This took me about six or seven minutes to write. It's one of my best
works as far as I'm concerned, though.
It's short, dark, and a little disturbing. Warnings are: violence, yaoi, and language.
~*~*~*~
The tears won't stop. No matter how hard he tries, they just keep coming. He's supposed to be emotionless; he's the perfect soldier. Not human. Not alive. Unable to feel. So why is he crying?
He's crying because there isn't supposed to be red there. There's only supposed to be purple cotton. Those pale white hands aren't supposed to be covered in blood. The soft little angel on the floor at his feet isn't supposed to be dying.
And she's laughing. The bitch that killed his angel is laughing, as his love lies slowly bleeding to death by her hand.
"You bitch." He whispers, his clenched fists shaking, his eyes shut tight against the horrible sight before him. "You bitch." He repeats, louder, opening his pain-filled eyes to glare at the brunette woman. "Why?" He demands.
"You're mine." She says, her voice shaking as much as the gun in her hands. "You're mine, and that queer slut will never take you away from me. I'm the queen of the world, dammit! Some little faggot doesn't have the right to contest my claim!"
"Shut up!" He screams, pulling his own gun on her. But his hands shake too much to aim. "Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch! I'm not yours! I don't belong to you! I never have!" His whole body begins to shake, and his knees give out on him. He falls with a barely audible splash in the growing pool of blood. "Why can't you understand?" He asks softly, resting his forehead on his hands.
"I do understand." She answers, dropping her gun. "I know he seduced you, love. Don't worry. I don't think any less of you. I can teach you the truth; I can purge you of all that whore's lies, if you'll only let me." Her voice still shakes, but not nearly as much.
He slowly raises his head to stare at her, poisonous hatred burning in the depths of his eyes. His gun levels at her heart of its own accord, and his finger pulls back slightly on the trigger.
"No." She says, as if denying what his eyes state plainly. "You won't shoot me. You love me, don't you? You love me." For once in her pampered life, she sounds unsure. She is afraid, he can see. Afraid that he doesn't love her, that he will shoot her. Afraid of the truth.
"Three bodies." He says coldly, ignoring for the moment his lover's warm blood and his own scalding tears. "When they come, there will be three bodies."
"No." She says again, her voice and body shaking violently once more. "No, dearest!"
She cannot plead for her life now; not after what she has done.
"Die with innocent blood on your soul, you self-centered bitch." He says angrily, pulling the trigger. "Know that I never loved you." He adds as her eyes fill with tears.
Her mouth works, opening and closing in the shape of his name, but no sound emerges. She falls to her knees, than her hands, then suddenly jerks back as the sound of a third shot fills the room, and another bullet buries itself in her flesh. She slumps against the door, a small hole in her chest and another marring the center of her perfect forehead.
"Forgive me, Lord." He whispers, glad of the distance between the bodies. Her tainted blood will not mix with either man's. "I have sinned; condemn me where you will. But please, Lord, let me see him one last time before you banish me. Amen." The last is an afterthought, a reflex. His mind has ceased thinking as his free hand takes the pale, familiar, well- loved frailty by his knee into its warm, shaking embrace.
Wordlessly, he raises the cool steel of the gun barrel to his temple. Closing his eyes, he pulls the trigger, one last time, taking a final life; his own.
The Perfect Soldier and the Arabian Angel breathe their last breaths as one.
~*~*~*~
God gods, I'm in a dark mood today. Please review and tell me what you think.
It's short, dark, and a little disturbing. Warnings are: violence, yaoi, and language.
~*~*~*~
The tears won't stop. No matter how hard he tries, they just keep coming. He's supposed to be emotionless; he's the perfect soldier. Not human. Not alive. Unable to feel. So why is he crying?
He's crying because there isn't supposed to be red there. There's only supposed to be purple cotton. Those pale white hands aren't supposed to be covered in blood. The soft little angel on the floor at his feet isn't supposed to be dying.
And she's laughing. The bitch that killed his angel is laughing, as his love lies slowly bleeding to death by her hand.
"You bitch." He whispers, his clenched fists shaking, his eyes shut tight against the horrible sight before him. "You bitch." He repeats, louder, opening his pain-filled eyes to glare at the brunette woman. "Why?" He demands.
"You're mine." She says, her voice shaking as much as the gun in her hands. "You're mine, and that queer slut will never take you away from me. I'm the queen of the world, dammit! Some little faggot doesn't have the right to contest my claim!"
"Shut up!" He screams, pulling his own gun on her. But his hands shake too much to aim. "Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch! I'm not yours! I don't belong to you! I never have!" His whole body begins to shake, and his knees give out on him. He falls with a barely audible splash in the growing pool of blood. "Why can't you understand?" He asks softly, resting his forehead on his hands.
"I do understand." She answers, dropping her gun. "I know he seduced you, love. Don't worry. I don't think any less of you. I can teach you the truth; I can purge you of all that whore's lies, if you'll only let me." Her voice still shakes, but not nearly as much.
He slowly raises his head to stare at her, poisonous hatred burning in the depths of his eyes. His gun levels at her heart of its own accord, and his finger pulls back slightly on the trigger.
"No." She says, as if denying what his eyes state plainly. "You won't shoot me. You love me, don't you? You love me." For once in her pampered life, she sounds unsure. She is afraid, he can see. Afraid that he doesn't love her, that he will shoot her. Afraid of the truth.
"Three bodies." He says coldly, ignoring for the moment his lover's warm blood and his own scalding tears. "When they come, there will be three bodies."
"No." She says again, her voice and body shaking violently once more. "No, dearest!"
She cannot plead for her life now; not after what she has done.
"Die with innocent blood on your soul, you self-centered bitch." He says angrily, pulling the trigger. "Know that I never loved you." He adds as her eyes fill with tears.
Her mouth works, opening and closing in the shape of his name, but no sound emerges. She falls to her knees, than her hands, then suddenly jerks back as the sound of a third shot fills the room, and another bullet buries itself in her flesh. She slumps against the door, a small hole in her chest and another marring the center of her perfect forehead.
"Forgive me, Lord." He whispers, glad of the distance between the bodies. Her tainted blood will not mix with either man's. "I have sinned; condemn me where you will. But please, Lord, let me see him one last time before you banish me. Amen." The last is an afterthought, a reflex. His mind has ceased thinking as his free hand takes the pale, familiar, well- loved frailty by his knee into its warm, shaking embrace.
Wordlessly, he raises the cool steel of the gun barrel to his temple. Closing his eyes, he pulls the trigger, one last time, taking a final life; his own.
The Perfect Soldier and the Arabian Angel breathe their last breaths as one.
~*~*~*~
God gods, I'm in a dark mood today. Please review and tell me what you think.