I was looking through some of my own school work and came across this. It was written for my Creative Writing class last year, and the topic was realistic fiction. I was unable to think of a topic off the top of my head; but having watched the anime the night before, I thus wrote this. I especially like the Shizuo and Izaya interactions...


Reading over it again, I just realized how bad my writing was. Well.. it's still bad, but it's even worse. This is almost embarrassing to read over. Lack of paragraphs notwithstanding, the dialogue was dry, and the action scenes left much to be desired. And it was a blatant rip-off of the anime. But hey, I got a laugh reading it. And since my teacher did not watch anime, I got a decent grade (rather than an F.)

Disclaimer: Durarara!! does not belong to me, so I will take no credit in the idea.

I present to you in its unedited glory:
Duty-bound


“Get. Back. Here! NOW!”

“Hahahahaha!”

Small yelps and cries were heard as pedestrians crowding the street jumped to the sides as one. A young man was happily running backwards, occasionally loosing laughter from his grinning face. And trolling his pursuer who was dressed for business.

But the pedestrians’ eyes were focused not on their attire, but on the thing the well-dressed man was wielding:

It was a street sign, complete with a solid metal pole and bright red plate.

“C’mon Knight! You can do better than that!”

The pursued man laughed as if he had heard a joke.

His pursuer snapped back, “You goddamn bastard! I’m gonna kill you!”

However, he laughed even harder as slid around the corner, ignoring the squawks from a pair of motorcyclists. Close behind was the thunderous crash of the impromptu projectile. With a speed that rivaled any Olympic runner, he made his way up the street.

“King!”

The casually dressed man spun around and was struck in the arm. Hard.

“Ughh.” he groaned, picking himself up as he turned to look at the thing which had been thrown at him. It was a motorcycle – a black Hyosung XRX. Though it had fortunately just smashed in his arm… where did it come from?

King’s eyes snapped back and saw the one named Knight lifting another motorcycle like a familiar gorilla character. “That isn’t fair,” he said playfully, before rolling to the side as the black bike came crashing down on where he had stood.

“Bravo Knight. Bravo,” he said with a pleasant smile on his face, “but you missed!” He sprinted down the sidewalk, across the street as the light turned green.
And predictably, Knight charged after him…

… and was struck by a car.

King guffawed.

“Are you fucking insane?!” The driver of the car roared, getting out of his car. He was a large, beefy man, bald and with a pig-like nose. Even from a distance one could see his distended veins – but his face paled dramatically as he saw the body.

King’s laughter was the only sound in his ears, in the ears of the crowd that had approached like buzzards. And then there was a collective gasp. King paused in mid-laugh and cracked open an eye.

Despite his grievous wounds, Knight was standing. Blood leaked down from his temple, but there was no other obvious wound. His knees buckled; Knight caught himself on the car’s bumper… wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. He can’t possibly do that.

With a loud strain and crunch he lifted the car by its fender. Raising it above his head, he roared as if challenging the sky,

“KIIIIINNNNNGGGGG!!”



“My name’s King, what’s yours?” A young boy asked, stretching his hand out. He had walked from his seat as soon as class had begun. The other classmates scattered, finding their own friends.

“… Knight.” The other boy responded, accepting the proffered hand. It was his first day at this school – he had transferred in the middle of the school year because of his mother’s recent work transfer.

He was a shy boy. Unlike the others who had grown up together, he knew he was the total outsider. Being the new kid always brought that feeling, but for ten-year old Knight it was harsh. Warmth wormed into his chest as he stared at his smiling first friend.

He smiled too.


He drank deeply from his milk carton. It had been a week since his first day but he still felt awkward. Nobody else approached him; in fact, it seemed as though they made an effort to avoid him.

He looked at his friend sitting next to him and told him that.

To which his friend merely responded with his signature smile, “Don’t know.”


He was walking home from school, his arm in a cast. Months had passed since his first day.

“Are you alright?” his friend asked worriedly, “Didn’t a group of high school students break your arm?”

Knight nodded, “That’s right, but it’ll heal soon. My doctors promised it will if I drink milk!”

