A Sense of Dark
Chapter Eleven
by PenguinKye
October 12, 199X—5:45 PM
Think of blood a little at a time, and it unrolls like carpet, straight smooth demanding. Dripping wet pearls, count them up, perfect and red like the dead sun. Rapture, rapture to see a star die—I wish for that ecstasy. It is red and roiling, like a breaking dying clutching heart.
Stars and blood, light and life, and everyone thinks they're so beautiful, hm? Dying is better. Dead is bad, bad, bad, because then there is nothing. Nothing is sickness. Nothing is empty. Nothing is the enemy. But dying, artistic, violent, unbound is better than living. Watch it dance and wail, a beautiful musical, oh look at the passion hidden, what they pushed away when they thought they'd live forever. Blood runs faster outside the cage. Blood jumps higher when bodies aren't closed.
I like to make it free.
I can see blood in my eyes, I can braid it in my mind, sweeping down the throat and onto the floor, the head the heart the hair the blood. I see twirly mixy rivulets, a horserace of red raindrops rushing to lower ground. Angering me, because I can't make it turn back. It doesn't know that that's where you drown, that dead comes after dying, even though I want it to stay away.
The body eats itself, not letting me hold onto dying. It pumps out life from its stupid, mindless, terrible heart. Damn the organ that tries to keep it living, so it pushes life away in spurts of fading possibility.
The sun will eat itself. No one else will have to raise a knife. It will reach out a hand of fire and plunge dig tear into its burning own chest and rip out its burning own heart. I want to watch it die, the suicide of life. I will live forever to see it burn into dusk. I will stand sentinel, because then the Earth will freeze. Freezing is weakness, numbness, thoughtless, slow melting oblivion. It is not dying like dying is beautiful.
I will live forever so that when the sun eats its heart, I can save everyone from dying frozen coward pointless death. I will give them real dying. I will give them fountains, rivers, oceans of shrieking, piercing, brilliant dying. They will wonder at me, for I shall bring them glory.
I will live forever to show others how to die.
There is a light breaking my reverie. There is a light ruining my solitude.
There is a claw on my door. There is a mover's face behind it. I must hiss, a snake, to keep them away, to bewitch the door into closing and the claw into snapping off. But they do not listen, the door and the claw
(and the mover flinches)
because they never do, they just do each others' will and drag me from my perfect thinkings. They speak.
They want me to come with them, obey, to do something I don't see at first, that makes me angry, angry. And then they say, "Weiß, for Schuldig," and then I scream because those words are bliss.
I will leave with them, go with them ,and sing to only myself to show my enemy, sick sweet dead, how to die better than they ever lived. I reach behind me and feel a promise, leather and steel, so sharp it cuts. Blood runs, a promise sealed.
I shall bring them glory.
PenguinKye
July 3, 2005
Notes: (November 13, 2005) I can tell you that I felt my brain explode when I wrote this…I realize that Farf's insane, and this is a good reason not to write in-depth POVs for him. But he does have a psychotic kind of logic that's a little too amusing to figure out. Thanks again to quietladybirman for her very kind review (I hope you enjoyed this chapter ), and for everyone, new and old, who stopped in to read chapter 11. (I love stats. They are just so fun.)