I want to tend to my things
and reduce the rest to rubble
Ripping, bashing
Crushing, picking
I go along the garden fence
And feel the urge again
I must destroy
But only if it doesn't belong to me
I must destroy
But only if it doesn't belong to me
A skinny boy, no more than ten, dark-haired, and lanky-limbed sat on the floor of his bedroom. A frown was set on his face as he stroked a single finger down the spine of an alchemy textbook, and then kissed the front cover. "One day, I'll put you to good use and get rid of that old man for good…" Then, he smiled, orange eyes flashing mischievously in the dim light of his room. He cuddled the book and crooned softly to it, uttering various terms of endearment as if it were a very close friend. He caressed the book gently, slender fingers sliding hypnotically across the front cover.
"As soon as I learn how, I'll make my own alchemy, and it'll be so perfect, not even he can say I'm not smart." He heard the knob of his bedroom door turn, which jerked him violently out of his reverie, and he tossed the book under his bed sheets, pretending to be drawing. His father, a great, wide, drunkard of a man burst through the door, a bottle of Moonshine in one hand. His graying hair was frazzled and unkempt, his dark eyes sunken deep into his skull from years of age and alcoholism that had finally caught up to him. His worn clothing were like that of the boy's, his shirt stretched over an enormous beer belly. He glared down at the boy with his tiny eyes, and started to shout. The boy was used to it by now, and had learned how to deal with it, but this was something entirely different.
"You been startin' things uppat the school, boy?" his words were slurred together and hard to understand, but the raven-haired boy knew,
"He deserved it. He made fun of me."
"Ain't nothin' wrong with what he'd done. Made funna yeh fer bein' a pansy, dinn 'e?" the enormous man chuckled, and the boy fumed, gritting his teeth to avoid saying something he'd regret, "Always said readin's a pansy hobby, but yeh go wit' yer nose stuck in some pansy-ass story, drawin' an' shit all the time. What're yeh drawin' boy?" he jerked the sketchbook out of the boy's hands, who growled angrily and jumped to his feet. "Ooh, alchemy, eh? Dumb bastard. No wonder nobody likes yeh. I never woulda done somethin' so dumb in my life."
"That's because you don't have the brains to do something like alchemy," he spat before he realized what he was saying, "You're always too drunk to do anything right! No wonder mom left you." The man gave him a reproachful look,
"Oh-ho! Think yer pretty tough, ain't you, boy? Nah, yer mom left 'cuz she couldn't handle me," he chuckled.
"Cocky for a lonely old man. She left you because you were a waste of breath, a waste of life." CRACK! His father's hand connected with the side of his face, sending him to the floor. He touched the burning hand print on the side of his face, glaring up at the man above him. His father stood there, nostrils flaring like an angry bull, unkempt mustache, red skin, and sheer girth making him look like a sunburned walrus.
"Watch yer mouth, boy." And he left, slamming the door closed behind him.
I'll take your belongings
I'll annihilate them
Sawing, stripping
Not asking, smashing
And now the supreme discipline
Pulling the head off a doll
Hurting, tearing, corroding
Destroying
But only if it doesn't belong to me
I must destroy
He began to obsess, poring over anatomy textbooks while in class, pretending he was paying attention, and alchemy books in his spare time. He learned everything he needed to know, but there was one thing that drew him in like a moth to a candle. He longed to apply alchemy, the science of reconstruction, to death and destruction. The trick was, how?
Now a gangly teen, raven hair unkempt and growing past his shoulders, jaw slightly defined with his age, he rolled over onto his stomach while laying on his bed, careful of his aching right arm, which was wrapped in a sling; he was recovering from a badly broken arm, but refused to tell the entire truth. Yes, it had been his father's fault, but to those who asked he had said he'd fallen down the stairs. He would deal with this problem when the time came, not allow it to fall into the hands of the police, who would deal insufficient punishment to that ungrateful bastard. Something was going to be done, but there would be far more pain involved.
Over and over again he'd tried and failed at inventing a successful array, but at the very least he had been able to come up with a base: the plain circle was definitely the best, perhaps the addition of text to describe the use of the array in alchemic terms once he found a use for it. For the fifteenth time that night, he crumpled the paper he'd been drawing on and tossed it into the corner of his room, which had grown quite cluttered since he never really had time to clean it. His forehead dropped against the open pages, and he spoke softly to himself,
"It's in here… I know it is…" he sighed, "Maybe I'm doing this wrong…" he picked the book up in his good hand, cradling it against him like he had so many times before, "You've never hidden anything from me before, so why now? I'm so close… All I need to know is how to make this array… That's all I need to know… Please… I'm tired of that asshole, and only you can help me." And then, and idea struck him, and instantly he was back to his sketching, flipping through the pages to various alchemical symbols as he needed them. Yes… Perfect… The combination of opposing symbols, the sun and moon, a triangle on one side, and inverted one on the opposite side, combine those with outside agents and… A pleased chill shot up his spine at the thought, his body quivering with delight at what he might be capable of with his new alchemy.
