Pure Rebellion
A Fanfiction…
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Author's Note: To spare myself from the rabid fangirls, this is a fanfiction and nothing more about my beliefs on Jasper Hale's past from his POV…not that this is the literary truth in Meyer's head…it's just something that always struck me odd about Jasper…but to my fans I thank you for reading through, as I begin to place my own ideas into print in the upcoming hopefully novel I am working on "Vampire Genesis" which the first chapter will soon be on Fictionpress…thank you all for your support and a special thanks to my BETA Savannah Cullen, I couldn't do this without her own opinionated feelings of twilight and most of my work in general, point is that I couldn't do this without her and of course my knowledge of her killing me if I made a shitty half assed work without showing her. Since this will most likely be my last fanfiction before I begin my novel I hope you enjoy it, it's AU I suppose and well I just like Jasper Hale's past the most since it feels like there are holes, maybe a tapestry of deceit and well that's the idea…enjoy!
Hope to see you guys at Borders when my book hopefully gets published! Look for it soon, and check on my other works on here and Fictionpress.
Ben Zephyr (my true name will be revealed when I announce the book people D thanks for your support again, see ya soon!)
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XXXXXXXXXXX ACT I XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
My entire life is a lie. I have stood here and took in all the pain and deceit of this life, removed for over a century from Faulkner's south into this prototypical home in Washington State. Each day in Forks, is just another piece of this mask I have built for myself up here.
My name is Jasper Hale, and I have committed the greatest sin, murder. That murder was of my past, what I was…what I truly am, and in this immortal coil I can never forgive myself. How long could this charade really last?
I took a deep long breath in the darkness, counting the tiles before me on the ceiling as I felt the cold movements of lips against my chest. Not even she knew, my love and soul, she was blind. Alice at the moment in bed had her naked, porcelain arms wrapped peacefully around the back of my neck.
Those soft, almost angelic hands of hers where stroking my locks of hair, and her lips where now pressed against my chest in her loving embrace. The sounds of "I love you Jasper" and "I Will Always" whispering softly out of that beautiful throat she had, coming from that beautiful voice she had. How could I ever break it to her?
How sweet and perfect she is, oh my sweet adoration. I raised my hands and began stroking her dark short hair causing her to smile and begin to give a more profound kiss onto my neck and then cheek. Then she raised herself to my lips and began giving her passion to me.
How could I ever tell her all I was, was a lie? After the kiss she in a way to tease me returned to her earlier position, resting on my chest with a satisfied smile on her face. I gave off a large grimace and continued stroking her, my love…how could I say a word.
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What Carlisle and I have been able to hide is the fact that I was a Texan until I was about two. I was born in San Antonio in all actuality in the year 1843 before Texas was taken as a state which my father found as a great dishonor and disgust.
My father was a statesman and early leader of the nation formerly known as the republic of Texas in the years past the Alamo. The Alamo was only a few miles from where I was born actually, and according to my family we have a legacy there.
It turns out I had two uncles and the grandfathers on both my parents side had died there, even to the point that one of my uncles heard Davy Crockett speak his last words as he died in the shelling.
Those days seem like such relics, that of when I was a boy. We moved to Maryland at about the time word came of the idea that Texas may become a slave state and a hold of the union. Then the same day Texas became a state in 1948, my father died from a heart attack.
If the two events where correlated I will never know. All I did at that time was have the knowledge my mother had now the responsibility to raise me, my sister, and three older brothers.
My sister Angelica was first to die, she was set to marry a rich man in Baltimore, but the man turned out to be a drunkard and beat her one day to death. He broke a bottle in a fit of rage and tore her to shreds; the man himself was never tried.
I believe though that Providence did act in that case, the man drunk himself to death three months later. She was 17 and this was in 1853.
Next was my eldest brother Thomas. He died about four years later. At the tender age of 26 he ran from the home he was holding for us to join the forces of the Jayhawkers.
These men where anti-slavery men who committed attacks in Missouri from Kansas; these attacks where to protest the idea of slave holding and to stop it at any means necessary.
During a siege a plantation owner shot him in the back and was made a public spectacle.
John was after him almost four months after him, and eerily enough the same fate befell him, including the spectacle of his body. He was at a tender age of 21.
In the end it was only me and my near twin brother Michael who was in fact only an exact year older. The time was now 1960, and I was 16 and him 17.
We both where ready to fight for the dissolving union, and where old enough to enlist actually for these state of affairs, war. The war had not started, and FT. Sumter still was unharmed. But my brother enlisted anyways.
We got information only a month later that he was in New Orleans, and that something happened. It seemed he got into a bar scuffle out there and was killed and thrashed into a shallow grave. So there stood only me and my aging mother as the remnants of the clan we once had.
Life is a cruel thing is it not?
So when the fort was finally attacked I joined the Union army out in Maryland and hoped to take our family name back to the war times of the Alamo. I was now set to save my family's legacy and my mother's mind that her sons where not all dead and the each where valiant.
