EDEN AWRY
- People always assume that the afterlife is a release. The bad guys get thrown in Hell for their just desserts, and the good guys get to spend the rest of eternity strumming harps atop fluffy little clouds and polishing their halos. Get real. It's just a continuation of the struggle. WxM, VxM–
Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun, any of it's characters, or it's plotlines. They are entirely the property of Yasuhiro Nightow-sama. However, I am currently scheming to acquire a pair of Vash sunglasses to wear with my Vash t-shirt (It has his wanted poster on the back!) in addition to my DVD box set and graphic novel collection. -
Chapter 2: In Which the Afterlife in Contemplated and
Other Unfortunate Things Happen
The afterlife is not what one would expect. Envisioning an idyllic place, available only for those those have earned it and fully deserve it, perhaps it is a source of motivation. A reason to get up in the morning to face yet another day filled with toil. A reason to keep striving, to better oneself despite receiving no recognition for it, if one can only convince themselves that there is a reward waiting for them at the end of it all. This is no reward. I would give anything to be back on Gunsmoke, back among the blood and strife, where at least there was value to what I accomplished. There is no meaning here in this so called "Eden". I loathe it.
I suppose that to many that this place would be a welcome respite after life. No worries, no responsibilities, and virtually any item one could ever desire is instantly theirs. No more working to achieve what you desire, no expectations. But that was never what really mattered to me anyway. Everything that mattered is back on Gunsmoke.
I suppose this is my punishment. My final atonement for my sins. To be in Heaven and to be eternally wishing for what I cannot have here, this is worse than any Hell, real or imagined. However, I can never ask for anything more. My sins are far too heavy. The lives that I have taken, they weigh upon my soul. So many burdens. But it is my duty. I must give something up in return. Millie, Vash, Meryl, I so am sorry.
- - - - -
Wolfwood sat among the trees of the forest glen, his black suit blending with the shadows from the evergreens, silently smoking a cigarette that didn't smell to anyone besides him. The smoke spiraled upward, mixing with the branches and leaves, whispering in a small breeze that was only there when you wanted it to be. The forest was in stark contrast to the desert so many of it's inhabitants were used to, and many took to it with relief. Not this man. Further beyond his unmoving form stood a motorcycle, sparkling without the polish of any mortal hands, in perfect working order. Around the man's neck was a small silver cross, his reminder of the Cross Punisher he had carried for so long. His eyes were closed, in an almost meditative trance, as he leant against the tree, lost in his memories. There were few that were happy, but he felt that what little he had were vastly preferable to the place he was now.
Wolfwood knew a few people here. He had talked with Brad once or twice, but even after all was said and done, they still weren't on the best of terms. Civil, yes, but they certainly didn't enjoy the kind of rapport he had once had with Vash. Old habits die hard, even under the most extreme of circumstances.
Almost everyone he had once known he could not track down. Not that he really cared. His friends, fortunately, (for them at least, he thought selfishly) had not joined him in the great beyond. He had not seen anyone from his biological family since he was nine, and it was no big loss to be unable to contact them. He had always suspected that his parents would have preferred not to have children.
"A bloody accident. That's all I am. From my birth to my death, I have brought nothing but misfortune to those that were stupid enough to get close to me." He murmured under his breath, not opening his eyes. He had been over this many times since his death. Nothing held his interest. There was no one her that he cared about. Nothing. The afterlife held no interest for him, only remorse, but then, how could a dead man be depressed?
Dull eyes took in his fellow spirits as they went about their day. A young man sat by a stream, cradling a woman. Two middle age men wrestled playfully, thrashing about in the far off clearing like puppies. Several women chatted earnestly, sipping some sort of drink with miniature umbrellas. An old man slept in a comfortable bed, simply placed in the middle of the clearing, snoring not unpleasantly. Another couple fed one another a steak dinner. He thought he saw a child playing in some snow he had conjured up for himself, out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to get a better look, both boy and snow were gone.
That was one unusual thing about this place. There were plenty of people here older than him, but he had only seen someone younger than himself on a few occasions, and as soon as he tried to start up a conversation, they disappeared. It was almost… as if they were frightened.
Nicholas gazed at his hands remorsefully, blood only he could see, slowly dripping from his fingertips, soaking his sleeves, puddling on the ground. I can't… Sorry…Everyone… It would appear… I'm no longer fit to hold you guys…
He had nothing left.
- - - - -
Millie arrived in December at about 1:00. It was a bright, sunshiny, day.
I'll just go get something to eat. After all, it is lunch time!
She didn't really feel like admitting that she wasn't quite ready to face Nicholas' orphanage.
It had been his motivation, his reason for going on. He wanted to keep that orphanage running. "I do everything for the children. I guess it's my payment for my day job. Maybe they can grow up in a better world than I had to."
