What's this? A quick update? Wow. Remember this moment, 'cause it'll never happen again ;)
I have nothing to say about this, to be honest. Just that it's really angsty and I like the way it turned out.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Fairly Odd Parents, although if I did the series would revolve around the anti-fairies and their awesome leader.
8. Goodnight (Prompt 049)
When she saw him laying there, unmoving, she knew what had happened. She knew that his dark, misunderstood heart wasn't going to beat ever again, that she wasn't going to hear the British accent she so adored one more time, she wasn't going to see his eyes glow in that irresistibly mischievous way when he smiled.
Instead of accepting it though, she did something she knew she was good at: playing dumb. "A-Anti-Cozzie?" She couldn't keep the tremble from entering her voice. She floated to him and knelt down, ignoring the single tear that slipped from her eye, down to her cheek, and finally fell somewhere on his jacket. The jacket that had a solitary hole in it.
"Cozzie," she whispered, voice low and broken. "Wake up." It was futile, but she had to try, didn't she? "Wake. Up." She said, a little more forcefully.
Someone watched her; the only other living thing around. The figure couldn't help but feel a stab of pity. They'd never really liked Anti-Cosmo or his wife, but the two had obviously cared for each other. Which just made their job that much harder.
The figure headed over to Anti-Wanda with a heavy heart. "Anti-Wanda?" They asked uncertainly, not wanting to disrupt the anti-fairy.
"What?" He voice was sharp, like the bite of frost you feel that warns you to heard inside before you get hypothermia. Except it wasn't completely cold; the other being heard a note of heavy grief hidden inside the one word.
The figure silently handed Anti-Wanda a letter. It had been cased in a midnight-black envelope, one that only Anti-Cosmo had used. The female anti-fairy bit her lip. "He wanted you to have this." The figure said almost remorsefully.
"Thank you." Anti-Wanda managed after a few moments of awkward silence.
The figure left, or so Anti-Wanda thought. Curiosity had gotten the better of this letter deliverer, so they had camped behind a cluster of burnt bushes to watch. It was interesting, in a sick, twisted way, they knew, but that was what made it so irresistible.
Anti-Wanda's tears began to flow, cascading down her navy cheeks and falling to their final destination: Anti-Cosmo's jacket. With trembling hands she hesitantly pried open the envelope. It felt, smelled, even seemed like it was death itself. When the widow had plucked the letter from its tomb, she carefully unfolded it and began to read. It was one of the many things that Anti-Cosmo had taught her, and unlike learning to dust without breaking anything, (because it was just much easier to do it by wand) it had come in handy. It certainly did now.
My Dearest Anti-Wanda,
If you are reading this, then I apologise. It means that not only have I failed yet again in my attempts to rule the Earth and our fairy counterparts, but I am also most likely dead as well.
The word 'dead' made Anti-Wanda bite her lip forcefully. Who knew a simple little word could make someone so sad?
I'm so very sorry that I forgot to say goodbye to you, my dear. I was already past the barrier when I'd remembered, so alas, I could not return. I wish I had said goodbye to you though, or at least remembered to leave a note of some sort. Please forgive me for this also.
My darling, I must apologise again for leaving you alone in the dark world we call our home. It was never my intention. You are the only reason I even come back some days; do you know this? I hope you do.
Please remember that I love you, and always will. As you would say, you are the bread to my sandwich, the anchovy to my BAT. You are the most beautiful thing to ever grace the universe, with your rose-coloured eyes and sweet smile.
Finally, If you can choose to forgive me for something, please forgive me for not reminding you how important you are to me more frequently. Whilst I may be graced with an extraordinarily great I.Q., I find that occasionally some things may be forgotten. Again I must apologise; if anything should not be forgotten, it is you.
It will always be you.
Eternally Yours,
Anti-Cosmo
Because her hands shook so violently, she could barely make out the final words. Or was it because of her tears smudging the night-black ink she used to ask him to use because it just seemed so much more . . . him? Anti-Wanda didn't care. It didn't matter, not anymore. Nothing mattered now that he was gone.
Eventually, the tears stopped, and her breathing returned to normal. The growing ache in her chest didn't ease in the slightest, however.
