AFTER THE RAIN
A/N: Literally just wrote this when I was replaying the game and saw the image of the cart toppled over in the shed during the first chapter. Not too sure where it came from in the back of my insanity, but I hope you enjoy it.
In the darkness and stuffy heat underneath the thick cloth, I wait and spy at you from a gap in the side. The metal is cold against my knees, but sweat drips down my nose nonetheless. I see you pamper and prune and love your friend. Inside, my heart sends an army of fire throughout my body; surging and pulsating and stampeding to be released, but I do my best to keep it subdued. Your loving affection for that wretched thing makes me sick to my stomach. I sit and wait, hearing you talk in that babyish voice that makes my ears bleed. I sit and wait and hope: sitting with the huge boots digging into my calves; waiting for you to leave; hoping that, soon, I'll find that same affection from you. Finally, you say your goodbye and close the shed door, oblivious that I'm even in your presence. I hear you walk away, and wait for the final moments where your delicate footsteps no longer reach me. Then I breathe in the cool air as I whisk the cloth away, and in the precious moments I take to cool, the cart topples and I land in the mud, a gasp escaping my lips.
Stupid, wretched beast.
Pushing myself up with the anger inside me as my power, I wipe the mud and sludge off my face and look down at your friend. It seems happy to see me. I grunt in disgust. Trudging through the mud, I make my way behind its den where I find the gleaming shine of a pair of scissors amongst the tools. The blades glisten in the pale moonlight shining through the hole in the roof, and I smile. I slither back over to the beast when I notice I've made tracks in the mud, and for some reason I stare at them; those oversized footsteps which don't belong to me. A thought races through my head, over and over and over again:
Is this really me?
I pause to contemplate, then shake that toxic from my mind. This beast is trying to ruin me, I say. It's the Dragon in our fairy-tale. Usually a Prince would slay the Dragon, but in this fairy-tale I would do the slaying. Fairy-tales aren't what they used to be. Not anymore. I kneel down beside the beast and its dark eyes stare up at me – wide and unknowing. I raise the scissors, the moonlight glinting off them one final time, and I thrust them down into the beast's back.
Did you know that Beauty and the Beast was originally told as a story to soothe young girls going into arranged marriages?
Blood sprays onto my hands and a screeching howl shakes the shed. I hush it. Ripping a burlap sack from the wall, I shove the beast inside. I hear two knocks on the shed door and respond to my subjects with two further knocks. They enter – their small eyes peering at me from the paper bags over their heads. Within them, they have no identity – the rat and the bird.
Take it, I say. Burn it. Beat it. Toss it in a river, I don't care – just get rid of it.
My loyal subjects obey as they tie the sack and drag it out, the beast whimpering inside its now bloody burlap prison. I go outside and into the well where I throw the scissors and wash my hands clean in its murky water. I look into my tainted reflection and again that question races through my mind:
Is this really me?
I shake my head again and the thoughts subside. I hastily make my way back to the castle.
Broken from the heart down
I watch your face as you realise your friend is inside that cocoon of blood. I smile. I'm so happy. I'm so, so happy. Now, we can be together forever – just you and me. You can't blame me this time. You made the choice. You can't belittle me, not in front of my own kingdom.
Yet you do.
The impact of your slap stings across my cheek. I fall to the floor with a thud and see the petals of the roses I picked especially for you cascade down. You straddle me. Something's wrong. This isn't right. Why are you doing this? Stop it. You're hurting me!
Liar, you scream. Go away. Just go away!
You won't stop. My face is red raw with pain, heartache and humiliation. My subjects watch as their Princess is beaten by this lowly commoner. But the pain hits me hardest when I hear those razor-sharp words escape your lips:
I'll never forgive you. Not ever!
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening.
And as for the rest of you...
Everything has fallen apart. My kingdom; my aristocracy; my fairy-tale; myself. Tears well up in my eyes as I hear the clatter of my gift to you on the floor. I whimper as I stand. I turn to face you. I turn to tell you how I feel – about how much I love you, but I can't. I try to, but I can't. The tears overwhelm me, and I run as those sobs burst through my lips. I run away from you, from everything; everything and everyone which made me whole. Now, it is nothing.
Now, I am nothing.
Who am I?
In the rain I find a peaceful solace as that thought again comes to my mind:
Is this really me?
Dressed as the Prince I once loved, I prepare to journey to the Gingerbread House. This isn't me. Anything I knew about myself is washed away in the rain. After the rain, I wonder whether the sun will come. After the rain, there is nothing; and after the rain, there is everything.
After the rain, our story will end.