Dirt, black and fresh coated flawless glass as another love was committed
to the graves embrace. Above tearless brown eyes turned black watched the
shovel rise and fall, each movement making reality more painful that it
should have been. Another fall of dirt and she was back in the apartment
they had shared, back in the crammed one-bedroom they had called home.
Back fighting to make ends meet, and selling a little piece of her soul
daily until there was nothing left for her.
"Sara. . ?" A voice too familiar to be forgotten shattered the memories.
Slowly she turned, black hued eyes empty as the pain with in her sealed itself to emptiness. Each word coming with the practiced tone of feigned interest, a dark edge lining her meanings. "No, I am not. She died years ago, my name is Chandra."
The woman blinked, taken back by the chill in her daughter's voice. Brown hair, bleached to hide approaching age, fell around a wrinkling face; brown eyes watched the girl who it had taken three years to find. "Sara, stop with the games. It's time for you to come home, I won't allow you to continue to live like this."
There it was again, that annoying name that she had cast off, had abandoned with the dingy apartment and her former life. "You won't allow me. . ." The words trailed into a thick laughter, its tones edged with newfound sorrow and past wounds. "It has been a long time since you have 'allowed' me to do anything, let along 'live like this.' Where were your precious allowances when this started, when you told me to get out?" Rage boiled in uncontrolled voices underneath the hurting ice that had become her voice. "You have no power here, you have no idea what I have become, what we are now. The girl you speak of died in a one-bedroom apartment in the slums. Died fighting to make things right as a piece of herself was lost everyday to the camera's flash so that men like her stepfather could dream of fucking her. I am Chandra, search yourself if you want to find your daughter, because all that's left is memory." With a slight nod she walked past the woman, careful that not the slightest touch pass between them. Dark eyes didn't see the age that lined the woman's face, didn't see the tears form her mother's eyes that mixed with the graves dirt. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway, and the words in her head whispered with their demand of pain's payment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Candles flickered, their unsure light giving the room a half lit darkness. Eyes stared out through glass, watching the city move beneath her as her mind relived memories.
*** "Get out! You would dare attack your family!"
Chandra stood the metal bat falling from her hands, the sound almost deafening as it's handle clipped a piece from her mother's precious slate floor. Tennis shoes, their white stained with a thick red, shifted as the rage died. At her feet the thick red pooled, staining shoes and slate a like.
"What the hell were you thinking, what have you done!" Brown eyes stared, their depths widen with horror as her mind threatened to identify the huddled shape beside her daughter. A low groan of pain came from the huddled mass on the floor, a heavy hand trying to push against the slate to rise.
"I wanted to see if he would bleed, if he would hurt like he made me." The words were singsong, a child's voice coming from a teenage body. Eyes met her mother's, brown almost red in the light. "Seems he does. . ." The voice trailed off, eyes darkening into black as even her subtle movements took on a practiced edge. "You let him do this, you wouldn't listen. . .didn't care." Swollen lips spat her own blood onto the slate.
"Get out." The sentence echoed off of plaster walls as the door slammed, a lone figure walking into the afternoon's light. ***
Breath burned into denied lungs as she turned away from the window, pushing the past back to its realm of memory. Unthinking she left curtained rooms and candles to burn their life away, for the sanctity of empty hallways in search of similar torment to help her pass the night.
Steel glinted in a candles light, the flickering flame fighting to defend against the night's dark hours. Fingers held a well-worn handle, their tips resting comfortably on the blades base the same way one would hold a lover's hand. Well-sharpened metal pressed against pale skin, nothing, a thin line of crimson began to run from the wound, still nothing.
As if timed the candle sputtered, its flame dangerously close to a pool of melted wax, and amber eyes opened. Their strained pupils fought against the numbing alcohol to focus on the wet line that marred his skin. Still the action did not compute, a series of events viewed as separate incidents and never connected in an absinthe-poisoned soul. There was no pain, no sense of steel breaching flesh, just the emptiness. Red filled his vision, its edges blurring with tears that would never fall to earth.
