My first Troy-Fanfic.

I jsut got back from the theatre, seeing Troy for the second time, and was inspired to this little ficlet. I guess it gets clear towards the end, who is talking to whom. I hope you like it... and eer... that my English is allright.

Bitter Comfort

Her arms gently wrap around my trembling body, soft words try to sooth my pain, yet the comfort she gives me tastes bitter. I want to spit it out at her. I imagine myself digging my nails into her tender flesh, scratching her beautiful face, for in all her grace lies the misery of the world – a world that used to be my own – a world that is no more and never will be again.

She doesn't know it, doesn't feel the overwhelming wrath that is enveloping my sore heart.

Waves of disgust rush through my body with every tenderly-given touch of comfort. Hot tears form behind my lids. I cannot fight them any longer. They stream down my face, leaving me weak in her consoling embrace.

The world around me seems to tumble into a sea of cold-hearted agony. Helplessly I'm drowning in the innocent blue of her sorrowful eyes. I do not dare looking at them anymore, for they have seen the same horrors that have been burned into my mind, to dwell forever in my memory. Never will I forget them, and neither will she, I hope, for she's the one who caused them.

If not for her, my heart would still be whole, not torn apart into thousand bleeding pieces. With every shaken beat of it I feel the wound, that will not heal – ever.

If not for her, I would not desire to rip my eyes out, so I no longer have to look into hers, glisterning with tears, seeming to taunt my woe.

If not for her, I would not despise a soul so pure and loving, for I know that the justified guilt washes over her.

If not for her, I wouldn't hate myself for not honoring her consolation, her sisterly love and freely-given compassion.

If not for her, none of this devouring terror would have come to pass.

If not for her, he would still be alive, not being pulled through the filthy ground soaked with the blood that is on her hands alone. His body would not be shattered, wounded and sore, neither would be my heart. He would still come home to me, back into the affectionate embrace of my loving arms. He would see his son grow up and be a man that was risen with the undying faith in his caring father. Instead, his soul fades from this world, away from home, away from me.

All that is left of him is the sore spot inside my trembling body that once was a heart full of love for him.

He is dead. She murdered him.

END

Please tell me if you liked it.