[Fanfiction] Mockingbird
Title: Mockingbird
Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, some fluff and hurt/comfort
Rating: R
Characters: Kei, Sho
Disclaimer: The movie Moonchild and its characters are sole property of their creators. I have no rights to them whatsoever. This story merely borrows them. I make no money with this story.
Note: I'll warn you that this is... different. Big hugs and kisses go to plain_ornament and its_art - both your support made all the difference. Thank you for helping me be proud of this.
Summary: Kei tries to cope with an extreme situation by imitating what he believes is normal human behaviour.
Mockingbird
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
A child reaching out a hand to hold on to something. Another hand maybe, or a sleeve, hem of a shirt, anything really. Blind trust, because the human heart wants to attach itself to something. They grow older and lose the illusion of a world filled with good, but part of them will always need to believe in just one good thing among the darkness. They need to make themselves believe something in this world is worth living for.
Blind trust. You have to wonder if they are right or wrong. Who knows? If all humans follow the same pattern, there's no one to judge.
Humans tend to gather in packs. A market overflowing with armed thugs feels more safe to them than a small stall at the back of a dark alley. Even if the market is located on the grounds of the old goods station. Anyone entering the area is trapped by high fences and walls.
The only entrance and exit is a narrow tunnel.
They pour down the hole like filthy rats scrambling after the last crumb of stale bread.
Stifling heat. The air is thick. You can taste the dirt on your tongue. Smells like sweat, smells like sex, smells like shit, smells like humans. They scream and yell and laugh and play their music, creating a cacophony of noise that presses in from all around. It's like being wrapped in plastic foil from head to toe. You can't move, you can't breathe, you can't even think anymore. There's no escape but to become part of the masses. Part of the madness. Blend in. Pretend to be one of them. The monster beholds the vile scenery from behind green eyes.
People are packed tight against each other. They squirm and their flesh glistens in the heavy, yellow-orange light. Like maggots crawling all over a corpse. Fleshy and disgusting in their greed, feasting on rotten meat. It causes nausea; an unpleasant tightening in the gut.
Becoming restless is inevitable. Agitated and hyper-sensitive. Senses too sharp get overwhelmed. Stop. Don't move. Don't take another step. But there's no choice. Bodies collide, the flood continues. Pushing, shoving, looking for an opening, for an escape.
When there is a stumbling child's hand gripping yours, you pull that tiny body closer. For protection. It's how any human would react. Suppose you are not human, then it's best to blend in. So the protection of the child comes first and foremost. Blind trust.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
Close by a female whimpers. No one pays attention. Mallepa is no caring place, and down here everyone is out for themselves. Wares on the market are limited. There is a push to the front. Everyone wants food. Well, not everyone. But when you are the only wolf among sheep, you better pretend to be white and fluffy. This is a herd, and herds are something to be handled with care. Don't cause them to surge. Mass panic happens often enough down here. The news reporter looks bored whenever he has to recite the number of people trampled to death.
It's easy enough to imagine. Crushed between bodies. Trip and the last thing you'll feel are shoes all over your back. Ribs crack. Organs are squished together. Blood all over the place. Maybe you will be aware. Maybe the fall or lack of oxygen knocks you out. Maybe you have bad luck and they crush your arms and legs first without killing you. Maybe you are in luck and someone breaks your neck or skull before you can feel the pain. Screams. Death. Panic. Tiny minds shutting down completely. It can't happen. Not now.
Steam curls around hundreds of feet. A broken pipe. Someone picks up a child. Probably to save the tiny human from whatever toxic waste is billowing around everyone's legs. It's no use because the fumes are in motion with the masses, churning up and reaching filthy tendrils for lungs it can damage. Coughing and hacking, but still the people keep going.
Picking up the child is useless.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
The small body is warm and frail. Hold on just a bit too tightly and it might break. It's not a pleasant option. As all children, this one squirms when picked up without being asked for permission. It doesn't even merit a response. All too quickly the child settles down again, snuggles into supposedly safe arms.
