Human
For the rest of her life, Amber Winters would blame herself for her brother's death, because she had decided to have spent the day playing at that particular side of central park in the evening instead of noon, after church, which is when the Winter's children usually played. Plenty of dissatisfaction had been expressed by their mother; and while this mainly had to do with suspicion of the four year old girl's sudden innovation. Amber felt she had paid attention to the undercurrent grumblings of the adults, looking back; perhaps it was a warning, which through her obscure hindsight, had been a slight but ominous suggestion of what was to come.
Though the Winters family loved to recount among themselves even the minor events of their family history - repeating word for word, with stylized narrative and rhetorical interpretations: entire death bed scenes, the barbaric routes of their nordic ancestry, even marriage proposals that had occurred a hundred years before. The events of that terrible July evening, were never discussed. Even the cruelest and most random disasters - the death by fire, of one of Amber's cousins; the hunting accident that had claimed her great uncle, were constantly rehearsed among them.
But her brother, William, their dear little Will. No more than a decade later, his death remained an agony; there was no glossing any detail; it's horror was not subject to repair or permutation by any of the narratives devices that the Winters' knew. And - since this willful amnesia had kept the William's death from being translated into that sweet old family vernacular which smoothed even the bitterest mysteries into a comfortable, comprehensible form. The memory of that day's events had a chaotic, fragmented quality, bright mirror shards of nightmare which flared at the smell of Hydrangea, the creaking of clothes lines dangling from the apartment windows, a certain stormy cast of summer moonlight
Sometimes these vivid flashes of memory seemed like pieces of a bad dream, as if none of it had ever happened. Yet in many ways it seemed the only real thing that had ever happened in Amber's life.
There should have been, at the very least, someone outside watching them. Amber was little over four, a heavy, bumbling toddler with a headful of blonde hair; like chardonnay and honey butter. She never cried. Her sister Nora, who was six, played quietly with an alley cat, on the grass. Unlike William - who, at that age, had talked incessantly and hilariously in a gravelly little voice, tumbling to the ground laughing at his own jokes. Nora was shy and skittish, and cried when anyone tried to make her eat or teach her the ABCs; and the three childrens mother paid little attention to Nora.
Amber was the last person to see him alive. Calling it, sisters intuition, she moved in such a way that it mimicked a rocking baby. She saw her sister, sitting, making a wasp like, humming sound. What's the matter? Said Amber. Where's Will? But Nora sat there, thumb in her mouth, staring at her younger sister with big, grave eyes. From the corner of her eye, Amber saw a flash of movement at the parks edge; close to the trees. Will? But when she looked up, nobody was there.
With an innate curiosity, she left her sister, walking towards the movement. She edged closer into the thicket of tree line. Following what she thought was footsteps, but only minimal grooves in the blooming grass. It was Mrs Smith (or something) who saw him first. The scream froze Amber, she ran towards the shrill cry, quick, quick, not quick enough - dry thunder rumbling in the distance. There she saw him.
He was hanging by the neck from a piece of cord, slung over a low branch, and a pair of boys, both in their early teens, tearing into his lower, hanging half. Entrails on the floor, and between their teeth. His flesh strewn across the pleasantly grown, now red, blue mistflowers. His legs were nothing more than bone, as they had just reached his sternum. Little more than the shoulders, neck and face had been preserved. His beautiful golden hair, very much like her own chardonnay and honey butter locks, gently ruffled and glinted in the breeze. It was the only thing right about him anymore. Like a bad dream, they turned to Mrs Smith (or something) eyes red, sclera black and thick. They tore into her like animals driven by starvation. First the arms, those were gone in seconds, each one flailing high as teeth ripped them from the sockets. Mrs Smith didn't scream anymore, one had her throat in his teeth, swallowing with a level of predatory hunger. Like wolves, they took the legs, ankles first, they were thrown wide across the park.
It was probably the sound that haunted her most. The sound of ripping flesh, that jugular noise as the arterial blood squirted into their mouths. A slurp every now and then, as they savored the delicate taste of raw meat. From vulgar lumps of flesh to divine sensation on their tongues and in their stomachs. She turned and ran, ran back home, grabbing her sister Nora. Never looking back. Black smoke poured through the family's apartment window. Meat flambe had gone up in the pan. They were her mother's favorite, but after that day, no one was able to touch them again.
"Amber!" The girl shook her head, the glint of her pale blue iris seen through the scope of the long rifle.
"Do you have a visual?" A second voice rang out, this one a little more desperate.