*** A sound filled his ears, louder than any shot could have been, the earth rendering sound of his judgment. Instinct had taken him and amber searched for the gunman, but winter's snow hid details. Winters pure snow, and the red was staining the snow, red filling up the glass coffin (now buried), red drowning her as blood filled her lungs. Red covering him as he sought to fight death's coming, red pouring form the bullet's wound as he tried to stop the flow, stop the red from staining her beautiful blue dress. Red dripped from his arm as he carried her inside, and red rested behind brown eyes as Chandra looked up at him from her sister's body. ***
The candle died, surrendering its light to 4am darkness. Darkness that moved and smelled of a musky sweetness, in that darkness his mind surrendered.
"Tomoe. . ." he whispered, the blade falling from his grasp.
"No." Came the husky response, thick like the blood he felt cooling on his arm. Even in the darkness he could feel red shadowed eyes on him, the sensation stronger than the fingertips that brushed his self-inflicted wound. "Such a waste." Her breath washed in tactile tones over broken skin as the merest touch of her lips brushed its surface.
"Chandra." His voice was harder now, cold and guarded, as her words came back to him 'there can be no redemption.' Cold tones and eyes black like the grave's dirt came back to him. "Don't do this-" The words began with the warning of growling thunder and ended as the air left his lungs. Lips played at the cut, her tongue slipping along its length to draw the blood out. Then there was pain, so carefully exquisite that it rode his faltering mind. Amber eyes closed, fingers knotting in a fall of hair and carpet, inside the warm beginnings of desire filled the emptiness with self- loathing and guilt. Teeth met wounded flesh; manipulating its nerves until there was only the haze he slowly sunk into, flooding his senses.
Fingertips ran through remembered black hair, tracing along soft creamy skin. It didn't matter that Tomoe smelled of white plumbs and not musk, or that she had never adopted any of her sister's more unusual tastes, such as the one he now experienced. His mind filled in the spaces and his heart didn't question, but instead happily lost itself to memory. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his soul the beast with in rejoiced at her ministrations, the thin trail of painful delight leading it out from a long hibernation.
Chandra smiled, her lips curling around broken skin as thick liquid filled her mouth. Almost sweet, metallic and greasy; like sucking on an old penny. She felt his body resist before finding shelter in fantasy. It didn't matter that he would never see her behind his eyes, and never truly be feeling her instead of his memories. For there was more inside her than a vengeful child, a morning woman, and the cold black-eyed violence of her fury. There was, among others, the masochistic broken soul that enjoyed each click of the camera. The temptation to push him, to coax the beast out, was a sweet lure. To have a lover whose darkness would silence her mind, and eat away the world. But not tonight, rationalism chided the hunger that raged with in her; it was too soon, and his control was still too strong. Force of will broke contact, hair slipping from unseen hands as she rose. The whispers that echoed through her mind and ears were constant companions as she left the room.
"Tomoe. . ." a pleading voice followed her, it's tones lethargic with the weight of absinthe, a renewed sensation of loss plaguing its tones. "No, dear Kenshin. . .your fire destroyed Tomoe." The whisper fell heavily, echoes filling the hall with malice as heated brown once filled with invitation and offer slid into black.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Chandra." Lips spat her name as heavy doors slammed shut behind the beast. Amber eyes, the first tints of red mixing with their yellow gleam settled upon her.
Deep brown eyes, shadowed with heavy black, looked up from a neat assortment of papers, photographs attached to some of them. For a moment silence waited as she suck into his fury. He was beautiful; the controlled violence or a gleaming-eyed predator bound to edged grace, and looking at him she felt like a hunted thing caught in the dance of the hunt and death. Black suited him well, the black pants and collarless dress shirt a brilliant contrast to amber eyes and blood colored hair. Breathing deeply, the scent of vanilla that floated from him made potent by the anger that stretched and tightened alabaster covered muscle. Carefully she stood, fighting to let her eyes linger, the black robes of her priest's garb shifting with the movement as heavily shadowed eyes met his.
"Ah, Kenshin. . ." Her voice trailed, the drawn out words would only push him further into anger. " I have a new assignment for you." Practiced words found voice, her S's slurring slightly and T's cut short with a distinctly created accent.
"Cut the shit. I'm not here for your 'assignments.'" Kenshin hissed, lips sneering at her. "I am here to remind you that I will not be one of your toys."