Protect the child. Shifting the precious bundle in your arms to get a better grip. Keep it closer. Chest pressed against chest. A tiny heartbeat thundering. It's nearly enough to drown out the others. Nearly, but not quite. Heartbeats like war drums. Heavy and thundering, bouncing off each other. Pressing in, drifting away. Ever-present. There is no escaping this sound. Nowhere. It's worse down here. Like drums. Like death.
Like a nightmare. Being chased by a monster. You can't outrun it. No matter how fast you go, it's steadily gaining on you.
One day it will catch up.
Pretend this one heartbeat is different than all the rest. It has to be. Clutch the child a bit more tightly. For protection. For the child's protection.
Lie to yourself.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
It's difficult to keep your footing in this kind of crowd. Even more so when you are shorter than most of the people pushing through the tunnel. Finger tangle in messy blonde hair. Swallowing. The smell of blood drifts through the air. It invades the monster's senses. No one else notices. No one else can smell it. It's not human. Vampires are not human.
Hunger. Like a bright light in darkness. Blooming up on the inside. The world calms down.
If you are very different, do you consider the others normal? Sometimes moving with inhuman speed feels more like normal pace with the whole world slowing down. Everything is so much clearer. Gums ache. Eyes burn. All senses reel, search for the source of food. Close by.
Screw human behaviour. You can't pretend all the time. Copying other people doesn't mean becoming them. It's just a mask. Masks can slip. And when the mask falls, green eyes turn yellow, fangs elongate and blood flows. Human behaviour doesn't change a monster.
Or does it?
The world shifts its gear suddenly. People move again. Noise comes back. It's worse than before. Suffocating. Pain in the back. Stumbling, scraping knees on the pavement below. Don't fall. Don't give them reason to panic. Don't give them reason to start trampling. The child whimpers. The child is afraid. Should it be afraid? No. It should smile. Smiling is what children are supposed to do.
Getting up again is impossible. Clutch the small body tightly. Head dipped low to avoid accidental blows. Ragged breathing. Keep the child calm. Trembling limbs. The air reeks of fear.
Aren't you afraid?
But there's no smile this time.
Eyes squeezed shut. The scent of unshed tears. A rib cracks as a foot smashes into the soft side of a body. The sound reverberates through though the body, pounds in the skull. The pain barely registers. Just focus on breathing. The child. The child is precious. Just need to... can't give in. One panicked individual is enough. Don't let the others know. Small hands fist in a red shirt and a sweet little voice babbles nothing. You should stay down to protect the child in a situation like this. Shouldn't you? Just the child. It's about the child. Because surely the child is scared, not the adult, not the monster. Surely the bodies pushing in on them affect the child instead of the adult.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
Just imitate the proper human behaviour. Things will turn out fine enough then. Even kneeling in a tunnel. Hundreds of people packed tightly together. No escape. No way out. No security, no safety, no... Sho.
“Are you crying?”
No.
Not yet.
The voice is so small. It's not the proper voice. Not the voice that offers safety and escape. Darkness on the edges of the vision. The world spins. Feeling aggressive, feeling small. The need to lash out at the world, at the people pushing onwards. The need to scream. Don't cause a panic. Don't make them think they need to run. Panic. Fear. The potential sizzling in the air. Like a chord stretched too far, just about ready to snap. Almost on the breaking point.
Hands grab shoulders. Child and adult are hauled up. Dizziness. Disorientation. Confusion. A crying woman takes the child. Gratefulness. Suspicion, too, but mostly gratefulness. The mother. Looking for the mother. Right. Dragging an unknown child through the tunnel needs a purpose. Taking in a stray until you find the owner.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
The child disappears. Arms wrap around a body. Slowly moving sideways. It's difficult in the ever moving crowd. Push. Pull. Trying not to touch strangers. Unsuccessful. Bumping, brushing. It can't be avoided. Fear. Panic.
The child is gone. No pretending possible anymore.
