Date: Tue, 26 Nov 2002 21:02:57 -0600
From: Cameron Writer <cameronwriter@hotmail.com>
Subject: A Light in the Tunnel chapter 1

	This is my first attempt at writing a story for Nifty Archives and you
readers, so please bear with the mediocrity that may be found here before I
really get into the flow. I am planning for A Light in the Tunnel to be more
than a simple stroke story, which means you have to wait for the sex. This
is a tale of a life saved and the friendship/relationships that come from
that.

	I do not know NSYNC or any other celebrities that may appear over time,
thus I cannot tell you anything about their personalities or sexual
orientations/habits. This is pure fiction. Just as a warning, this follows
an unrealistic timeline. Having the gentlemen off doing their own things is
not conducive to the story I wanted to tell, so keep that in mind.

	If you are under-aged or offended by faceted relationships between men,
please go somewhere else!

That said, I hope you enjoy this! Any comments are
welcome at cameronwriter@hotmail.com but please be nice to me!

Now, on to:

A Light in the Tunnel

Chapter 1:

	Burke Kennedy sat alone in his dark room, a converted off-shoot of a drafty
attic. Sounds of laughter drifted up to him through the small grate in the
floor, radiant heat the only source of warmth upstairs. His mother and
sister were in the living room enjoying themselves, totally unaware of his
despair. It was bad enough that Burke was the only man in the house, but
being gay made everything worse. His sister thought it a novelty until she
supposed people were making judgments about her, and it gave his mother a
valid excuse to ignore him, claiming that she could not, as a Christian,
associate too much with someone evil. Burke was painfully shy and confined
to the home, both adding to his growing feelings of isolation. His only
friends were the characters he read about in a small collection of books, or
wrote about in a dozen different notebooks. Separated from nearly everyone
and everything, Burke felt like an unwanted phantom drifting through the
world, a waste of good oxygen. His lonely torment wasn't solely bound to
home, but carried over into school as well. Most people overlooked his
existence, but there were others who seemed to make it their personal goal
to harass and belittle the slight, young looking boy. To appease everyone as
much as possible, Burke had taken to covering his pain with faked smiles and
withdrawing from sight. The only person who appeared to care in the least
was his maternal aunt, but she had her own family to tend to, a task that
left little room for Burke.
	On that particular night, like so many before it, he contemplated the
ultimate solution, suicide. He stared intently at the coil of rope, left
over from a church project he was railroaded into helping with, laying, like
a cobra ready to strike, in the corner. Burke wondered if it would be strong
enough to hold his body weight if used to hang himself. He tried to stifle
those thoughts, telling himself that others had worse problems than being
chronically ignored, persecuted, or lonely. But, in his innermost being, he
knew he was too cowardly to put an end to his pain, no matter how bad it
was. That truth began the vicious cycle of self-loathing anew. Burke slipped
a pair of earphones over his head, his comfort music streaming through,
turned off the lamp, and buried his face in the pillows, unleashing a fresh
torrent of tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Lisa Franklin slumped into her desk chair, tired from an evening of hosting
a cookout for her son's Boy Scout troop. Her body wanted nothing more than a
long, hot bubble bath and a full night's sleep, but her mind was
preoccupied. She thought about her nephew, Burke. They saw each other only
once or twice a month, but she could see the growing emptiness in his eyes,
the light of life being driven out by the dark of hopelessness. Lisa
pictured her own children, happy pre-teens without a problem worse than not
having their favorite shirt clean a day after wearing it, but couldn't help
but feel powerless when it came to Burke. He had perfected the art of
smiling despite sorrow, and acting as if everything was perfect when the
world is crashing down. He was good at it, a master, and she had trouble
discerning what was truth and what was cover-up. Every day that passed left
her both relived and worried. It was a day that left Burke alive. But how
much longer until he broke? How long until she had to help her sister plan a
funeral?
	Unable to find the answers she desperately wanted, Lisa banged her fist
against the desktop. Burke's mother was an unwitting contributor, a woman
twisted up in her own version of morality, his sister too self-absorbed.
Time and space kept herself from being more than the occasional sympathetic
ear. Through her sister's endless whining, she knew Burke was now spending
long hours shut away in his cubbyhole of a room, listening to the same set
of songs over and over. Lisa also knew, from her own observations, that he
only mouthed the lyrics to music, a bad sign since Burke's singing brought
him, and those lucky enough to be within earshot, immense joy. It was
another omen of her nephew's downward spiral.
	Lisa, frustrated and at a loss, took a few sheets of her homemade floral
stationary from the desk drawer, and started writing a letter she hoped
would change everything before there was nothing left of Burke to change.
Instead of worrying about punctuation and proper grammar, she let her
emotions control the pen, tears darkening the paper as she scribbled
