[dream 12] this bitter pill is chased with blood [week 13, day 6]
[[warning: this dream is gruesome and pretty surreal.]]
Mother's smiling. Blood shows in the cracks lining her gums, clotting blotchily and staining her mouth black. Her dress is covered in it. Red. Full of bullet holes. She smiles. Lelouch. She speaks with her voice. My son. My darling. I miss you. Her eyes are dark, her sclerae full of blood from popped vessels.
None of this seems to bother you. You embrace her, hold her tightly. She smells of death. Mother. Her blood is on you, now. It's on you. I tried, Mother. You tried. You put Clovis all over the floor, shot Euphemia, left Cornelia to die, lost Nunnally, never made it to face Schneizel (or did you? Have you?), and she's still dead, and you still do not know who killed her. (Tell me what you know. Who killed her?) Cornelia didn't know and it was all for nothing, but you kept going.
Mother's fingers tighten in your hair. It hurts. They killed me, she says. It's terrible. I get lonely here. In the dark. It hurts. (hurts like his hands in your hair, hands you once held in your boyhood clamping you to the floor, holding you while you scream, while you break, while something in you dies)
You blink and it is different. Kannagara lies before you in monochrome gray. The air is cold. No, it's not Kannagara, it's the Aries Villa. (Is it?) No. Where are you? The wind blows words back to you, someone singing in a high, soft voice:
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu:
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
Eliot, you think, even though that's not the answer, this is bizarre, who even speaks German in Kannagara? Your hands are wrapped up in black threads. You pick at them, but they only tighten. Cut into your palms. Fresh beads of blood run out, and you are suddenly afraid, because blood attracts them, blood attracts them, Charles' blood, Marianne's blood, you've never known which runs stronger. Reach up and claw at Zero's helmet (where did it come from?), but it won't come off. Your fingernails dig into something that feels like flesh, not fiberglass. You can't pull it off. It's bleeding.
Marco's there. They were sentient, he says. They're like toddlers. They were sentient. He morphs before your eyes, skin splitting, bones cracking, into a yoma. They were sentient. You remember now. The soldiers. In Shinjuku. They were mostly honorary Britannians. They'd turned their guns up under their chins, smiling. Laughing. The guns roared. They were going to kill you.
Marco's hand grabs you around the middle. You feel your ribs bruising under his fingers. The singing is still there: Oed' und leer das Meer. Desolate and empty the sea. The silent seas. Suou Katsuya stands next to Marco, in full uniform, Japanese policeman, wa and all. You are under arrest, he says. You're in the Britannian throne room. No one's there. You're shaking anyway. You hate this place. You're still outside. You are both. This place is both. A light shines harshly in your eyes.
Name.
Lelouch Lamperouge.
Someone grabs your head and slams it against the ground. You are at least given respite from the light. Name.
Lelouch vi Britannia.
Slammed again. You bite your tongue. Your mouth fills with blood and bile. Name.
Zero.
Struck across the face. You spit blood. Name.
That's all you have. It's one of those three. You don't know anymore, you tell them, you don't fucking know. It's one of them. You're one of them. Pick one. For God's sake.
Katsuya flips a page in his notebook. His eyes don't show from behind his glasses. You shot your brother Clovis in the head. Do you deny this?
- No.
- You shot your sister Euphemia in the heart. Do you deny this?
- No.
- You conspired to murder your father, Charles zi Britannia, ninety-eighth emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire. Do you deny this?
- You would have torn his throat out with your teeth had you been capable.
- You are responsible for the deaths of countless people, Japanese and Britannian. Do you deny this?
- It was war.
- They were sentient. Do you deny this?
- You don't understand the question.
- You violated their wills. It's Elfangor now. Katsuya's gone. Didn't he leave a long time ago? You took unconscionable actions. We fight enemies who do the same, Marco and I. Do you deny this?
You remember. (Those were pearls that were his eyes.) But you cannot speak. Your mouth is full of blood. Your lips part. It gushes out, spills all over the ground. You vomit rusting chains, encrusted in black blood, spooling out like intestines. You cannot deny the charges. You failed to avenge Mother's death. Your actions were for nothing. The chains snake up around Elfangor's legs, pinning him to the ground. They wrap around Marco's thick yoma neck - he makes a choked sound and begins to shrink, but the chains mold to his demorphing shape. Your eye burns. Runs lightning through your veins. You laugh because there is nothing else you can do. There is chaos.