The back of the head smacks against cold stone. Immediately a hand cradles it. A wall against the whole backside. A warm body in front. Rattails and too much cologne and cheap leather. Blue contacts. Like the sky in a distant memory. Like freedom. Pressed tightly against the wall, against each other. A whimper. Clutching fingers.
“Kei...”
Safety. Shock. The tunnel is still teeming with bodies. The foul stink of humans. Never ending. Misery and indifference. A powder keg. Just one spark is enough to make an individual panic. Like now. Pale skin glistens with cold sweat. Green eyes are too wide. Laboured breathing, maybe because of the broken rib. Though it's healing. Almost done. Breathing doesn't get easier.
Dirty fingers smear tears to the side.
Just one person in the world to understand this fear without sharing it.
Letting the head fall back. So much stronger than all of them. And yet so much weaker. Clinging to the man who is not the child anymore. No excuse. You can't pretend to protect him. Tall and strong and not fearful in here. He should be. It's a scary situation. Too many people. Not enough space. People trampled to death every day. The worst nightmare. Anxiety. Too many heartbeats.
A smile.
Fingertips.
Blue eyes.
Steady.
The red jacket has slipped halfway off. The child's warmth is fleeing the cold body already. Shaking. Sobbing. Pathetic. Helpless and in need of protection. What are you to do when you can't pretend to protect somebody else weaker than you anymore?
“Kei... it's alright.”
It never is. It never will be. There is no escape. No exit. If you have nowhere to run, you can only shut down and panic and hope that somebody can catch you. What to do? What to copy so you can cope?
“It's alright. It's normal to be scared...”
The words make it better, just a little. Not much, but just enough. Copying what the human does in times of need. Finding out what you really need is just the same. Vampire. Human. Not that different after all. Clinging to a warm body, listening to the only heartbeat that matters. Taking comfort in the only person you trust.
A soul reaching out a hand to hold on to something. Blind trust, because you want to attach yourself to something, too.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
~*~
The End...
Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, some fluff and hurt/comfort
Rating: R
Characters: Kei, Sho
Disclaimer: The movie Moonchild and its characters are sole property of their creators. I have no rights to them whatsoever. This story merely borrows them. I make no money with this story.
Note: I'll warn you that this is... different. Big hugs and kisses go to plain_ornament and its_art - both your support made all the difference. Thank you for helping me be proud of this.
Summary: Kei tries to cope with an extreme situation by imitating what he believes is normal human behaviour.
Mockingbird
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
A child reaching out a hand to hold on to something. Another hand maybe, or a sleeve, hem of a shirt, anything really. Blind trust, because the human heart wants to attach itself to something. They grow older and lose the illusion of a world filled with good, but part of them will always need to believe in just one good thing among the darkness. They need to make themselves believe something in this world is worth living for.
Blind trust. You have to wonder if they are right or wrong. Who knows? If all humans follow the same pattern, there's no one to judge.
Humans tend to gather in packs. A market overflowing with armed thugs feels more safe to them than a small stall at the back of a dark alley. Even if the market is located on the grounds of the old goods station. Anyone entering the area is trapped by high fences and walls.
The only entrance and exit is a narrow tunnel.
They pour down the hole like filthy rats scrambling after the last crumb of stale bread.
Stifling heat. The air is thick. You can taste the dirt on your tongue. Smells like sweat, smells like sex, smells like shit, smells like humans. They scream and yell and laugh and play their music, creating a cacophony of noise that presses in from all around. It's like being wrapped in plastic foil from head to toe. You can't move, you can't breathe, you can't even think anymore. There's no escape but to become part of the masses. Part of the madness. Blend in. Pretend to be one of them. The monster beholds the vile scenery from behind green eyes.
People are packed tight against each other. They squirm and their flesh glistens in the heavy, yellow-orange light. Like maggots crawling all over a corpse. Fleshy and disgusting in their greed, feasting on rotten meat. It causes nausea; an unpleasant tightening in the gut.