furiously, crying. Lisa said a prayer of hope as she dropped the letter into
the mailbox.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Memorial Day, heralding the unofficial start of summer, brought the family
together for a morning of the most somber of rituals. No one was smiling or
cracking jokes as they stepped up to the graves of the former heads of the
family. Before anyone could start crying, the headstones were decorated.
Between his grandparents' names, Burke gingerly pressed an ivy decked,
wrought iron cross into the soft ground. "That's beautiful, Burke," Lisa
said as he moved back. She admired the work he had put into getting each
leaf to lay just right. He smiled slightly, and moved away to let the others
cluster around the grave, his face becoming blank. After reliving their
grief and honoring their ancestors, they went back to their vehicles,
heading out to other local cemeteries to repeat the rite. Lisa was not
surprised at the equally pretty arrangements her nephew produced from the
trunk of his mother's car, nor at his lack of emotions. He was simply going
through the motions.
	Driving with her family back to her brother's house in the country, where
they all congregated for holidays and other functions, Lisa's cell phone
rang, breaking the reverential silence in the van. She grabbed it from her
purse. "Hello?"
	"Hello. May I speak to Lisa Franklin, please?"
	She tried to place the man's voice. "This is she."
	"Mrs. Franklin, my name is Joseph Fatone. I know you don't know me
personally, but my friends and I wanted to call after we got your letter
about Burke."
	Lisa had almost forgotten her last ditch attempt at saving her sinking
nephew. "Oh my God," she sighed, her voice cracking with sprouting tears,
ignoring her husband and children's curious stares.
	"Ma'am? Is he-"
	"No, at least not yet, but it's getting worse."
	"We were on tour when your letter came, but we called as soon as we read
it. It made all of us cry, and we decided to help in any way we could."
	"I appreciate that so much. I don't know how much more he can stand
before-" Her voice trailed off, not wanting to finish the statement. The van
pulled into the driveway and everyone filed out, running for the house's air
conditioning.
	A new voice came on the line. "Mrs. Franklin, this is Justin. What can we
do?"
	Lisa watched Burke plod across the field, walking toward the dense woods
covering the property. "I'm not sure Justin. We just got back from putting
flowers on graves and everything, and it was like there was nothing there,
just an empty shell where Burke should have been."
	"Is he there with you?"
	"No. I just saw him leave on one of his usual walks in the woods."
	"Are you sure that's--safe?"
	"I think so. Despite how awful he seems to be feeling, Burke still
considers everyone's well being. He wouldn't do something where my kids
could find him. I hope that's still a deterrent."
	Shuffling on the other end gave way to another man. "Mrs. Franklin, this is
Lance. Could you come up with a way to get Burke out for the day? Just the
two of you?"
	"Probably, school is out for the summer. I could take him craft shopping.
It's an interest we share."
	"Great. Here's what we'll do-"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Without school to provide the most meager of distractions, Burke's
depression doubled in intensity. The sadness he felt pounded his weary
brain, overwhelming his every waking moment. Never one to sleep a full eight
hours a night, his open eyes now greeted nearly every sunrise. Shame was an
unwelcome companion wherever he went. Burke felt childish and selfish,
unable to control his melancholy while people around the world slowly
starved to death or rotted away in filthy hovels. He had begun to crave a
physical pain to justify his emotional hurting. He found that outlet in
scratching away layers of skin on his upper arms and shoulders, his
fingernails digging deep until they were tinted red when pulled away. The
pain was horribly exquisite and just what Burke wanted.
	He had taken the time to write out funeral plans although he knew his
mother was disrespectful enough to do as she wanted without regard for his
wishes. He wanted to be cremated, to have no ornate service full of people
bawling simply to put on a show. Instead of flowers, he wanted donations
made to charity. As a concession to those who might have some feelings,
other than hate, he wrote that a simple bench or plaque was all the monument
he desired, to be placed alongside his great-grandparents' graves. He
thought the view from their cemetery was the most beautiful in the world.
	He saw his own end nearing, and relished the thought of peace. In his
mind's eye, he had plotted his death, seeing himself dangling from a sturdy
joist in the attic. Yes, only hanging would do, neat and effective, not iffy
like overdoses or gory like a gunshot to his temple. Burke found a morbid
serenity in the plans, only waiting for the will. Soon there would be no
tears left for him to shed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	The telephone rang, interrupting Beverly Kennedy's night of television.
Sighing, she hefted herself from the oversized recliner and went to answer
it, her sister's number appearing on the caller ID. "Good evening!" she
chuckled into the phone.
	"Good evening to you too, Bev. How are you?"
	"Oh, fine, I guess," she replied in a voice tinged with melodrama. "And
yourself?"
	"Good. Bill and the kids say hello, by the way. Bev, is Burke around? I
need to ask a favor of him."
	"I assume he is. That same annoying music has been playing all night. He