This was nothing. For some inexplicable reason, bullies from the middle and high schools would attack him. And often, it was much worse than this. His mother was already frantic with the way her son was being beaten up. But Knight would answer all her inquiries with, “I fell down the stairs.”

If he told the truth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to see his only friend again.

King stared at his friend in surprise. They walked the rest of the way home in silence.


It was soon after that his friend was picked on by his same bullies. In a burst of adrenaline-fueled anger he ripped a street sign out of the ground and used it to defend King.

His doctors told him it was perfectly natural for the human body to perform astounding feats while high on adrenaline.

Stuck in a hospital bed from his extreme actions, Knight cursed his strength.


Over the years, Knight would be dragged into more and more fights. And each time would be ended with his superhuman strength. As a result from his self-destruction, his bones became denser, his skin harder, and his muscles made tougher in a way not possible with just working out. He was in fact a regular at the nearby clinic, given his own bed and personal nurse.

He wasn’t sure whether or not to be proud of that.


Knight casually dropped another one of his attackers and walked to waiting nearby for him to finish.

“Are you alright?” King asked looking at the trail of bodies Knight was leaving behind.

Knight nodded, taking back his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Even before entering high school, he was called the ‘strongest delinquent’ throughout the district. The police kept a careful eye over him – and now punks and battle crazed gangsters came after him.

He abhorred violence. Why couldn’t they understand that?

His friend pulled out his cell phone, the newest Ifone or something and began texting away on its touch screen. Knight eyed him enviously: King’s fingers tapped the screen so fast that they left after-images. But King courteously muted the sound: like Knight he appreciated peace and quiet.

“Yo! Knight!”

And some asshole had to ruin it.

A row of hoodie-wearing men blocked the sidewalk. Each of them was holding a weapon; he saw metal bats, iron pipes, knives and even chains.

King pocketed his Ifone and told Knight with his signature smile, “Go get them tiger.”

“Hngh.” Knight grunted, slipping off his backpack. And then he bent down and wrenched the railing lining the road-sidewalk out of the ground.

King watched the fight with a dispassionate eye. “Idiot,” he muttered.


Even though the police themselves were afraid to approach him, a small squad was sent to watch the graduation ceremony. A giant stream of blue trudged into the gymnasium doors where the ceremony was going to take place.

King and Knight stood a little away, watching the crowd of students.

“It’s hard to believe we’ve been friends for so long.” Knight said, breaking their silent vigil. He tried not to think that they would’ve to separate after high school but, well, he failed.

“Yeah,” was the only response.

They entered the gymnasium just as the last of the students were entering.

Hours later, after the train of students had received their diplomas and left, they stood in the main courtyard, watching as everybody else was leaving with their families.

Knight was an only child. His father had left with another woman and his mother ended up raising him alone. She was a surgeon and worked nearby, and though she had a day-off today an emergency that required her help forced her back into the surgery room.

King… well, his circumstances were unique to say the least. Knight wasn’t even sure he had family.

“Hey Knight, I’ve got something I want to say.”

Knight raised an eyebrow in surprise: King was not noted for his reluctance to stay his mouth.

“Do you remember all the times you were bullied in the past? All those fights, bruises, and attacks – everything?”

“Yeah.” What was he getting at?

King smiled his characteristic, warm, friendly smile, “I caused most of them.”

Wait, what?

He continued to talk, “You were the new kid, so eager to make friends but too shy to make any. And I thought, ‘wouldn’t it be fun to torture someone like that?’”

Knight thought, ‘You were the source of my misery?’ And hatred, the one emotion he had never felt for his best friend, rose into his throat.

“And so, I decided to get my friends,” he sarcastically said the word, “to roughen you up, to see how far you could go. And I was disappointed! Not once did you break down and quit. You didn’t leave, you didn’t ask for help, you just shouldered it and moved on. Frankly, you’re a boring person.”

Knight was shuddering and quivering slightly.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way – well, actually I do. You remind me of a hero in cartoons, too damn trusting and innocent and gullible. Oh! But it was fun watching you fight: it reminded me of a wild animal. Well, Ta Ta!”

