shotgun wedding
(ichirukaien) She didn't want to kill him, but sometimes these things just happen. (but they believe it from the tears and the teeth, right down to the blood at her feet & come on, this is screaming "photo op.")
(a/n) ichirukaien. best. wordsmush. ever. inspired quite blatantly by "time to dance," by panic! at the disco.
(disclaimer) bleach owned by tite kubo; lyrics owned by p!atd.
xxx
Take a look at the girl in the rain. Crimson cheeks stained by blood and tears. Her eyes widened and glazed over by shock and pain and horror beyond her experience, she can only gaze dumbly at the tip of her sword protruding from the back of the man she adores and perhaps loves.
No. The man she loved. Because now he is whispering words of farewell choked with sadness and regret and sorrow fading to silence. The girl kneels, soaked in red and soaked in rain.
She screams.
She did not want to kill the man she loved, just as he did not want to become what he did: an unholy unwanted fusion of man and beast, all tongue and teeth and twisted travesty. He did not want to be the thing that ate his wife from the inside out; his wife did not want to be that same thing that mercilessly slaughtered her troops. The wheel of sick irony is erratically spinning and they can only wait to see on whom the arrow stops next.
Rain pours and blood seeps and isn't this a sight to behold? Come on, this is screaming "photo op." Aim, focus, snap. He's getting colder and heavier, and her arms are numb—
She didn't want to kill him, but...
Sometimes these things just happen.
xxx
Take a look at the girl in the rain. White sundress and darkened sky. The boy's blade is dripping and his eyes are blazing and oh how she wants to step in—but she remembers another day of pride going before a fall, watching and waiting and knowing she must not interfere. Boys will be boys, hiding in silent screams and wearing paper-thin dreams. It's a different thing today, but the same pride, the same rain, the same face.
The boy doesn't want to kill his mother again.
The girl doesn't want to watch him die again.
The scene calls for attention; this is screaming why can't she help? Anything but this emotionless distance, she has to be anyone but the audience—give me envy, give me malice, but just pay attention and keep your composure.
Watch and hope.
xxx
Take a look at the girl in the rain. Glimmering tears and trembling voice. The streets are alive with the sound of dying.
Her brother is uncatchable, her friend has all the envy and malice you could ask for, and the boy—
Well, he's not bleeding just for the attention.
She hasn't cried since they buried the man she loved. Is this scene any different? Snap the shutter, catch the moment. There's rain. There's blood.
You can't hear it, but there's screaming, too.
The brother remarks on the boy's resemblance to the man she loved. She can't answer him. She's too busy trying to pretend she isn't bleeding inside.
The boy is still breathing, and she has to keep it that way. It'll break his heart (and maybe stop hers soon) but she'll save him at whatever cost. She didn't choose this role—
but she'll play it and make it sincere, so—
keep your smile and don't let him hear you cry.
They believe her. Who could argue with the rain of blood at her feet and on her hands?
xxx
Take a look at the girl. The sky is dry, but that doesn't mean it isn't raining. Rain on the brain and in her heart.
Have some composure; she has to be the strong one, but can you hear—
Can you hear them screaming?
Heart of blood and mask of bone. Reminds her of a day when the sky wept for her innocence. He's smiling—all black eyes and razorblade teeth and grinning hungry insanity—but she's not laughing.
The brother was right.
They do resemble each other.
She loved them both and hated their pride and watched the thing consume them alive. Now she can write them both a requiem.
She should have let them kill her, she thinks. The cycle of she killed man killed wife killed others was broken when she let the boy save her. She hasn't won. She's just given another thing the opportunity to feed on the ones she loves while she watches from the rain outside.
Love? Give me a break, you cry. She's pulled that trigger before; when I say "shotgun" you say "wedding," because her love is a loaded gun. Hit 'em in the heart— that's where they bleed out the fastest.
Like that which connects sky and earth, never to touch, she's connected two fates. See them smile; hear them scream.
Take a picture; it'll last longer.
xxx
Take a look at the girl.
She is the rain.
.owari.