Carefully, she took two of her fingers to his eyelids, and gently closed his eyes for what would be the final time. Then she bent over and placed a soft kiss on his nose, ignoring the deathly cold that invaded her lips and focusing instead on keeping her breathing steady.
"Goodnight," she whispered into the silence. The word echoed about, piercing her ears with its reverberations.
The silence seemed to whisper back; a foreign thought appearing in her head. Goodnight, love. I'll miss you. The words were hazy, missing pieces and syllables, but Anti-Wanda heard them more clearly than anything she'd ever heard before. How could she not, what with him being the only one to ever understand her? Of course it would go both ways.
Her lip trembled again, but she could not allow the tears their rite of passage. They'd had enough leeway, she decided.
The figure watching from the bushes may not have been able to read her thoughts or the letter they had delivered, but they knew that neither of those things were cheerful.
Suddenly, the figure spotted movement to their right. Anti-Juandissimo, they thought instantly. Their eyes flicked back to Anti-Wanda, who hadn't noticed the newcomer.
"A-Anti-Wanda?" He called hesitantly.
Her head flicked up instantly, a flash of surprise in her eyes that melted into a weary acceptance. "Oh, it's jus' you."
Silently, he came to rest beside her, and crouched down. They sat together like that for minutes, each thinking their own thoughts.
Anti-Juandissimo broke the silence. "I . . . well, you know I never liked him. Doesn't m-mean I wanted him . . ." he grimaced. It was true, what he said. He hated the anti-fairy who had 'stolen' Anti-Wanda's heart from him. "Dead," the whisper came from nowhere. And he couldn't take it back.
She finally caved, leaning heavily against her ex-boyfriend. The tears fell, and she just couldn't look anymore. So she buried her face in the nearest jacket, and tried to pretend that it was his. This jacket didn't smell right, though. Nor did it have that certain softness that only his jackets seemed to have.
The jacket's owner bit his lip and uncertainly wrapped his arms around the quivering figure clinging to him. He enjoyed the attention, but . . . he thought it would bring more of a sense of accomplishment, instead of a tight pain in his chest.
This world — and the next — were so utterly fucked up.
So right then, right there, as he cradled the woman he would give anything for, he resolved never to try to win her back.
Because he wasn't that low; low enough to steal from a dead man.
The figure in the bushes had enough. They disappeared, reappearing back in their master's office.
"It is done?" The voice drifted out of the shadows, without a body to accompany it. The other figure only nodded, inwardly seething.
The figure could hear a smile in the voice of the speaker. "Thank you." They grimaced, but nodded.
"It had to be done," they said, repeating words that had been told to them time and time again.
"Good."
Anti-Wanda hurt everywhere. Legs, arms, wings, head . . . heart. Mainly heart. The hurt just wouldn't leave. Every time her heart beat, the pain would rebound along with it, each time sharper than the last.
She didn't understand why, why him? He hadn't done anything wrong. He was just doing his job — that was it. No one liked bad luck. But that still wasn't fair! If she followed that logic, then their only crime was . . . it was being born. Her lip trembled again. Maybe they were all mistakes. Little accidents no one wanted around.
Anti-Wanda tried not to give a damn.
Instead, she released her death grip on Anti-Juandissimo's jacket, stood, and vanished, leaving nothing but a dark cloud of smoke in her place.
Not a soul spoke to her for days.
It suited her just fine. Quite frankly, she didn't want to talk to anyone. After all, silence was golden.
Mmm, yes. 1520 words of dark, depressing angst. Yummy. I think I write angst better than fluff. It certainly is eaisier to write.
No idea where this came from. Just sayin'.
Go ahead and decide for yourself who the mysterious figure(s) is/are. I know who I want it to be, but I've left it open to interpretation. It could be any fairy, really. Maybe even Timmy, after stealing a wand to poof with. Oooh, what if it was Norm? Or Jorgen? Or . . . Cupid? I'd better stop before I start wondering if it could be Timmy's Mom. Hey, maybe it's Vicky! Or Trixie! Or TOOTIE?
How about a review for a decently quick update?