Like a ninja, he ran away so fast that it seemed he had teleported. He smirked as he heard his ‘friend’ roar, “KIIIIIIIINNNNGGGG!!!!!!”

Seeing the nearby police squad, he called out, “Help! I’m being attacked!” while pointing towards the enraged beast chasing him. The policemen’s faces paled dramatically as they saw who it was, but they still met had their orders. They equipped their riot shields and shock batons and waited for him to approach.
In most forms of media, the police usually got the worst. Faced with an esper or a serial killer or werewolf, their job was just to be the sacrificial lambs. They all knew it.

Still running, King saw with glee as the blue Knight threw the police into the air easily and without stopping.

They ran for nearly an hour but neither seemed ready to give up.

King paused at a crosswalk for a moment before crossing. Knight, taking advantage of that small stop, accelerated forward, anger lending him wings…

… which were clipped short as a car ran straight over him.

“Oh My God! Are you alright?” the driver shouted out as he got out of his car. For a second or two, there was no answer and he truly believed that he had killed the young man.

King approached the driver casually. “No, he’s fine.” He said.

“But, but, look at that blood…” the driver pointed out.

King pulled out his wallet and pulled out a large wad of bills. The man eyed it nervously before taking it. King grinned before fleeing.


Knight woke up in his familiar hospital room, in the same bed he had used hundreds of times before. His injuries weren’t serious – a broken arm was the extent of damage, but he was kept overnight.

His cell phone rang with a text.

Hah hah! Cya Knight! (^o^)y

He crushed his cell phone into dust.



It was 5 years after that that King received another message from King. He wasn’t sure how King had gotten his new number, but his anger died down when he heard the message:

Listen. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I did. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me, but I need your help. I got caught in some *unsavory* business and I might be killed. Please come and help.

Attached to that was a list of numbers and words, presumably the address. Knight pocketed his cell phone and headed to save his friend.



He was an idiot.

He should’ve realized it was a trap, but his sentiment convinced himself otherwise.

Long story short, he arrived at the place only to find a two gangs and an honest-to-god mafia dealing in drugs and weapons! And then the police swarmed the place and arrested everyone.

Due to lack of evidence he was released but the scandal had been huge; it had cost him his college degree and job.

He swore he would kill King.



1 hour ago

Knight walked out the building, head held high. It had been his first job interview and already he had high expectations. The director had all but told him that he was hired. He was so happy that he almost didn’t see that one in front of him.

But there was no mistaking him.

He grinded his teeth together and clenched his fist.

Before him stood King, still dressed in those favored clothes of his as well as that stupid smile.

“It’s been a while, how have you been?”

“King.” Knight spat out.

“Come on, weren’t we friends? Can’t we put the past behind us?” King said aloud, raising his hands to show goodwill. “I mean, after all I’ve done for you?”

Knight paused and nodded, “You’re right–”

“Really?”

“—you gave me so much. Those fights, my incarceration, this absurd strength, everything.” He nodded his head once more, “And with it, I’m gonna KILL YOU!”

King sighed, “You’re so immature. Are you really a knight?”And then he sprinted away as fast as he could.

The game of Tag, which had been delayed for 6 years, recommenced.



Present

Knight threw the car at his nemesis. Everybody stared in shock at the man who easily hurled the convertible. But Knight had no eyes, no ears for anyone but King. He clearly saw the lithe man step out of the way, allowing the massive projectile to land with a resounding crash.

The distinct sound of sirens was heard in the background.

But King was laughing; he clutched his sides as if to stop himself from shaking. “Ahahahaha!!”

Knight growled, readying another charge.

“I’m sorry for laughing Knight,” King explained, “but it’s just so fun to be with you again. But I’m afraid our little show has to end for now; I’ve still got a job to do. See you!”

There it was again, that false smile that decorated his face. The smile of one who found everything in this world amusing, that life was just one comedic play. And like the Cheshire cat’s it seemed to linger behind even after its owner had fled from the scene.

6 years. 6 long years. This chance was not going to slip by him!

“Get Back HERE!!”