She at least saw me not die; she died only a few months after the war began, she died from natural causes.
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So there I was as the last of my clan. I wandered now from skirmish and skirmish just trying to survive and give m family a place to live in the world.
So this was the war for me, a feeling of justification of living for me, for what could I honestly feel? At that point after listening to a captured soldier from the area of New Orleans who knew my brother I figured it out, I figured out what had happened to him.
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He lived in New Orleans, in the French quarter and met a beautiful Spanish girl there named Gloria. She was tan, but not a slave since her family had resided there for centuries as traders.
She was now involved in another trade which he learned later, prostitution. When he found out he was stunned but got her to promise to stop, by asking for her hand in marriage and she simply nodded and agreed.
So one night as him and Gloria left the place they stayed together as fiancés, a drunken man went up to him claiming Gloria was a runaway slave from his plantation. Problem was he lost his plantation in drinking debts twenty years ago, but he still claimed her.
When my brother interjected the man called him a 'runaway assister' and 'negro lover' and shot him cold to the floor, and then shot Gloria in the womb. Thus killing her and the baby my brother sired five months prior.
The man ran off and was caught later in Baton Rouge. Thankfully the murderer was hanged in New Orleans and was left there staring at where he left my brother, sister-in-law, and unborn niece or nephew for eternity.
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But the skirmishes continued for me at least. Step by step I stood in infantry as we crossed into Virginia and back, Virginia and back. How the Potomac smelled at night, with the mosquitoes that fly around, how it smelled of death.
How in my new sadistic view of the world I enjoyed every single second of these monstrosities. Of how I loved the kill and the stench of the kill, with that ever salty taste of blood pouring down my throat in combat.
How I enjoyed a masochistic taste of recoil from my musket. Of how I loved the smell of cinders as musket balls fired through the fields of battle. How those cannon fodders sounded after every roar and blast that would awaken the soldier within the battle.
This was had now consumed me, maybe it was hatred. Or maybe I wanted vengeance on the south for Michael dying over their out-dated regimes. Or how my other two brothers where made spectacles of by these same men in the sake of proving their points, how they hurt them I could never fathom.
Or how a man below the Mason-Dixon Line killed my sister in cold blood… over what? A drunken stupor? Possibly even a few meek words to his abuse…Oh what kind of man is that? A man of no principle? I believe so, so on that logic he must learn principles, which is what I need to teach these savages.
Where these the men I was fighting? I was not sure at the time, all I wanted was to tastes the sweet nectar the ancients called a Vendetta. All I wanted was revenge for my family, for how the South killed my patriots, and how they should pay.
All I wanted was to taste the salty blood of my sweet revenge.
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The year was still 1961, a cold winter had struck Virginia that year and we where stuck raiding any place we could find around.
So at that moment we found ourselves in a plantation not far from Yorktown. We where stealing supplies before making camp in the hills nearby.
What happened though was strange, for as we left the camp we heard screaming and gunshots.
Most of us went turn face until we figured out to be possibly the plantation owner having issues with the slaves. So the most of us Union soldiers ran away from the shooting and screaming plantation owner to go and camp with our supplies that we just…stole.
But me I was different, this was either Masochism or Revenge but I went and continued running to the shooting and something collided with me.
It was a girl of about 18. She had long light blond streaks of hair, and in the snow her eyes almost looked the color of rubies.
She took a few deep breaths as more gunshots where heard. She was breathtakingly beautiful, every bit of her.
From her porcelain skin to those streaks of blond hair, to how her body fit so amazingly in the slave clothing she has placed on. I was amazed that I was even able to remark on such beauty in my lifetime, it was awe-inspiring like she was an angel.
I grabbed my gun and pushed the girl slightly back as he laughed. "Oh Yankees!" he screamed laughing… "I am going to have such a reward…killing a yank and a runaway…I am going to…"
I was able to fire between his eyes while he talked. That was the problem for the ones who just played soldier, they never shut up.
I went to the girl and smiled. She looked up at me graciously and wrapped her arms around me.
"Thank you Yankee…Thank you!" she spoke in a modest British accent and gave me a quick, yet passionate kiss upon my lips in gratitude.
In my own state of vertigo, I felt almost hypnotized by the feeling of her lips against mine. "My name is Maria…Can you my brave…brave…Yankee…help me escape these horrid people?" she spoke softly, seductively into my ear.
I could only nod. "The name's Jasper by the way"
"Okay…Jasper…then help me escape" she spoke getting up smiling.
I could only smile back politely.
"Your wish is my command" I spoke running with her now away from my camp. Running to the new direction, for no reason other than not letting that beauty escape my sights.
So there I was, with a beautiful woman.
Risking my neck hanging and being made a spectacle, over a beautiful woman.
I went AWOL.
Just because of the kiss…of a beautiful woman. Changing…over a beautiful woman…the one thing Alice may never know…
The one thing…
The one thing no one could know…
But the fact was now; I was running from my troupe. I was in all definitions a traitor.
I went AWOL.
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