Laughter came slowly, boiling from red lips and falling slickly over the Cossack. "No, Kenshin, that is something you shall never be."
"Sara. . ?" A voice too familiar to be forgotten shattered the memories.
Slowly she turned, black hued eyes empty as the pain with in her sealed itself to emptiness. Each word coming with the practiced tone of feigned interest, a dark edge lining her meanings. "No, I am not. She died years ago, my name is Chandra."
The woman blinked, taken back by the chill in her daughter's voice. Brown hair, bleached to hide approaching age, fell around a wrinkling face; brown eyes watched the girl who it had taken three years to find. "Sara, stop with the games. It's time for you to come home, I won't allow you to continue to live like this."
There it was again, that annoying name that she had cast off, had abandoned with the dingy apartment and her former life. "You won't allow me. . ." The words trailed into a thick laughter, its tones edged with newfound sorrow and past wounds. "It has been a long time since you have 'allowed' me to do anything, let along 'live like this.' Where were your precious allowances when this started, when you told me to get out?" Rage boiled in uncontrolled voices underneath the hurting ice that had become her voice. "You have no power here, you have no idea what I have become, what we are now. The girl you speak of died in a one-bedroom apartment in the slums. Died fighting to make things right as a piece of herself was lost everyday to the camera's flash so that men like her stepfather could dream of fucking her. I am Chandra, search yourself if you want to find your daughter, because all that's left is memory." With a slight nod she walked past the woman, careful that not the slightest touch pass between them. Dark eyes didn't see the age that lined the woman's face, didn't see the tears form her mother's eyes that mixed with the graves dirt. But it wouldn't have mattered anyway, and the words in her head whispered with their demand of pain's payment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Candles flickered, their unsure light giving the room a half lit darkness. Eyes stared out through glass, watching the city move beneath her as her mind relived memories.
*** "Get out! You would dare attack your family!"
Chandra stood the metal bat falling from her hands, the sound almost deafening as it's handle clipped a piece from her mother's precious slate floor. Tennis shoes, their white stained with a thick red, shifted as the rage died. At her feet the thick red pooled, staining shoes and slate a like.
"What the hell were you thinking, what have you done!" Brown eyes stared, their depths widen with horror as her mind threatened to identify the huddled shape beside her daughter. A low groan of pain came from the huddled mass on the floor, a heavy hand trying to push against the slate to rise.
"I wanted to see if he would bleed, if he would hurt like he made me." The words were singsong, a child's voice coming from a teenage body. Eyes met her mother's, brown almost red in the light. "Seems he does. . ." The voice trailed off, eyes darkening into black as even her subtle movements took on a practiced edge. "You let him do this, you wouldn't listen. . .didn't care." Swollen lips spat her own blood onto the slate.
"Get out." The sentence echoed off of plaster walls as the door slammed, a lone figure walking into the afternoon's light. ***
Breath burned into denied lungs as she turned away from the window, pushing the past back to its realm of memory. Unthinking she left curtained rooms and candles to burn their life away, for the sanctity of empty hallways in search of similar torment to help her pass the night.
Steel glinted in a candles light, the flickering flame fighting to defend against the night's dark hours. Fingers held a well-worn handle, their tips resting comfortably on the blades base the same way one would hold a lover's hand. Well-sharpened metal pressed against pale skin, nothing, a thin line of crimson began to run from the wound, still nothing.
As if timed the candle sputtered, its flame dangerously close to a pool of melted wax, and amber eyes opened. Their strained pupils fought against the numbing alcohol to focus on the wet line that marred his skin. Still the action did not compute, a series of events viewed as separate incidents and never connected in an absinthe-poisoned soul. There was no pain, no sense of steel breaching flesh, just the emptiness. Red filled his vision, its edges blurring with tears that would never fall to earth.