"Yes. I have a visual. Line of sight with target and Inspector Dirk." Amber focused, finding her grip on the sniper rifle. The 6x Magnification on the scope gave her perfect sight over the street.
It was a quiet night, much like the kinds seen in the movies, where a certain taste of silence had overcome the sexy romanticized air. She was chasing a different type of man, like the ones who ate her kin. They were called Ghouls, not much was known about them, other than they fed only on humans. A long range rifle held between her fingers, the only comfort she felt lying in that calm and cold room. She pulled back the bolt, and changed the channel on her ear piece.
"What's a pretty young thing like you doing out at a time like this?" She heard the man say over the comms.
"Oh, nothing. Just out for a stroll." Was the mousy girl's response.
Amber tilted her head, looking at picture from a wider perspective. The barrel of her weapon was poking through the abandoned apartments window. She lay horizontal across a table, her baby blue eyes curious at the scenes about to unfold.
"Inspector Winters, are you seeing this?" The constant questioning was starting to pester her. She looked back through the barrel, her finger coiling and uncoiling around the loose trigger.
"Yes sir, the target is taking the bait." She aimed narrowly down the street.
"Want me to walk with you, I'm sure we can find a nice place to uh, have some fun." The man grabbed the woman quickly. He wrenched her arm to the side and pushed her against the wall. She had perfect line of sight.
"Ahhhh! Leave me alone!" The girls eyes turned red and black and she shoved Inspector Dirk backwards. He pulled his handgun on her without a seconds hesitation.
"CCG, don't move or we will open fire!" He showed the startled Ghoul his badge. She hissed, spinning doing a high kick. The pistol was sent scuttling away from his hands. Investigator Dirk dove for it, but she quickly sliced a long red blade against the concrete. Cutting off his path.
"Take the shot Investigator Winters."
"Yes, sir." She squeezed the trigger, a muzzle flash, the Ghoul's eyes widened in realization. Her head popped and she fell dead. Pulling back the bolt, she got up on her feet. She pulled the window open and slipped down the fire escape. She approached Investigator Dirk. He held up the dead Ghoul by the hair.
"Clean shot Amber. Can't wait to make a Quinque out of this one."
"Nope, the rules dictate that the one who killed the Ghoul gets to make a Quinque out of the corpse.
"Get out of there, we have reports that the SS Ghoul 'Spider' is inbound!" Amber's eyes widened, taking her knife she hacked off the creatures Kagune, removing the shoulder blade and arm with it. She grabbed the bloodied piece and took off running with Dirk. This time she looked back, she saw him, Spider, descending from the walls. His mask, like the arachnid he got his name from, bared its fangs at her, before sweeping the corpse into its loving arms. From that distance, it almost looked as if it was crying.
Spider walked slowly through the street, the dead girl in his arms, her blood dripping from the hole in her skull, and the stump that was now her right shoulder, leaving a long trail behind him. Only 18, her name was Victoria, she bruised and sunburnt easily and she was quick to sombre feelings. She was the second sister of her family of Ghouls, and unexpectedly, she had grown up to be the pretty one: long legs, ram black hair, liquid, fawn brown eyes. All her grace was in her vagueness. Her voice was soft, her manner timid, her features blurred and dreamy. Victoria's bloom was delicate and timeless, like the flowering grass of summer, consisting wholly of a youthful freshness (that nobody knew better than he). She daydreamed, she sighed a lot, she stumbled when she walked, he laughed. Typical her, always the clumsy one, the foolish one. Still she was pretty, even now, in her own dead, milky way. And - he had loved her.
Gentle steps, he pushed the door to the small cafe. Opening it with his feet, he kicked it in lightly, and lay her on the table. He felt the lights turn on, the light glistened off his black coat, shimmering of his mask. He pulled it off, to reveal a crying teenage boy.
"Oh my god… is that…" He heard the voice of a woman, a little over twenty. She had pale hazel eyes that seemed to pop in the artificial lighting.
"Yes." He said, softly. Watching as her thickened blood seeped onto the floor, soaking into the tiles.
"I'll call the others." She said hesitantly, picking up her phone.
"Don't worry. I'll clean this up by the morning. Contact the family, I need to…" He swallowed, bile built up in his throat. "I need to make it look like an attack. Could you get rid of the trail in the street." She nodded, running outside to get to work. Closing his eyes, he began to eat. The woe he felt in his heart, as he could taste the feeling, of his love, fleshy and sweet. Go down his throat.
A/N
This is a story with completely original characters and settings, warning to those who feel I may incorporate existing characters or any canon ones, I most likely will not. If that isn't what you want to read that's understandable, just letting you know.