Becoming restless is inevitable. Agitated and hyper-sensitive. Senses too sharp get overwhelmed. Stop. Don't move. Don't take another step. But there's no choice. Bodies collide, the flood continues. Pushing, shoving, looking for an opening, for an escape.
When there is a stumbling child's hand gripping yours, you pull that tiny body closer. For protection. It's how any human would react. Suppose you are not human, then it's best to blend in. So the protection of the child comes first and foremost. Blind trust.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
Close by a female whimpers. No one pays attention. Mallepa is no caring place, and down here everyone is out for themselves. Wares on the market are limited. There is a push to the front. Everyone wants food. Well, not everyone. But when you are the only wolf among sheep, you better pretend to be white and fluffy. This is a herd, and herds are something to be handled with care. Don't cause them to surge. Mass panic happens often enough down here. The news reporter looks bored whenever he has to recite the number of people trampled to death.
It's easy enough to imagine. Crushed between bodies. Trip and the last thing you'll feel are shoes all over your back. Ribs crack. Organs are squished together. Blood all over the place. Maybe you will be aware. Maybe the fall or lack of oxygen knocks you out. Maybe you have bad luck and they crush your arms and legs first without killing you. Maybe you are in luck and someone breaks your neck or skull before you can feel the pain. Screams. Death. Panic. Tiny minds shutting down completely. It can't happen. Not now.
Steam curls around hundreds of feet. A broken pipe. Someone picks up a child. Probably to save the tiny human from whatever toxic waste is billowing around everyone's legs. It's no use because the fumes are in motion with the masses, churning up and reaching filthy tendrils for lungs it can damage. Coughing and hacking, but still the people keep going.
Picking up the child is useless.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
The small body is warm and frail. Hold on just a bit too tightly and it might break. It's not a pleasant option. As all children, this one squirms when picked up without being asked for permission. It doesn't even merit a response. All too quickly the child settles down again, snuggles into supposedly safe arms.
Protect the child. Shifting the precious bundle in your arms to get a better grip. Keep it closer. Chest pressed against chest. A tiny heartbeat thundering. It's nearly enough to drown out the others. Nearly, but not quite. Heartbeats like war drums. Heavy and thundering, bouncing off each other. Pressing in, drifting away. Ever-present. There is no escaping this sound. Nowhere. It's worse down here. Like drums. Like death.
Like a nightmare. Being chased by a monster. You can't outrun it. No matter how fast you go, it's steadily gaining on you.
One day it will catch up.
Pretend this one heartbeat is different than all the rest. It has to be. Clutch the child a bit more tightly. For protection. For the child's protection.
Lie to yourself.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
It's difficult to keep your footing in this kind of crowd. Even more so when you are shorter than most of the people pushing through the tunnel. Finger tangle in messy blonde hair. Swallowing. The smell of blood drifts through the air. It invades the monster's senses. No one else notices. No one else can smell it. It's not human. Vampires are not human.
Hunger. Like a bright light in darkness. Blooming up on the inside. The world calms down.
If you are very different, do you consider the others normal? Sometimes moving with inhuman speed feels more like normal pace with the whole world slowing down. Everything is so much clearer. Gums ache. Eyes burn. All senses reel, search for the source of food. Close by.
Screw human behaviour. You can't pretend all the time. Copying other people doesn't mean becoming them. It's just a mask. Masks can slip. And when the mask falls, green eyes turn yellow, fangs elongate and blood flows. Human behaviour doesn't change a monster.
Or does it?
The world shifts its gear suddenly. People move again. Noise comes back. It's worse than before. Suffocating. Pain in the back. Stumbling, scraping knees on the pavement below. Don't fall. Don't give them reason to panic. Don't give them reason to start trampling. The child whimpers. The child is afraid. Should it be afraid? No. It should smile. Smiling is what children are supposed to do.
