sorry that I havent posted anything or updated anything. I will most likly update again at the end of november once classes are almost over. I took way too many. Please review. I decided to do a throw back to my old Chase suicide fics.

The wind whipped in his hair as he watched the lights blink red. The sun was just peaking over the horizon. On any other day Chase would say it was beautiful. The orange and red light shone onto the silver train tracks lighting them up as if they were gold. Chase closed his eyes and sighed.

He wanted to feel the breeze on his arms. They had been covered for months, only seeing the light in the confines of the bathroom and shower. He grabbed the hem of his long sleeve shirt and slowly peeled off his body, lifting it over his head and dropping it onto the gravel covered ground.

The amber light hid how pale his chest and arms were. It made him look almost tan. Instead of seeing the pale ghostlike skin eyes would have been drawn to the reddish gray lines that covered his arms and sides. They crisscrossed and curved, almost artistically across his body. They were a picture of pain and sorrow. Among the scars, unhealed cuts dotted his skin. One deep red line looked like it had been performed only moments before. It stretched from the top of Chase's right shoulder down to an inch above his belly button. It was the longest and deepest injury.

Chase didn't pay these scars any attention. Instead he reached down and grabbed the large unlabeled bottle of dark liquid. Shakily he brought it to his lips and took a long swig. He coughed slightly at the burning sensation he still wasn't used to but took another sip. The pain in his throat wasn't as good as the blade that had been decorating his skin, but it provided not only a numbing to the pain but a numbing to the mind. The slight buzz took away some of his pain but more importantly it took away the last bit of fear that had somehow entered his mind.

It wasn't until he woke up hours before the sunrise that the shiver of fear filled him. It shook him like a cold wind. But he grabbed a random bottle of alcohol, lit a blunt of weed and lulled himself into a buzzed high. It brought him here, an hour from his house on a small street. No cars drove by and no watchers were there to stop him.

The flashing red lights warning him of the approaching train had been blinking log enough. He knew the vehicle would turn the corner within minutes. Dropping the bottle, it shattered on the ground, splashing his shoes. Chase took a step forward onto the track. He could see the train turning now. Its front light blinded him and a long loud horn filled the air. He could hear the breaks being pulled but knew it was too late.

The train blared a warning again and again, but Chase wasn't listening. He was staring absently at the wooden tracks bellow him. They shook with the approaching train. He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to hear the whistle. That fear that had finally vanished was creeping back. He could see himself bloody and broken on the track. He knew that wouldn't be how he looked. They wouldn't even recognize him. Only the note he left on the fridge would identify who he was. Chase looked up last minute, so he could see the train run the final two yards toward him. A single moment of spiking pain ended all has anger and sadness.

Two hours later Donald Davenport, his wife and their three remaining children stood next to the rails, past the police tape and away from the curious observers. The tracks were coated in blood and melted flesh. A large plastic box sat a few yards away, slowly being filled with more body parts. They didn't speak to each other, to dumbstruck. Chase had smiled at them less than twelve hours ago. HE walked away from dinner looking absolutely fine. Mr. Davenport had thought the note was just a sick joke until he got to the tracks. The police cars blocking the road was proof enough to him that his youngest son had done the unthinkable. His little Chase, the smartest of his kids had stepped in front of a train and killed himself.

Finally, Tasha fell into his arms and let out a painful cry. Tears streamed from her eyes, dripping down her face. Davenport would have held her closer, but he was frozen, stock still, staring at the cracked skull of his son being carried to the box. He couldn't even tell it was chase. He barely could tell it was a head, most of one side was missing and it was crunched inward as if it imploded. The eyes were gone and the blood that coated it hid any of his features. No one would have been able to tell this was chase.

Several hours later all of his body had been placed in the bin and brought to the morgue. The davenports were sitting in the living room, some to shocked to think and others exhausted from tears. They would be barring their son and brother soon. The coffin would be filled with little bits of him. No one would ever see the smiling face of chase again. Only the crushed dead skull that had flown off the tracks.