What Am I?, an artemis fowl fanfic

I am Artemis Fowl the second.

Most of the time, when I'm not too over come with it all (or more to the point, when I am) I loathe being the person I am.

Correction. I'm not quite sure what I am anymore. But whatever I am-

Whatever I was-

Whatever I've become-

I know-

I killed him.

I killed my father.

I killed him without trying.

My hands are not stained red.

No-

Not at all-

I am one big, bloody, red stain, all on my own.

The things I've done-

The things I've seen-

Any man would be brought to his knees, begging forgiveness.

But I am not-

I'm not any man-

I'm not a man at all.

I don't know what I am.

I am Artemis Fowl the second.

Now the only.

"Mother?"

Silence.

I cracked the door an inch and put my eye to the slit. I squinted.

"Mother?"

More silence. The same silence that a knife makes as the wielder brings it down, just before it plunges into you.

The room was dark, he only light coming from the small gap were the curtains didn't meet.

I could see mothers body curled up on the bed, arching her back, caving in on herself.

Weeping.

I flung open the door, even though it was socially impolite, even though it was improper to invade privacy, being the Irish Elite I was.

To hell with that. This was my mother.

"Mother!" I barked.

Her sobs hitched and she took her hands from her face and looked up at me, her face one big smear of mascara.

The shaft of light from the hallway shone in and illuminated her wet, blue eyes.

The look on her face was-

It was-

It-

Anguish. As though someone had just ripped her own arm off. And-

And-

Oh God-

And-

And hate. Hate. Hate as if I were the one who had done the ripping.

"Mother." I whispered, standing there in the doorway like a dunce.

"Artemis. I see your home. Snf. How was Greenland?" She was still crying openly. It was odd. Such a conversational thing, said in the voice of a terrorism victim.

I ignored her. "Mother, where's father? Why are you so upset?" I took a step into the room.

Mother ignored me as well. She slid her legs from under her and over the side of the bed. She held out her arms to me. "Give mummy a hug." she whispered and stood, slightly shorter than myself.

She looked like a skeleton swathed in a pink satin nightgown. I shivered. Her plea had a hard edge to it.

So I did-

I stepped into the folds of her nightgown-

Her brittle arms embraced me-

I smell the sickly scent of lilies-

I felt her cold cheek press against mine-

Exactly how I would imagine a hug from a skeleton would be-

And then-

"Timmy's dead..." her words, drifted to my ear like feathers.

My knees nearly buckled.

I whipped out of her hug and grabbed her wrists like vice grips.

She stayed silent-

I stayed silent-

We just stared at one another. My heart was pounding like it would explode. Perhaps that would have been for the best.

Something in mother's eyes had changed.

The word "insanity" came to me.

"Timmy's dead." She said again.

And then-

The unthinkable-

The really unthinkable-

Happened.

She smiled.

And then she giggled.

She giggled and let herself fall back onto the bed, arms splayed, and sunk in, like a child in a snow bank.

And she-

And THEN she-

"Timmy's dead, he lost his head!" she sang and giggled, her blond curls like a halo around her head.

I couldn't help it-

I really couldn't-

I sank to my knees on the vine patterned carpet. And I didn't count to nine. Because who cares? Who bloody cares?

"He can't be..." I mumbled. I lifted my head, "How do you know?"

The giggling stopped.

There was a pause in which I thought she had stopped breathing altogether.

And then she said, "He was... he was overcome with stress. He got... drunk. And he hit me."

"I was crying and he locked himself in out bathroom. When... when he didn't come out... I went in. I went in to check on him and... and I-" she begins sobbing again.

I pushed myself up and grabbed her by the shoulder. "YOU WHAT?" I screamed at her.

"I FOUND HIS BODY! I FOUND HIS BODY AND I LEFT IT THERE!" She screamed back. Then she collapsed on the bed and her sobs quickly turn to giggles.

"HE'S BEEN THERE FOR THREE DAYS!" Her giggles turned more harsh. "A ROTTING CORPSE, BECAUSE I WAS SCARED TO SAY ANYTHING!"

She pointed at the bathroom door. The bathroom containing my father. "AND IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, GO SEE FOR YOURSELF!"

Did I really have a choice?

I didn't-

No choice-

No choice at all-

So-

I did.

I got up and walked to the bathroom.

My chest was so tight-

My chest was SO tight.

My fingers clutched the door handle to the bathroom in mother and father's room-

And it was building-

It was building inside of me-

This feeling.

And it was too much-

Much too much-

And my eyes blurred –

And by hand clenched the knob so hard it was starting to look feeling-

So-

So I-

I threw the door open.

And I expected to see the rotting body of my father.

But I saw nothing. The only thing present was the disgusting stench of dead.

My eyes flitted around the room like humming birds, until finally resting on the enclosed shower.

Or more to the point, the floral shower curtain fastened to the glass.

Meant to hide-

Meant to disguise-

I licked my dry lips, and took a shaky step forward.

My finger nails latched onto the glass door-

It seemed a thousand times harder to slide it back-

A new cloud of the dead stench poured out and almost made me gag-

Tears ran from my eyes-

And my hands shook violently-

And in one quick motion-

I tore the shower curtain away.

There hung my father.

A rope around his neck, the other end tided to the titanium show head.

His body was slumped against the glass-

His eyes open-

His bloody eyes-

Looking at me-

Taunting me-

Where were you son? They say-

Where were you when I went mad.

And I-

I can't take it-

I can't take it anymore-

So turned quickly-

Grasping for the edge of the porcelain sink-

And I retch-

I empty myself-

And then I cry-

I cry in the middle of the bathroom floor.