got to take him in and raise him like a son. Dez wanted to, god damn she wanted to, but her brother had more to offer than she did. Rich asshole.

So, he lived with her brother. He was sucked into that dangerous life he led, and...

It was bound to get someone hurt in the end. That was why Dez cut him out of her life. She wasn't risking his life leaking into hers and hurting her kids next. It was bad enough he brought him into it. That kid deserved better than this shit.

Two months ago was when it happened. Deserey went to Gotham City to help her friend/brother (she was still too pissed off to so much as think his name, or the kid's name for that matter; it just hurt too much). A mad man (Deserey didn't dare to think his name either, lest it summon him like the devil that he was) had been running loose; the kid went after him. He didn't come back.

They told him to stay put, to keep his head down, that the mad man they were dealing with was dangerous and just that, mad, but the kid was stubborn and eager to prove himself, like any fifteen year old would be in his situation.

And now he was dead.

It wasn't her fault, she knew that. There are people to blame for the kid's death, but she isn't one of them. Still. Deserey was well past her limit when it came to losing people. She was tired of them leaving, of needing to push them away, of them going insane and skipping off to murder people; most of all she was tired of them dying. She was tired of being helpless to save them. She was tired of feeling like a shitty ass person for that. Tired of mad scientists experimenting on her and others like her.

She was tired of being useless and selfish.

It was time to go. That was the only way to make it stop. That was the only way to end the pain and protect everyone from anything that might bleed into her world from her brother's; the only way to save her family from herself in the event she turned into a raging, homicidal monster. Only way to erase the problem before it ever started.

It was the only way to make everything stop. The only way she could think of, anyway.

She would finally be free, from grief and pain and suffering and trauma, all of it. Everything. Her family would be safe from her "meta" powers and they would be unburdened from her incessant whining and useless fuckery.

Deserey tossed the makeshift noose she had made from her scarves over the ceiling fan before tying one end to the bed to hold it steady. She climbed onto the step stool she'd placed at the center of the room and placed the noose around her neck. Taking a deep breath, she moved one of her feet to the edge of the stool.

"You don't want to do that."

Deserey yelped. She slipped off the stool, and the scarves shifted up her neck, squeezing her throat, closing off the air flow. She gasped, as her lungs screamed, begging her for oxygen. Her vision blurred, and her mind swirled. The flood inside her was raging, a hurricane along the beachside ready to destroy all in its path. Her throat tightened. Muscles tensed. It took forever, and it hurt worse than anything she'd ever experienced before and then she had a chance to start second guessing herself... For a second, she panics.