The stars are beautiful. That is the first thought that passes through her mind as she lays on the hard, blood-soaked ground. Little pin pricks of light in the sky that twinkled down at them. Those stars that smile at them from the heavens even when they are in the midst of their own heated battles.
She can hear the bombs going off around her, the showers of dirt, and blood, and faces that red eyes can see against the now dark, crystalline clear sky. It is almost ethereal to her, as she lays there, how the sky could look so calm when around her people are dying.
Her fingers brush against another's and she turns her head to the side only to see that those fingers have no owner.
She is sick then.
Despite not having eaten anything for two days, she empties her stomach onto the ground beside her face, not caring if it gets into her hair, or her ear, or if she chokes on it for that matter.
"Why are we not dead yet?" she asks the one who has fallen on her in their battle. Her voice is ragged and weak, as if she has sung nonstop for days without rest. It seems more like she's musing on a philosophy more than asking him a question, though. After all, it is his own knife embedded right below her heart.
For all she knows, they are already dead. She can't feel anything but the hard ground against her winged back and his weight on her.
And she just wishes she could reach up and wrap her hand around one of those stars. Perhaps give it to the person on top of her, because-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. If I could give you the moon and sky I would, just don't go- Beside her, another dies, and she wonders... why are we not dead yet? They should be dead. She should be dead, though she wishes they didn't have to die. If anything, she wishes she could have just knocked him out and ran away with him until he regained his senses. Regained his sanity. She didn't care if he is never able to see her again as long as he can hold her hand...
"Why are we not dead yet?" she sobs.
He tries to stand, to roll off her, anything to see her face better. He has forgotten he is already blind. "Does it matter?" he rasps.
"The stars are beautiful." that was the first thing that passes through his lips as they sit on the roof of the temple, "Like little diamonds of light that shine down on us." He looks up at the older girl beside him, and smiles. The moonlight and starlight reflect off her hair and the inky black wings she has finally shown him.
At first when he saw him, he almost lost it. That blackness reminded him of that shadow that had killed his mother. But it could never have been her. Despite the constant scowl on her face, he knows she would never do something like that.
"Why don't you smile a little?" he suggests. After all, they weren't on a mission. There was no reason for her to steel herself against emotions when all they were doing was sitting and looking up at the stars.
Sometimes he wishes he could reach up at them and pluck one out of the sky. Perhaps give it to her just to see one little smile. Because he's sure she would be even more of a wonder if those downturned lips quirked up even a centimeter.
She only looks down at him with a blank stare, light brown eyes seeming to shine in the light. Perhaps they did shine. Cat's eyes shined because they could see in the dark, so therefore her eyes probably shined too. And they shined even brighter when they bled crimson, her face contorting into a wild snarl and her teeth seeming to elongate like a demon's. Well...she is a demon, if he thought about it. But now, her eyes are brown, and she looks down at him with a look of utter blank bafflement.
"There's no reason to smile." she replies, "God has forgotten us, his people want to kill us, and for what? Because of an ancient battle against his son? The war's still going on, and it will break soon, this peace that we're trying to keep by hiding any knowledge of our whereabouts. Whether it's in days or years, We're going to have to go to war again. Now tell me why I should smile?" But at the look he gives her, she sighs, and her lips quirk up just a centimeter.
He chuckles and scoots closer to her, brushing back a strand of black hair and kissing her cheek, "See? That wasn't so bad, now was it?
He is answered with a snort and an elbow to the gut. He only laughs.
He is blind. She can tell by the way black covers his eyes, and how he isn't facing her as he speaks.
"I won't let you live another day, demon." he hisses, sweeping his hand in her direction. She is hit with a wall of energy, and doubles over, gasping for breath. "You're nothing but the devil's spawn, an unholy thing! You made my whole life miserable!" another wave, and all she can do is step back, her heart beating loudly in her chest. It is the only thing she can hear now.
"I'll kill you!" he roars.
And this time she does move. She un straps the cloth around her hand, and the fire unleashes itself, surrounding the both of them. She can see nothing beyond the flames, hear nothing beside the beating of her heart, and her eyes are frozen on the man before her. There is nothing but the both of them. Her eyes bleed crimson, and she give him a grim smile. He can't see it anyway.
"I'm already dead."
Sometimes, she can imagine a place without such an inner war. Where the sky being crystalline clear was not such a disturbing thought, and she can smile freely without feeling like a hypocrite. It always makes her wonder why she hates herself so much, why she is so full of such dark emotions.
He sit on the swing next to her, a worried look on his face, "What happened this time?" he asks softly.
She just shrugs, the scowl on her face deepening. She can't tell him. She can't say that she tried to poison that man again. He would only think less of her.
Every time he tries to help her, she wishes he didn't. She doesn't deserve it. She's already damned anyway."I...just hate him." she finally growls, pushing her feet on the ground so that she swings back a little. "I hate him so much...I wish...I wish I could just k-"
"Don't." he interrupts her, reaching out to touch her head, "Don't think things like that. He is not worthy of you thinking so much bad things.."
He sounds so old to her when he speaks like that. His accent becomes prominent, as if he hadn't been born and raised here. It must be because of his mother, and the fact that she schooled him. She looks up at him, grimacing at the soft way he looks at her. She doesn't deserve such tenderness. With a disdainful snort, she ducks her head out from under his hand, then mellows out again and looks up at the sky.