*** A sound filled his ears, louder than any shot could have been, the earth rendering sound of his judgment. Instinct had taken him and amber searched for the gunman, but winter's snow hid details. Winters pure snow, and the red was staining the snow, red filling up the glass coffin (now buried), red drowning her as blood filled her lungs. Red covering him as he sought to fight death's coming, red pouring form the bullet's wound as he tried to stop the flow, stop the red from staining her beautiful blue dress. Red dripped from his arm as he carried her inside, and red rested behind brown eyes as Chandra looked up at him from her sister's body. ***
The candle died, surrendering its light to 4am darkness. Darkness that moved and smelled of a musky sweetness, in that darkness his mind surrendered.
"Tomoe. . ." he whispered, the blade falling from his grasp.
"No." Came the husky response, thick like the blood he felt cooling on his arm. Even in the darkness he could feel red shadowed eyes on him, the sensation stronger than the fingertips that brushed his self-inflicted wound. "Such a waste." Her breath washed in tactile tones over broken skin as the merest touch of her lips brushed its surface.
"Chandra." His voice was harder now, cold and guarded, as her words came back to him 'there can be no redemption.' Cold tones and eyes black like the grave's dirt came back to him. "Don't do this-" The words began with the warning of growling thunder and ended as the air left his lungs. Lips played at the cut, her tongue slipping along its length to draw the blood out. Then there was pain, so carefully exquisite that it rode his faltering mind. Amber eyes closed, fingers knotting in a fall of hair and carpet, inside the warm beginnings of desire filled the emptiness with self- loathing and guilt. Teeth met wounded flesh; manipulating its nerves until there was only the haze he slowly sunk into, flooding his senses.
Fingertips ran through remembered black hair, tracing along soft creamy skin. It didn't matter that Tomoe smelled of white plumbs and not musk, or that she had never adopted any of her sister's more unusual tastes, such as the one he now experienced. His mind filled in the spaces and his heart didn't question, but instead happily lost itself to memory. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his soul the beast with in rejoiced at her ministrations, the thin trail of painful delight leading it out from a long hibernation.
Chandra smiled, her lips curling around broken skin as thick liquid filled her mouth. Almost sweet, metallic and greasy; like sucking on an old penny. She felt his body resist before finding shelter in fantasy. It didn't matter that he would never see her behind his eyes, and never truly be feeling her instead of his memories. For there was more inside her than a vengeful child, a morning woman, and the cold black-eyed violence of her fury. There was, among others, the masochistic broken soul that enjoyed each click of the camera. The temptation to push him, to coax the beast out, was a sweet lure. To have a lover whose darkness would silence her mind, and eat away the world. But not tonight, rationalism chided the hunger that raged with in her; it was too soon, and his control was still too strong. Force of will broke contact, hair slipping from unseen hands as she rose. The whispers that echoed through her mind and ears were constant companions as she left the room.
"Tomoe. . ." a pleading voice followed her, it's tones lethargic with the weight of absinthe, a renewed sensation of loss plaguing its tones. "No, dear Kenshin. . .your fire destroyed Tomoe." The whisper fell heavily, echoes filling the hall with malice as heated brown once filled with invitation and offer slid into black.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Chandra." Lips spat her name as heavy doors slammed shut behind the beast. Amber eyes, the first tints of red mixing with their yellow gleam settled upon her.
Deep brown eyes, shadowed with heavy black, looked up from a neat assortment of papers, photographs attached to some of them. For a moment silence waited as she suck into his fury. He was beautiful; the controlled violence or a gleaming-eyed predator bound to edged grace, and looking at him she felt like a hunted thing caught in the dance of the hunt and death. Black suited him well, the black pants and collarless dress shirt a brilliant contrast to amber eyes and blood colored hair. Breathing deeply, the scent of vanilla that floated from him made potent by the anger that stretched and tightened alabaster covered muscle. Carefully she stood, fighting to let her eyes linger, the black robes of her priest's garb shifting with the movement as heavily shadowed eyes met his.
"Ah, Kenshin. . ." Her voice trailed, the drawn out words would only push him further into anger. " I have a new assignment for you." Practiced words found voice, her S's slurring slightly and T's cut short with a distinctly created accent.
"Cut the shit. I'm not here for your 'assignments.'" Kenshin hissed, lips sneering at her. "I am here to remind you that I will not be one of your toys."
Laughter came slowly, boiling from red lips and falling slickly over the Cossack. "No, Kenshin, that is something you shall never be."