The only sad thing was, he couldn't use it until that arm healed.
I would like to destroy something
But only if it doesn't belong to me
I want to be a good boy
But the desire overtakes me
I must destroy
But only if it doesn't belong to me
The other students eyed him strangely as he strolled past them in the halls, taking his newly cheery attitude in the strangest manner: instead of being friendly toward him, they backed away, as if something was wrong. Ah, well, he paid them no mind. His sling had come off today, and when he got home that night, he was going to end this abuse once and for all.
As he walked home, almost tempted to skip along as he ran his fingers across the fences, he grinned, but it was not a happy grin. It was the grin of a madman, a person done nothing but wrong by the world, a person who was going to change the order of events in his favor. His front door was pushed open, his father asleep on the couch with his usual bottle of liquor clutched in one of his massive hands. Good. That gave the young man time to draw his arrays and prepare himself for one hell of a night of fireworks.
He'd decided that the palms of his hands was the best and fastest way to use his alchemy, so the arrays were drawn there, first on his left, with the symbol for the moon inscribed inside, and then on his right, the symbol for the sun. Luckily, he had become somewhat ambidextrous as time had passed, so drawing such arrays on both hands was nothing. He heard his father awaken, heard him bellow his name and demand he come out of his room. The young man grinned, and stepped out.
"Yeah? What do you need?"
"Don't take that tone with me, boy," he snarled. Wow. For once in his life, his father wasn't trashed. Well, all the better for him to have a clear head when he died. "You spend too much time locked up in that room of yours. Doing alchemy, aren't you?!" he grabbed his son violently by the shoulders and shook him, "Why don't you make yourself useful and do your school work instead? Hm?"
"Because," he shoved his father away, egging him into a fight, "I can get by just as well with alchemy. Do you have any idea how much people will pay to get a skilled alchemist to work for them? That's what I want to do. The jobs pay better."
"I won't have MY son obsessing over some stupid magic tricks!"
"It's not magic. It's science."
"Science my ASS," he loomed over his son, glaring down at him with his tiny, beady eyes, "It's time you get a MAN'S job and stopped playing with magic. Listen to me, boy!"
"Hell no." WHAM. This time, a fist connected with his jaw, and the young man stumbled back, falling against the counter behind him, clutching his jaw which, surprisingly, was not broken. For a moment, he regained himself, his father's glare triumphant, but the young man looked up, an angry flare starting in his fiery orange eyes, dark hair falling before them. He dashed forward, and dodged a second fist, connecting with his father's massive belly and sending him to the floor, where he sat, glaring, his father sweating and exhausted. "I'm tired of what you do to me. You drink, you come home, you beat me for your mistakes." He lifted his hands, showing the inked arrays on his palms, and grinned like the maniac he was becoming, "Know what this is, father? This is what I've been working on for the past five years, and now… You get to be my first test subject. How does that make you feel?" Now, his father's rage had been replaced by fear, eyes widening,
"W-what are you going to do?"
"Stick around and I'll show you," his voice had dropped to a sultry purr, and his palms came to rest on his father's great belly. There, with so very little effort, he rearranged chemicals, rewired the body's construction, all in a split second. His father had tried to yell, but the sound was caught in his throat, forced back down as his flesh began to bubble beneath his son's hands. The young man's breath came quicker with excitement, his grin widening as his father began to glow white, and then BOOM! With a fiery explosion, he was instantly incinerated. The sound had been deafening, the kitchen of his house blown to pieces, but the young man himself was not harmed, left to sit on a burnt patch of floor, his hands flat on the scorched and blackened tile.
Slowly, he began to laugh, from a soft, barely audible chuckle until it escalated to an insane cackle of glee, his body racked with a shudder, the sadistic pleasure making him giddy. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. There could have been nothing more pleasurable than this alchemy, nothing in the world!
"YESSSSSS!" He sighed, and pushed himself back to lean against the wall, still grinning. Now, all he needed to do was find a job that required one of his skill… He loved destruction, and he knew of one place to go.
Ripping, bashing
Crushing, picking
Chopping and stealing
Not asking, smashing
Tearing, hurting
Burning, then running
Sawing, stripping
Breaking, avenging