Like everything he had done or said in the short time she had known him, it was an attempt at redemption. A man forced to play the devil, when all the while his heart cried out. Forced to grow up too quickly, thrust into a world than made even adults jump off buildings every day, he had lost his innocence far too soon, and then he had done everything in his power to prevent that from happening to anyone else. He was a kind, kind man.
No, there were too many memories of Nicholas to try and go there on anything less than a full stomach.
- - - - -
The woman slowly walked the streets of December, procrastinating just a bit more, savoring the can of pudding she had bought at the general store on the corner. Vanilla is good. But chocolate is better. Or vanilla-chocolate swirl…
Carefully depositing both the empty can and spoon in a trash can sometime later, she soon caught sight of the orphanage. It was a church on the edge of town, by no means large, but not small either. From what she understood, several Sisters took care of the children when Nicholas was away, but no one was outside at the moment. It was slightly rundown, but well cared for, the small garden weeded and filled with vegetables, clothes fluttering in the wind on the line out front. It reminded her a bit of home.
Millie carefully opened the gate, tracing the well-worn pathway to the door. She was somewhat surprised that no one had come out to greet her, as she had sent a letter just a week ago saying that she was coming. Stepping onto the doorstep, she smiled at the hand painted house number, decorated by a small handprint. These children must be wonderful. No wonder Nicholas loved them so much. She pushed the doorbell, listening to it echo throughout the house. It was a nice sound.
No one answered. Millie tried once more, waiting a bit longer. Still no one answered. I guess I should just go in. I hope they don't find it rude. She gave a small smile at how the door was unlocked, easily letting her into the foyer. It would be so nice to feel that safe. To not have to lock your door. "Hello! This is Millie Thompson! I sent you guys a letter about a week ago!" Her cry only came back at her, bouncing around the walls to no avail and no response. Venturing a bit farther into the church, she passed the children's dorms. The door to the girl's was covered in pictures of dolls and unicorns, the boys in cars and trucks. She smiled at how lovingly they had been cut out of their magazines, taped onto the door by so many little hands.
Hearing no sound from within, Millie kept walking.
After quite a while of searching, she found the church to be completely empty. The lunch dishes were partly cleared away, the ones put out to dry still damp. Maybe the backyard?
She turned to the heavy door leading to the back of the church. The knob was polished from much loving use, and turned easily in her hand. My, it sure is heavy. It must be old to be made of such high-quality wood. Then, it all faded into black.
- - - - -
The first thing she was aware of was the feeling of the gun pushed into her temple. The darkness, it was like a blanket, pressing down on her, numbing every sense. Except for the smell of the gunpowder, slicing through the comforting black, sending her heart into palpations. Opening her eyes, all she saw was red.
So many bodies. Children, the Sisters, all lying in pools of blood, viciously hacked into pieces. And in the middle of it all sat Meryl, tears running down her cheeks. Her cloak was missing, a small stream of crimson running down the side of her face, bound and tied, her wrists and ankles raw around the rope. As her Sempai sobbed, she saw that her back had been sliced, clear from her left shoulder to midway to her right hip.
"Sempai! Don't cry! Everything will be alright! I'll be fine. Not the first time we've been in situations like this- right?" She smiled, trying to ignore the gun, the blood, whoever was wielding it.
Meryl only shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. She looked up at whoever was standing beside her partner, eyes pleading. The black haired woman mouthed the words, "Please don't. Please. Don't kill her." She repeated it over an over, the words jumbling together until her voice was raised to a loud whisper.
"Sempai? Everything will be okay!" She didn't believe it. But if Sempai could just pull herself together, maybe they could get out of this. She made one last attempt to smile. The gun shook on the side of her face.
The wielder's voice was filled with rage. "Don't you dare insult me, spider. You are a pawn, inferior, you cannot comprehend what is in store for you, for I, and I alone, control your fate. Now fulfill your ultimate purpose." He pulled the trigger. Millie fell to the floor. Meryl screamed. The voice laughed.
He walked over to Meryl's comatose form, grasping her chin and raising her eyes to meet his own. They were cold, despite the chuckle that threatened to escape from his lips. "Do not worry. There is no great honor for a spider like you than to be useful to superior beings like myself. She shall be remembered always, an example for all. She shall help your dear Vash to see the error of his ways, and for that, she will not have died in vain." He smiled at Meryl, chilling her to the very core. She let herself drift back into unconsciousness, escaping those arctic blue eyes. But she knew they would be waiting when she awoke.
- - - - -
A/N: Oh ho! Dun Dun DDUUNNN! I'll ask once more, is everyone in character? Are you hooked? Surprised? Is this a total waste of my time? Review! Demonic steak dinners served by babbling brooks for those that do! If I had any demonic steak dinners served by babbling brooks. Which I don't. But still!