Perdition
a Supernatural fanfiction
by Fye Kurokawa
The thunder and the laughter
The last thing they remember
Good night, sleep tight, stranger.
Celebration Guns - Stars
Who would've ever thought that this would be the way she'd go? Who would've known that the whole world would go against her and tear her heart out? Who could've seen it coming?
One minute she was holding the newspaper, fingering through the paper with a piping hot mug of coffee in her right hand. Reading about a man who saved a woman--generally happy news for once, for a change, for a nice good solid change. One minute, she was happy, blissfully unaware that the world outside wasn't te way she had left it the night before, the week the month the year before. The entire surface of the planet had changed while she was still in the ignorant darkness of it all.
Oh, she was still in darkness. But it was a whole new kind of dark that no one wanted to meddle with. She had been willing to bet, in her younger and vaguely more naïve days, that even Lucifer would be scared to wander anywhere near that place. Near the place of the broken, the damned and the forgotten.
Darkness and light and heat so intense her skin would melt then cold so biting her skin would crack and bleed, and even the blood would freeze before it could even think about remembering how to coagulate.
She hadn't even been given the luxury of going down with a fight. One slash across the neck was all it took and she was gone. She was there--she was her and she was there again, but she was long gone, far beyond reach, no way anyone could ever bring her back. And they loomed over her, the both of them, and she tried to speak but slashed throats are never the best tools for speech.
She prayed before she was stabbed. Prayed and prayed and prayed and her other mind was desperately trying to shut her up and consume her whole. But she was strong, she was always a fighter. But it was a losing battle and it was always a matter of time before she would cave in and vanish altogether.
Vanishing seemed to be the lesser sin. She would take that the next time--would've taken that the next time if she had been granted a next time to go to.
Choked on her own blood.
Hadn't even been granted the right to say anything, do anything, not even move out of the way.
Hadn't been given the right to her own body until the final few seconds, when the lightning an fire in her gut had burned out and the pain had just begun to reach levels so high that hell would never be able to rival it.
She wasn't even given the chance to make herself known. She was just going to have to be doomed to a history of being forgotten and an afterlife of nothing but walking in circles.
It was funny, really.
Redemption had always seemed like a good thing. Four hundred years later, redemption wasn't redemption anymore and her cage was her soul, and her prison was God's lack of desire to save the very beings he created in his image.
But she doesn't know.
She doesn't know that she's the one that they couldn't forget. The one that didn't get away, but that tried to crawl out of her own body to save herself from an eternity of making up for her body's sins. White, volatile, beautiful, her soul had poked through but--
Because no one remembers the people who are killed, rather than exorcised.