TEARS OF A DEMON
By Song of the Black Wolf
PROLOGUE
AN: This story is inspired by another fanfic on this sight named "Forbidden" by Girl in the Dark and MARIAHJEAN. There are three chapters in this story that will follow "Forbidden very closely. Warning: This story contains graphics scenes of rape, torture, homosexual (man on man) sex and some religious themes. Rated MA for a reason.
Chapter warning: Depicts Suicide
Rain pelted heavily against the large windows. The only illumination came from the frequent strikes of lightning. But he didn't need light. He could play the grand piano before him from memory alone. Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' echoed through the empty church, occasionally drowned out by the roar of thunder. It was a perfect night to die.
A knife lay abandoned on the floor beside the piano. Blood dripped audibly from his elbows onto the floor and down his fingers onto the ivory keys as he played. He should have done this years ago. He should have rid himself of his pain and freed himself of the shackles of this life a long time ago. But instead, he'd held out hope that maybe . . . just maybe, something would change; life would get better; someone would want him; somehow he'd be given a chance. That hope lead to nothing but more pain.
Life had been nothing but pain, torment and grief since he could first remember. His parents had been good enough to him, if he recalled correctly. He remembered little of them other than he always had food, clothes and a comfortable place to sleep. One day, however, they simply never came home. He never knew what happened to them. All he knew was that he was abandoned and alone.
He couldn't quite remember how the man he ended up living with got a hold of him. In fact, he didn't think he even wanted to remember. It wasn't so bad at first, but the way the man touched him made him very uncomfortable. It didn't hurt though, until one day the man decided touching wasn't enough. The poor boy felt like his body was being split in two as the man raped him. He had screamed in pain, and with it came a burst of tears.
The tears . . . they were the bane of his existence. He did everything he could nowadays to prevent himself from crying. Any rush of emotion that produced a sudden burst of tears, also produced what were known as tear gems. Tear gems were exceptionally rare and as such, exceptionally valuable. People who could produce them were extremely rare; the last person to have the curse had lived nearly a thousand years ago. Most tear gems were created in moments of extreme sorrow, anger or pain. Rarest and most beautiful and highly prized of all, were the tear gems formed from tears of pure joy and happiness.
He'd never had such luck. It was too easy for the greedy to get tear gems from pain and grief to bother with making someone happy enough to cry. From the moment the man had seen the boy's tear gems first scatter across the floor, the man went out of his way to inflict as much pain as he could on the boy. Worse still, the man was the worst kind of criminal. The man forced him to learn everything from extortion, forgery and theft, to torture and murder. Golden-brown gems of guilt rained down as the child committed his first murder.
He wasn't sure if it was a survival mechanism to retain his sanity, or whether it was because his sanity was lost, but over time, he began to enjoy the power he had to inflict pain on others; to give out what he had received all of his life. Maybe he was just taking out his pain and frustration on his victims. His victims were usually other murderers, molesters and rapists. He was a monster, pure and simple. The man who raised him never let him go. The man kept him close to beat and rape and steal from. The man continued to force him to inflict suffering on others. There was only one way to escape the nightmare called life.
The music slowed and the occasional sour note could be heard. His eyelids grew heavy. He was so tired . . . Tired of the pain and humiliation and suffering; tired of the constant guilt he felt; tired of being hated; tired of being reviled even when he protected someone; tired of living in fear; tired of living, period. The church was a fitting place to leave this life, he figured. It was the one place he had ever felt safe. He continued to play slower as his vision narrowed, and the music began to sound distant. At long last – sweet oblivion.