must have his stereo set to play those CDs over and over. I swear that damn
boy is trying to drive me crazy!"
	"Have you ever though that something might be wrong with him? That the
music is his way of coping?"
	Beverly snorted, "Burke? Nothing's ever wrong with Burke. He does what he's
supposed to, and never argues or complains. Besides, what does he have to
worry about? I pay all the bills."
	Lisa shook her head, not wanting to believe her sister could be so blind or
callus. Beverly honestly thought that money was the answer to everything,
including caring for her children. That, added to her need to appear a
martyr, drove Lisa to distraction. "That's true," she muttered, not wanting
to get into another lecture session. "Could you see if he's available to
talk?"
	"Sure, Lisa. Hang on a minute." Covering the receiver, Beverly yanked open
the door to the upstairs, and shouted to her son. The music stopped and
Burke appeared at the bottom. "OK, here he is. It's your Aunt Lisa."
	"Mmm, hello?"
	"Hi Burke. What's going on?"
	"Not much, just reading. How is everyone on your end?" They chatter for a
few minutes, discussing the upcoming summer leagues his cousin's had joined.
	"Burke, I was hoping you could help me with a project I want to do in
Joanie's room. I called to see if you were free tomorrow, and if you would
mind going to the craft store with me."
	"Well, let me check my day planner real quick," he snickered, alluding to
his near constant state of having no plans. "I think I can pencil you in!"
	"Great! The kids are spending the day at a neighbor's house, so it'll just
be the two of us. How about I come by your place, then we can go? Around
nine?"
	"Sure."
	"OK, it sounds like a plan! I really appreciate this Burke."
	"No problem. Do you want mom again?"
	"No, I need to get to bed and you know how long we can talk once we get
started. Just tell her good night for me."
	"Alright."
	"See you in the morning Burke."
	"You too, Lisa. Bye." He hung up the phone, then reset the caller ID. "Mom,
Aunt Lisa wants me to go do some craft stuff with her tomorrow, so I'll be
gone part of the day." She nodded her head, not bothering to move her eyes
from the television. Knowing he would get no other response, Burke returned
to his imposed solitude. He crawled into bed after putting a bandage over
the hole in the right should, wiping the blood he had just drawn from his
hand. His skin screamed as he purposely pressed the padded gouge into the
mattress, hissing softly as an arrow of pain blazed through his body. As
with every other night in recent history, Burke was lulled to sleep by his
own muffled sobs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Burke's dreams were the unwilling accomplices to his demons, driving him
out of bed with a gasp and soaked in a cold sweat. Panting from a nightmare,
he struggled to peel off his dripping t-shirt, tossing it to the floor with
a heavy plop. The only light in his room came from the alarm clock, its red
numbers reading two a.m., only four hours after he had fallen asleep. Burke
laid back, his head sinking into the pillows, and though about his dream, it
being the only thing his jumbled mind could focus on. He had been standing
in a small, dark, circular room, doors surrounding him. People he cared
about loomed in each space. One by one he approached them, only to see them
slam the door in his face. As the same thing happened over and over, he ran
faster, hoping that he could reach someone before they cut him off. First
had been his father, who left when Burke was only six. Then old friends and
family members, each muttering an insult as they locked Burke away. Finally,
when everyone was gone and he was alone in total darkness, he collapsed to
the floor in anguish. He was alone. No one wanted the disgrace he was.
	Burke shook as his fingernails broke through a nickel sized scab on his
left arm, pulling away tender flesh underneath. He was what everyone had
said. The pointed nail of his index finger bored into the hole as he
repeated the names they had called him. He was stupid, ugly, worthless, a
disappointment, a faggot. Burke groan at the feeling of warm blood oozing
down his arm. Most of all, he was an unwanted mistake. Laying awake in the
hour of ultimate night, halfway between sunset and sunrise, Burke truly knew
his death would be for the best. It would make people's lives better if he
were not there to screw things up. That's why his father had gone, why his
mother was always angry. Burke hurt people. His mind was finally, absolutely
made up. Burke would go shopping with his aunt, and then, after his mother
and sister were asleep, he would go into the attic, string up his noose, and
hang himself, a gag of some sort in his mouth to blanket the choking sounds
he assumed would be made. He would set his funeral plans, futile as they
were, on the bed beforehand so they would not be missed.
	Burke was almost peaceful, nestling into his slightly damp bed wearing his
first real smile in ages. One last obligation would be fulfilled, then he
would fall into an eternal, restful sleep. That darkness would be so
wonderful. No more dirty looks, no more harassment, no snide comments, no
more being shut out. The greatest reward was going to be no more Burke. For
the briefest of moments, he wondered about what would happen to his soul,
but realized he didn't really care. Heaven, he thought, is what he deserved
after such torture, but, on the other hand, he had already experienced hell.
Besides, he would not be alone amid the fire and brimstone. Perhaps, he
chuckled, he would see his mother there someday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