Getting up again is impossible. Clutch the small body tightly. Head dipped low to avoid accidental blows. Ragged breathing. Keep the child calm. Trembling limbs. The air reeks of fear.
Aren't you afraid?
But there's no smile this time.
Eyes squeezed shut. The scent of unshed tears. A rib cracks as a foot smashes into the soft side of a body. The sound reverberates through though the body, pounds in the skull. The pain barely registers. Just focus on breathing. The child. The child is precious. Just need to... can't give in. One panicked individual is enough. Don't let the others know. Small hands fist in a red shirt and a sweet little voice babbles nothing. You should stay down to protect the child in a situation like this. Shouldn't you? Just the child. It's about the child. Because surely the child is scared, not the adult, not the monster. Surely the bodies pushing in on them affect the child instead of the adult.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
Just imitate the proper human behaviour. Things will turn out fine enough then. Even kneeling in a tunnel. Hundreds of people packed tightly together. No escape. No way out. No security, no safety, no... Sho.
“Are you crying?”
No.
Not yet.
The voice is so small. It's not the proper voice. Not the voice that offers safety and escape. Darkness on the edges of the vision. The world spins. Feeling aggressive, feeling small. The need to lash out at the world, at the people pushing onwards. The need to scream. Don't cause a panic. Don't make them think they need to run. Panic. Fear. The potential sizzling in the air. Like a chord stretched too far, just about ready to snap. Almost on the breaking point.
Hands grab shoulders. Child and adult are hauled up. Dizziness. Disorientation. Confusion. A crying woman takes the child. Gratefulness. Suspicion, too, but mostly gratefulness. The mother. Looking for the mother. Right. Dragging an unknown child through the tunnel needs a purpose. Taking in a stray until you find the owner.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
The child disappears. Arms wrap around a body. Slowly moving sideways. It's difficult in the ever moving crowd. Push. Pull. Trying not to touch strangers. Unsuccessful. Bumping, brushing. It can't be avoided. Fear. Panic.
The child is gone. No pretending possible anymore.
The back of the head smacks against cold stone. Immediately a hand cradles it. A wall against the whole backside. A warm body in front. Rattails and too much cologne and cheap leather. Blue contacts. Like the sky in a distant memory. Like freedom. Pressed tightly against the wall, against each other. A whimper. Clutching fingers.
“Kei...”
Safety. Shock. The tunnel is still teeming with bodies. The foul stink of humans. Never ending. Misery and indifference. A powder keg. Just one spark is enough to make an individual panic. Like now. Pale skin glistens with cold sweat. Green eyes are too wide. Laboured breathing, maybe because of the broken rib. Though it's healing. Almost done. Breathing doesn't get easier.
Dirty fingers smear tears to the side.
Just one person in the world to understand this fear without sharing it.
Letting the head fall back. So much stronger than all of them. And yet so much weaker. Clinging to the man who is not the child anymore. No excuse. You can't pretend to protect him. Tall and strong and not fearful in here. He should be. It's a scary situation. Too many people. Not enough space. People trampled to death every day. The worst nightmare. Anxiety. Too many heartbeats.
A smile.
Fingertips.
Blue eyes.
Steady.
The red jacket has slipped halfway off. The child's warmth is fleeing the cold body already. Shaking. Sobbing. Pathetic. Helpless and in need of protection. What are you to do when you can't pretend to protect somebody else weaker than you anymore?
“Kei... it's alright.”
It never is. It never will be. There is no escape. No exit. If you have nowhere to run, you can only shut down and panic and hope that somebody can catch you. What to do? What to copy so you can cope?
“It's alright. It's normal to be scared...”
The words make it better, just a little. Not much, but just enough. Copying what the human does in times of need. Finding out what you really need is just the same. Vampire. Human. Not that different after all. Clinging to a warm body, listening to the only heartbeat that matters. Taking comfort in the only person you trust.
A soul reaching out a hand to hold on to something. Blind trust, because you want to attach yourself to something, too.
Human behaviour; that's what this is.
~*~
The End...