Praying
Pairings: None
Duo's POV
Warnings: language, Duo angst
Disclaimer: Aww…can't I just? Oh, guess not. No, I don't own them. sigh
The opinions in this are not those of the author or necessarily those of the actual character.
Everyone has a fucked up past I guess. I mean, some kids get their heads bashed in every night by drunken loser fathers or watch their kid sisters and moms get smacked around. Other kids go through hell on earth when they're in school. People sayin' things about them all the time; checking over their shoulders before they start a new rumor to make sure they're not around. Nerd, geek, pussy, fag. Other kids just slip through the cracks and end up splattering their brains all over their bedroom floors or slicing open their wrists with the razors from dad's BIC®.
God if only I had that. Then at least I would have been a kid. I'm 15 going on 100, I swear it. There's times when I wish to God that I hadn't ever been born. Pretty sick, huh? This isn't like me. I'm not usually so morbid. I'm a wise cracking lunatic grinning punk ass kid. Quite ironic for the God of Death if I do say so myself. Yet sometimes I just wish I could look back on something from my youth and smile. All my best memories all went to hell in a fucking hand basket.
Sometimes though I long for the screwed up days of living on the streets. Everything was so much simpler then. We lived simply. Like animals. You ate, you didn't eat, or you got eaten. Kids are so freakin' resilient. I took to sleeping in dumpsters and eating in dumpsters like flies to shit. Begging's hard though. People really suck most of the time. 'Hey sir, I'm seven and starving, care to lend me some change?' 'Fuck off squirt.' That's what's at the heart and soul of ever human being: I look out for numero uno so fuck off squirt.
There're exceptions to every rule though. I met some pretty kick ass people in my pre-gundam years. That's how I think of my life: before gundam and after gundam. BG and AG. God I'm clever. Father Maxwell welcomed me into his orphanage with open arms. Yeah, he was the shit. Sister Helen too. She braided my hair for the first time. We were like a real family and all…well if you didn't notice that we lived in a church. They died though. Like everyone else who gets too near the God of Death. I'm not really up to talking about them yet, 'specially 'bout how they died. It's still too recent, too…near me.
Sometimes I fucking hate myself. What a callous bastard I am. "They died." Yeah, cool Maxwell. But I'll just paste a big 'ole happy grin on my mug and kick those thoughts to the back of my skull.
But It hurts. It hurts so much.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear I can still smell candles burning and incense wafting through the pews. Other times I wake up to the sound of the old organ thumping away. I am so sure when I wake up at times that I'm still in the bare but clean dorm room of the orphanage and I'm going to tromp down the creaky stairs to early morning Mass. After early Mass Sister Helen always cooked us kids a good hearty breakfast. Oatmeal or fried up potatoes, or if we were really lucky, we'd get fluffy pancakes. It's pretty weird to think of a church as home, but to me that's what it was. I was happy back then. I was really happy. 'Till God had to take his huge meaty fist and squash it all. Fucking bastard.
People think I'm all religious just 'cause I wear this priest get-up. Really I just am too lazy to change my whole look. Besides, it makes me distinctive. Nothing like turning a few heads now and then. Of course they could just be ogling my kickin' hair. Whatever, either way I like having people notice me. I've always liked attention. Good or bad. Guess that's why I'm such a trouble-maker. Some people think I'm obnoxious about attention, but that's the way I am. Like or lump it asswipe.
But I digress. I haven't been to Mass in two years. It's a sin not to go every week. I remember that much at least. I don't remember the Lord's Prayer or that one about Mary. Hail Mary full of Grace…something something something. I suppose I'm going to hell now, but was there any question of that before? I mean I'm pretty sure killing people gets you sent to hell too.
I wonder if Father Maxwell and Sister Helen are looking down from heaven at me. I still believe in all that heaven/hell jazz…I'm not an atheist or anything. It would be a pisser to go through a whole war without believing in something. God's still up there for me and all, it's just that I think he's a dick. I wonder what they think when they see me. They're probably disappointed as hell.
I think about them a lot lately. Everywhere I go I get slapped in the face with reminders of The Church. Sometimes I wish…no. Don't even go their Maxwell. God turned his back on you and shit all over your head. You don't even have anyone. Ok, maybe the guys. But even they don't really count. I mean, we said we'd be pals, best buds, even brothers for life but where are they now? Not friggin' here.
Alright, let's suspend reality for a moment here. Suppose I just made up my mind and went back. Suppose I just waltzed into some church somewhere and stayed for Mass. Suppose it's Christmas Mass…and the whole church is lit up with soft white candles and evergreen boughs hang from the entrances, and the whole Mass is in Latin like I haven't heard since I was a child…
But that won't happen. I'm too angry with my religion to do that. Wait, my religion? Where the fuck did that come from? I'm too angry with that religion to even consider going back. There. That's better. Then why can't I stop thinking about it?
Who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second… 1
Maybe I'll just try to remember a prayer. Maybe that will take care of the problem. You hear that God? I'm going to try to pray now. Sorry, I haven't done this in a while. I don't know if I'll get it right. Maybe I'll try the Mary prayer…I always liked her.
Hail Mary, full of Grace,
Pray for us sinners..
No wait. That's not right. Let's try it again.
Holy Mary, Mother of God
Pray for us sinners…
Shit. I did what I felt I had to do damn it! Why the fuck do you care anyway?! You weren't there for me! You weren't there for Father Maxwell or Sister Helen or the rest of the little kids when those fucking soldiers hunted them down and blew their brains out and burned the church! You weren't fucking there. You've never been there for me so why should I feel sorry for what I've done? I don't feel sorry! I'm Not Sorry!! You rot in Hell God! Get the fuck out of my life!
Hail Mary, full of Grace,
The Lord is with you.
Blessed are you among women,
And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death. Amen. 2
Pray for me Mary. Pray for me to God. Tell him I didn't mean it. Tell him I'm sorry. God I'm so sorry. Pray for me. God help me.
I'm praying. I'm praying. I'm praying.
I didn't think Duo would be so hard to write but it turns out he's a very complicated character. What did people think? I don't know if I should turn this into a larger story with my first story Drowning…any thoughts?
Thank you so much to those who reviewed Drowning. I'm so glad you thought it didn't suck.
-NostalgieMalaak
1 From Howl by Allen Ginsberg
2 Hail Mary