	Burke bounded down the stairs, happier than he could ever remember being.
He pretended not to notice his mother's disdainful sneer when he whistled
while cooking breakfast. He wouldn't let her ruin his last day on earth. As
his sister stuffed her face with a stack of freshly cooked pancakes, He
jumped into the shower, taking the time to savor each warm droplet sliding
over his body, the fizzing shampoo in his light brown hair, the tingling of
his skin when he stepped out still wet. He was being silly, and unabashedly
enjoyed it. He dressed for the day in black denim shorts, tight black tank
top, and an unbuttoned red over shirt. Tying his shoes and fixing his hair,
he emerged from the bathroom to find his aunt chatting with his sister.
"Good morning, Aunt Lisa!"
	The woman was startled to see a truly genuine smile on Burke's face. "Good
morning, Burke. You seem chipper today."
	"Why wouldn't I be? Everything is perfect!" He found that he
whole-heartedly meant that.
	Lisa was no one's fool, the thought crashing to the forefront of her mind
terrifying her more than any other before. She had read, in an attempt to
help and understand her nephew, that people considering suicide often seemed
blissful once their minds were made up. She shook inside, realizing this day
was possibly the last chance she had to keep a tragedy from occurring. Lisa
watched Burke as he moved around the kitchen. There was a graceful ease with
which he moved. His face was beaming. Burke, for all intents and purposes,
seemed like your average happy teenager. If she didn't know better, she
might have believed. "You ready to go?" He nodded eagerly. "OK then."
	Burke and Lisa chattered away on the ride to the craft store half an hour
away. After she presented her ideas for the project, Burke scowled. He
didn't understand how someone so enthralled by decorating shows would need
help with something as simplistic as creating a night sky in his cousin's
room. Despite his confusion, Burke volunteered his insight and aid. They
picked out supplies: an one hundred bulb count box of white Christmas
lights, a bundle of polyester batting, heavyweight silver poster board, navy
cloth dye, glass etching glaze, a small set of paintbrushes, and silver
glass paint. Lisa was pleased by the interest Burke was taking in
transforming Joanie's room, a necessary task since the girl had a sudden
bout of being scared of the dark. Burke chewed his lip, wondering if it had
anything to do with the horror novels he had loaned his naïve cousin.
	Lisa suggested take out for lunch, mentioning a nearby park where they
might eat and enjoy the beautiful day. Burke readily agreed once she
suggested Chinese, his stomach rumbling at the thought of fried rice and
cashew chicken. He had cooked, but not eaten, breakfast. Lisa's cell phone
rang halfway through their meal. "Hello?" she spoke, choking down a mouthful
of lo mein noodles.
	"Lisa? It's Lance."
	"Oh, hello."
	"Is he there with you?"
	"Yes. My nephew and I are eating lunch right now." Lisa rolled her eyes,
mouthing the word 'telemarketer.' Burke covered his mouth and snickered.
	"How is he?"
	"Really bad, but you wouldn't know it."
	The voice on the other end gasped, then continued. "I've heard that
depressed people seem happy once they decided to--kill themselves."
	"I know. I think that's the case here."
	"Oh God!" he cried. "OK, we're almost there. Are you by the lake?"
	"Yes."
	"Alright. We'll call back once we get in the parking lot. Bye."
	"Thank you. Goodbye." Lisa clicked the phone shut with a dramatic sigh
before laughing.
	Burke chuckled with her. "You are *way* too nice! I just hang up on them.
Or I give the phone to mom since she's the one they actually want to talk
to. I think it pisses her off."
	Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. Shrugging her shoulders, Lisa once
again answered. "Hello?"
	"Hey, it's Justin. We're here and walking your way."
	"Oh, hi! That's fantastic!" Pretending to stretch, Lisa twisted and saw
five men coming up the dirt path from the parking lot.
	"Can you put Burke on the phone?"
	"Sure. Here he is."
	With a questioning glance at his aunt, who gave no hint as to who it was,
he took the cell. "Hello, this is Burke."
	"Hello Burke," a crackling, sinister man's voice spoke, "what's your
favorite scary movie?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That's it for chapter 1. PLEASE! Let me know what you think. Write me at
	cameronwriter@hotmail.com
But, remember, please be nice. Mean people will be ignored, but the nice
ones will definitely get an answer back! Thanks
	Cameron