Alright. This is a piece that I wrote for a class that I am taking, and the point of the assignment was to re-write a story from the point of view of someone other than the original narrator(s). I chose Angels, by Poppy Z. Brite. I had a fun time working on this assignment, especially since one-shots are completely new to me. Anyway, enjoy!
Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Angels, or the twins, they are the intellectual property of Poppy Z. Brite, and I am not making any profit off of this. Please don't sue me. I have no money, I am but a poor college kid.
Twins
In the beginning we were together. Together, as one, as before we were. In torrents of blood and screams and pain we were wretched apart. No one had asked us if we were two or one, just ripped and tore away our flesh, tore us apart. The place where we were once together hurt so badly, a hurt that nothing could cure. We ached, empty holes that should have been filled by each other. They even gave us two names, Michael and Samuel, but no one ever used the names. We were nothing more or nothing less than simply the twins.
For years we had tried all the magic and sorcery we could think of. We would sleep in mama's sewing room while she ran her machine, and dream that they were putting us back together again. Nothing worked. In a fit of desperation we stole mama's bible and scoured it for help. In the field behind the house we called to god to fuse us back into one. When we learned that god had forsaken us, we slipped into the darkness under the porch and called the devil, but even he had abandoned us. We were somewhere in the middle, one person torn in two, and there was no one to put us back together. "What made you think we wanted to be cut apart, anyway?" We asked mama that day.
Then we had found razors and we called forth the rivers of blood and pain. We had pressed so close, our cuts lined up against each other, and chanted. "Together, together, together. One, together." We pushed, and held, and cradled each other close until we couldn't stand, until we slid to the floor into a puddle of blood. We were going to be one, and Even then we didn't let go, not until they pulled us apart again. We fought, dizzy and weak, tried to make them understand, but they had closed our cuts, and we stayed torn in two.
And then, on one of the hottest days of summer, as we threw our wishes and prayers into our wishing well, he came. Our brother called him an angel. He was as golden as all the angels in mama's bible, but we didn't believe in angels. He played his music for us, wild and filling us up to the brim. We had to touch him, had to feel him. He let us, he didn't shy away from our hands and mouths, though we bit and tore at him.
That night we heard him through the door and the walls and the ceilings, as loud as a scream though only a whisper. "I know what they wish for!"
He came to us then, where we lay in brother's room, and we let him hold us and we weren't just one split in two, we were two split in three. He had come to save us, and we believed in angels as we had never before. He carried us, together, one in each arm, to the car brother had fixed, and laid us on the soft leather seat and held us until we slept.
In the morning we hid, just as the angel had told us to, until the other stopped the car and we told them we were hungry. The angel gave us clothes and gave us pie, but we only ate the apples. The angel watched us until the other asked what they were going to do with us. The angel told him to take us to the city.
When we finally got to the city, the angel told us to stay in the tiny dark room. When he came back, he picked us up and carried us from the room, into the darkness, into the night. He crooned to us soft works in his gravelly sweet voice, "together, one, together, together." He carried us in his arms through the winding streets, away from the sounds of people. He brought us to a man who stared at us with wide eyes and grubby fingers, but the angel wouldn't let go of us until the man assured him that he could make us one. The angel had found someone who could make us one again, someone who could finally do what we couldn't. We were going to be one.
The man left us alone with the angel, and he set us down and pushed us together. He wrapped his leather jacket around our shoulders, and he kissed us and caressed us, and we were happy. The angel had saved us; we were going to be one. We kissed him and caressed him back and when the man came back our angel gave him an envelope and kissed us again and he disappeared out the door.
In the beginning we were together. Together, as one, as before we were. In torrents of blood and screams and pain we were wretched apart. No one had asked us if we were two or one, just ripped and tore away our flesh, tore us apart. Only our angel had understood. Only our angel had ever tried to help us get back to being one. In torrents of blood and screams and pain we were mended and put right. We didn't see the blood, or hear the screams, or feel the pain. But through the drug haze we could feel it. The place where we once hurt so badly, we were put together, and the empty ache disappeared. Together, as one, as before we were. In the end, we were together.
As an end note, I have to say that before I did this piece I never really understood or used repetition in any form. Since writing this piece I've really come to enjoy it.
P.S. - For all those people who read my other fanfictions, I'm working really hard on the others, when I have time between work and class. More stuff is on the way, I promise!
Thanks for reading, and please review!