Wires Untold
J.M. Seaton
Chapter 1
Age 18, 2012, Thursday May 3rd – Friday May 4th
He stood beside the tourniquet adorned corpse of his brother, Greed, a needle in his arm – heroin overdose, a familiar phantasmagoria of colour and fury in this world where all he knew was pain. Envy, the troubled soul trapped in a troubled boy; and how it whispered to him in his sleep, that he must call to arms, and slice them open. He stood up and walked to the window, the ambulance had only just arrived… ten minutes too late to save his kith and kin.
The next day was torture.
"Fuck you, faggot!" Solf Kimbley screamed in the hallway to class – an irony profound in his words as he was found sleeping with a male teacher last year.
"… Get out of my fucking way, or I'll fucking slice open your stomach and feed you your intestines and liver." Envy said, a menace in his tone that no one had heard and could easily be mistaken for psychopathy if not for the circumstances.
"Woah, no need to get so defensive fag," said the opposition, as he moved out the way of Envy, "no need to threaten me."
Bullies, they're everywhere in Amestris High, just like they're everywhere in the Capital City. Bullying you into a dead-end job, into paying taxes to a government that abuses you, into taking an overdose. This was tearing Envy in two, there were wires untold in his heart – it split his psyche into more than one person. He'd made his mistakes in the past, but he never wanted for this to happen to Greed.
"A day at a time," said his psychiatrist, "each week will be a challenge, but you'll get through it."
Empty words, he thought, that filled him with nothing but more hatred for the world.
4 Years Later, 2016, Monday 21st of March
Rain poured on the keys of the street piano, sliding off the dirty cream keys. A man dressed as a clown with a name-tag saying: "Hello, I'm Pierrot", was sat on the bench next to the library. A group of teenagers walked up to him, asking him if he'd got a light for them.
"No," he said, "but I've got a pocket full of a nasty surprise."
"The fuck you mean by that?" said the arrogance within them, the bitter taste of youthful ignorance "You some kind of creep?" said the boy at the front, as he pulled out a six inch blade.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Laugh.
Curtain falls.
Good joke.
The clown had shot all three teenagers in their skulls before any of them had any time to react. Bits of brain splattered all over cold cement, in a pool of blood and dirt.
Pierrot got to his feet, people came flocking after he'd left, after they saw the bodies lying lifeless. People love a tragedy.
Age 22, 2016, Thursday, March 31st
The door creaks open, Envy's sat watching television in nothing but a top that was too short to hide his dick, wearing smothered lipstick and eye liner.
"Who could it be?" he asked, knowing full well it was his boyfriend Ed.
"Think you could put some clothes on tomorrow? My bastard dad wants to visit for some reason."
"I'll think about it," Envy said, lustfully, he'd been waiting for Ed to get back from work all day, "You heard about this clown killer?"
"Yeah, it's been plastered over the news all day. Saw a fuck tonne of newspapers in stalls talking about that shit." Ed replied.
"Yeah… oh well," Envy said, getting up to his bare feet, and leaning over to his short lover, "Let's fuck?"
"I've just got back from work, Envy." Edward said, sighing, and hiding a smile with his long, blonde hair.
The androgynous one of the two, biting softly on his finger, as if he'd done something wrong – playing the innocent party always, even if he never really was innocent, he replied "So?"
"So you read my mind."
A Year Before, 2015, Sunday 31st of May
A party struck up with powerful reason, a 21st Birthday for Envy. His mother had turned up with unnoticeable reasoning – nor was she invited. She dragged everyone down around her, so why she'd want to do that at her own son's birthday is beyond everyone else's knowledge.
Lust had come too, but with far less malicious intent, wanting only the best for her little brother. She was, of course, the only person he could have confided in for the majority of his childhood and teenage-years.
Edward was at this point his secret, a love he could never admit to his family – with good reason too. This was a bruise that would not fade away or a scar that would heal, however… and he knew it. He loved Edward, even with all his faults – his alcohol abuse, which would surely destroy the atmosphere of the night later. Suspended from seven different schools for bad behaviour, and he'd never really finished college, Edward saw no reason to live most of the time – no reason for his life.
But Envy brought him that – that's all he wanted to show him.
"Happy birthday, beautiful," said Edward, smiling vehemently within his drunken stupor, giggling softly while almost looming over Envy "Want to take it to the sack?"
All of Envy's family staring at them, Envy going red in the face – embarrassment deluxe. None of them knew he was with Ed, not even Lust – to whom he confided in with everything. It was at this moment Dante spoke up: "You're not my son."
Age 22, 2016, Thursday, March 31st
Laying down together, naked skin against naked scarred skin. Envy runs his fingers across Edward's chest, as his head lay softly against his shoulder. He knew all of this was as happy as he could be. He knew that the darkness in his lifeless existence was lit apart by physical and emotional desires to be fulfilled. Edward wasn't just a means to an end, he was the only means and the only end.
"Remember when my mother disowned me?" Envy said, cupping the side of Edward's face and bringing his lover's face to his own.
Interspersed with eyes looking away in shame, and a long silence beforehand, Edward replied hesitantly "… Yeah."
"Thanks for that." Envy said, smiling softly.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically and brutally honest, but not with as much brutality and passion as Envy's next words.
"I mean it. She'd fucked me over so much. I still blame her for Greed's death."
I, as to you is he,
And me to he,
And he to me,
We divide for.
Death, unto me,
And convex
Convolution sombre
He speaks in images:
"I, whom conquer,
And, to death
Squander…
Return."
For he: aeons ventured
In sake of the redeem
Of titles,
Which may only be felt.