Death Bearing Fruits
When you accidentally kill yourself, do you still go to hell? OOC/AH/M for content; Wristcutters/Twilight crossover
EMMETT POV
Maybe gold is silver,
And maybe we really eat liver.
When you think it's the end of the world, it really isn't. When you accidentally kill yourself, everyone thinks you did it on purpose. When you tell someone something, and you realize it's a mistake, maybe it isn't.
You see, when you try to heal yourself emotionally, and you can't help but cut yourself a little, people all of a sudden flip bitches, and you're 'depressed'. You know, when the girl you loved dies, you're scarred. For fucking life and death too, but shit doesn't count.
Listen, this chick was so cash. Brown fucking hair down to her goddamned ass, pert little pink nipples that got hard in three seconds, shit, I could beam my eyes at her and she was wet like a river. Face like a fucking angel, wide ass doe eyes, innocence was pouring from her looks. Her personality is what did it for me.
I forget her bouncy little ass, her tits the size of my palm, long ass hair that I can pull; her personality was a fucking shining beacon. Her laugh was as sexy as a Corvette, her jokes as raunchy as a strip club.
But she died. She died and is dead and till death did we part.
I feel like a fifteen year old chick, when I talk or think about her. I feel like a depressed asshole when I cut myself while chopping up some vegetables, and liking the pain from the cut. The cut feels so good, in an otherwise death ray of hell that I want to rub salt over it, because fuck, feeling is so damn good.
When she died, I was left to pick up her broken ass puzzle pieces. I was left to peel myself off the ground, and to avoid killing myself and "following her to the dark", because that's what pussies do. I'm not a pussy; I am so far from a pussy, that I have a twelve inch dick.
When you think about everything that's happened so far, I actually managed quite well. I didn't pull out her life insurance and spend it on boat's an' ho's. I spent it on her fucking funeral, because that's what I was supposed to do. I don't resent her death; I just resent her reasons behind her death.
"I know this will hurt you; I know you may wish I was never your wife. I know you may wish I was just back, so you could scream at me. But I love someone else." Really? That's what her fucking note says, and next thing I know, I get a call from some police officer from fucking Chicago and I find out she was in a car crash.
Really? Really? Really? That dumb, self-centered bitch, I fucking love her to death, and then she dies. Wow that sounded like an awful preface, sort of like "Life sucks, and then you die," but jeez, I'm not that emo.
All I can remember from my life is her. I don't remember much else; I've been here too long. It's all starting to curl away from me, making me forget stupid things like, what color my sister's eyes were, (by the way, I remembered later, and they were brown), or what my dad's name was (Carlisle), and even what my mother's mother's name was (I still have not remembered/figured that out).
It sucks, being here. People call this place "The Desert", "Suicide Café" and my personal favorite "Earth". I just call it "Here", because honestly Here is after There but before That. I know that this cannot be the end of it for me. I accidentally fall off my roof, die, and suddenly I am in this place where everyone tells me how they killed themselves.
I do not give a shit that you put meat on your hands and made dogs eat them, and bled to death. I do not care that you stuck your head under water and made it stay there. I could honestly, not give less of a shit that you're supposed to cut "down the road, not across the street". I don't give a shit about your fucking euphemisms, or why you killed yourself.
All I care about is finding out why everyone thinks I killed myself, and how the fuck I get out of here. I was just trying to fix my satellite, I wanted to watch ESPN!
People tell me to just accept it, and that this is "our hell" and we "came Here for a reason" and all that nonsense shit blahbity-blah. Honestly? This place is exactly like life was, maybe people are poorer, and maybe it's a desert, but fuck, it's got to be a shitty metaphor of sorts.
"Hey, Em. Why so glum?" Ben laughs his ass off; his laugh is actually really fucking disgusting. It sounds more like gasps for water, like the sound a fish would make. He drowned himself, so maybe it's expected.
"Hey, Ben. Why so ugly?" Then it's my turn to laugh, and I actually laugh. I laugh loud, from my toes to my stomach, and out of my mouth. I laugh so loudly, it's amazing that I haven't choked on my own tongue. I'm the only person here who can actually laugh, everyone else is too depressed, or they are acting as if this place is sacred.
"Dude, we got a new guy comin' in today," Ben says, knowing it will catch my interest.
"Oh?" I ask, because it's expected of me.
"Yup, his name is Edward, Edward Cullen," and then I see red. I can feel steam pool out of my ears, and I swear I just growled. I slam my hands down on the table, and then the door "Dings!" and I look up.
There is that smug-faced bastard that showed up to my dead wife's funeral, calling himself her savior. Telling me that she loved him more than I could possibly imagine, and before I know it, I am attacking him. My hands are around his throat and I'm banging his head down onto the floor.
"I hope I mess up your artfully-messy hair you fucking asshole! How does it feel, being dead! Did you kill yourself to follow her? I bet you fucking did!" I fluctuate between punching him, choking him, slamming his head down on the floor. All the while, I am wishing we were both alive so I could kill him.
He doesn't even try to fight me off, and then I let go. I mean, it's a crime to fight a man when he doesn't fight back. I get up with a huff, and leave. Tossing a "See ya later, cocksuckers," as I slam the door behind me.
When you travel 25 in a 5mph zone on Earth, you get a ticket, but Here? If you travel anymore than a 25 anywhere, people are on your ass like flies on shit.
After my episode at the convenience store, I quit. I sold my place, most of my clothes, almost all my food, and any other personal effects. I then worked at the junk yard, salvaging stray parts to build a car, and all the while checking out the hot blond that works in the metal part of the junk yard.
It's been a long time since I've died, new people tell me it's now the year 2010, and I died in 2001. I'm told about "the world trade center", "Barack Obama", "Antoine Dodson", and all sorts of stupid shit I couldn't care less about. Hell, some fucker thought I'd care about Michael Jackson's death.
Sure, okay, I cared a little. I mean, that fucker was smooth as a snake, and slithered his way out of many things, and his music is what chicks (namely my [ex] wife) liked to fuck to.
"Hey, look at Ms. Hot-tits over there, I heard how she finally killed herself," Eric Yorkie slithers up next to me, and is speaking in my ear, his greasy fucking hair is a mess, but, I'm intrigued. No one knows how she killed herself.
"Go on," I allow him to continue speaking to me; normally I'd smack his ugly 16-year-old face away from me.
"I heard she killed her husband and his friends, and his guard, and finally shot herself in the head," Eric states, rushing his words, making me try and pick apart his sentence.
"Guard?" I ask, because damn, if her husband needed a guard, he was probably a mob boss, or some shit.
"Yeah, I hear she saved him for last, and he hired a guard to protect himself," and Eric-The-Fucker-Yorkie laughs, he laughs.
"Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned," I say, as I start to strut my stuff Hottie's way.
If this was my ex-wife, I'd go up to her hot ass and smack it, but this is a new chick. I've never before been so attracted to someone in my life. Hottie is tall, her long hair is shorter than my ex-wife's, but her ass is bouncier looking, and her tits look bigger, like I could cup them around my dick and just fuck her tits. Her mouth, though? Fuck, the perfect proportion. I feel like a god damned pussy when I think about her, but damn, her mouth is perfect for dick sucking. She doesn't leak innocence, she leaks danger, hostility, and her looks make me think that she'd be a tornado in bed. God smite me if she isn't perfect.
"I jumped off my roof after my wife killed herself in a car crash."
END CHAPTER
It's a two-shot; two chapters for two POVs, just a head's up.