The stars are beautiful. Sometimes she wishes they could reach up at them, and pull one out of the sky. Perhaps give it to him as payment for being so kind to her.
"Why do I get the feeling that we've hurt each other before?" she asks in a moment of vulnerability. Somehow... she is able to ask the strangest questions, and he never laughs.
He hums softly, as if contemplating the question. For all she knows, he probably doesn't take her as seriously as he seems to. But she doesn't care, as long as he acts like he does. "Perhaps we have. In another life somewhere up there in one of those stars you're looking at."
She snorts again, "Stupid... You always say stupid things like that." It hurt. How he always seemed to be trying to help her, trying to save her from herself when she had done nothing for him. It's almost felt like he was making up for something he had done, and using her as penance. It's almost like he's blind, only unlike other people who are blinded by her faults to anything else, he can't see her faults. "There's no such thing as past lives."
"Suppose you're right." he chuckles, then stiffens at the sound of a car driving up one of the trailer driveways. He turns to her with a forced smile, "You should go home before your mother gets worried."
She glares, "You mean before the bastard gets home?"
"Yeah..."
"...Fine" The swing squeaks as they stand up, and suddenly they can hear the crickets around them, the sound of someone cooking in one of the trailers nearby. Someone watching T.V. in another. It had been like there was only the two of them... until now.
He smiles at her ad ruffles her hair, then points behind her, "Look!"
She does, and he steals a kiss on her cheek, laughing as she growls, "You're such an idiot!"
He walks her to her trailer, where he left his bike against the tree, and picks it up. "I'll come back tomorrow. Maybe we help you with your math homework."He reassures, though he looks up at the light coming from the window and frowns a little, "You know you can call me if anything happens, right?"
She shrugs, rolling her eyes, "Yeah."
He looks at her one more time, before mounting his bike, and she stands there, watching as he pedals away. Once she can no longer see him, she finally feels the way her eyes are burning, and she scowls.
She isn't crying. She hasn't cried in years. Even when that man hit her, or when that man tried to force himself on her, making her remember when someone HAD forced himself on her. Well, force couldn't really be said. She hadn't said no. She hadn't really known what was going on, much less that it was something bad. She could barely remember anything anyway, except for the sight of him on top of her, and the sound of the shower in the next room.
She hadn't cried.
So why did she want to cry now?
They are dying. She can feel the shortness of breath, and she still has the mindset to realize that she can't feel anything below her waist anymore. But...
"It hurts." she whispers. Her front is now completely soaked with his blood. and she tries to move her head only to see him a little bit, "Does it hurt you?" she asks softly, trying to lift her hand so she can brush away the pieces of dirt in his hair, but it's like lead and she can barely move a finger. Her other hand is already out, only a small dying flaming stump on her wrist.
He tries to chuckle, but it only comes out as a raspy wet gurgle, "I can't feel much of anything anymore." he says back. A small breath, and he kisses the only part of her he can reach; her shoulder, "I wish... I should have forgotten all that stupid vengeance, all of that man's lies. It wasn't your fault."
She's crying this time. She hasn't cried in years. Even when her hand was cut off, or when she saw her mother killed. She hadn't cried.
"This is all so fucked up." she chokes. And she can barely think anymore, all she can see is the stars in the sky, surrounded by the inky blackness. And then she can't hear him anymore, can't hear his heart beating against hers, can't feel his weight. She closes her eyes, and all she can see is the is the stars in the sky.
The phone falls out of her hand at the other's words.
There's no way. Her heart feels like it has stopped in her chest, and she can barely feel anything from the waist down. He couldn't... There was no way that he could leave her like this!
And then she's angry. So stupid! Who in their right mind does something so obviously stupid like that!? He was always doing stupid things like that! She can hear the sounds of her family eating in the other room, and she lets her body slowly lower onto the floor. "This is all so fucked up!" she whispers into her hands, and somehow, she feels as if she's said this before. Beside her, the phone has hung up on the other line, the dial tone faintly reaching her ears. She wishes she was deaf so she would never have to hear such a sound again. Like the sound of flatline on an ECG machine in an E.R. show.
Brown eyes look up and out the widow, at the crystalline clear sky, and she almost curses at it. It is almost like taunt to her, how the sky can look so calm when people she loves are dying. She feels sick then, ad she practically scrambles to the bathroom to empty her stomach. She wishes she hadn't eaten before answering the call because it's the most horrible feeling, having a full stomach being abruptly emptied into a toilet bowl. Makes her picture someone being disemboweled. She's sick again.
It hurts.
She lays in her bed, looking out the window and up at the crystalline clear sky. "The stars are beautiful" she whispers to herself. Like little pin pricks of light. And she lifts her hand, imagining herself plucking one right out of the sky and holding it in her hand. She can just imagine the warmth of it as it lay in her palm, like a butterfly made of heated light fluttering in her grasp, only to die out in a flash.
She isn't crying, though. She hasn't cried in years. Even when she feels terrible about yelling at someone, or even thinking about yelling at someone, knowing that it's her, not them who has the problem. She doesn't cry.
All she can do is look up at the sky with eyes bleeding into crimson as he holds the tears back, her teeth feeling sharp against her lip as she bites herself and remembers the words she wished she had said five years ago. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. If I could give you the moon and sky I would, just don't go.
It hurts.
But she only smiles bitterly.