Someone's arms reach around you from behind, enfold you in an embrace. Mother whispers in your ear: I would really like it if you came to visit me, Lelouch. I miss you.
[ Lelouch wakes up in the middle of a coughing spasm, choking and gasping. The late, late afternoon sun shines with incongruous cheer in the window. There are three thin red lines running down his cheek from his temple; he had scratched them in his sleep. ]
Mother's smiling. Blood shows in the cracks lining her gums, clotting blotchily and staining her mouth black. Her dress is covered in it. Red. Full of bullet holes. She smiles. Lelouch. She speaks with her voice. My son. My darling. I miss you. Her eyes are dark, her sclerae full of blood from popped vessels.
None of this seems to bother you. You embrace her, hold her tightly. She smells of death. Mother. Her blood is on you, now. It's on you. I tried, Mother. You tried. You put Clovis all over the floor, shot Euphemia, left Cornelia to die, lost Nunnally, never made it to face Schneizel (or did you? Have you?), and she's still dead, and you still do not know who killed her. (Tell me what you know. Who killed her?) Cornelia didn't know and it was all for nothing, but you kept going.
Mother's fingers tighten in your hair. It hurts. They killed me, she says. It's terrible. I get lonely here. In the dark. It hurts. (hurts like his hands in your hair, hands you once held in your boyhood clamping you to the floor, holding you while you scream, while you break, while something in you dies)
You blink and it is different. Kannagara lies before you in monochrome gray. The air is cold. No, it's not Kannagara, it's the Aries Villa. (Is it?) No. Where are you? The wind blows words back to you, someone singing in a high, soft voice:
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu:
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
Eliot, you think, even though that's not the answer, this is bizarre, who even speaks German in Kannagara? Your hands are wrapped up in black threads. You pick at them, but they only tighten. Cut into your palms. Fresh beads of blood run out, and you are suddenly afraid, because blood attracts them, blood attracts them, Charles' blood, Marianne's blood, you've never known which runs stronger. Reach up and claw at Zero's helmet (where did it come from?), but it won't come off. Your fingernails dig into something that feels like flesh, not fiberglass. You can't pull it off. It's bleeding.
Marco's there. They were sentient, he says. They're like toddlers. They were sentient. He morphs before your eyes, skin splitting, bones cracking, into a yoma. They were sentient. You remember now. The soldiers. In Shinjuku. They were mostly honorary Britannians. They'd turned their guns up under their chins, smiling. Laughing. The guns roared. They were going to kill you.
Marco's hand grabs you around the middle. You feel your ribs bruising under his fingers. The singing is still there: Oed' und leer das Meer. Desolate and empty the sea. The silent seas. Suou Katsuya stands next to Marco, in full uniform, Japanese policeman, wa and all. You are under arrest, he says. You're in the Britannian throne room. No one's there. You're shaking anyway. You hate this place. You're still outside. You are both. This place is both. A light shines harshly in your eyes.
Name.
Lelouch Lamperouge.
Someone grabs your head and slams it against the ground. You are at least given respite from the light. Name.
Lelouch vi Britannia.
Slammed again. You bite your tongue. Your mouth fills with blood and bile. Name.
Zero.
Struck across the face. You spit blood. Name.
That's all you have. It's one of those three. You don't know anymore, you tell them, you don't fucking know. It's one of them. You're one of them. Pick one. For God's sake.
Katsuya flips a page in his notebook. His eyes don't show from behind his glasses. You shot your brother Clovis in the head. Do you deny this?
- No.
- You shot your sister Euphemia in the heart. Do you deny this?
- No.
- You conspired to murder your father, Charles zi Britannia, ninety-eighth emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire. Do you deny this?
- You would have torn his throat out with your teeth had you been capable.
- You are responsible for the deaths of countless people, Japanese and Britannian. Do you deny this?
- It was war.
- They were sentient. Do you deny this?
- You don't understand the question.
- You violated their wills. It's Elfangor now. Katsuya's gone. Didn't he leave a long time ago? You took unconscionable actions. We fight enemies who do the same, Marco and I. Do you deny this?
You remember. (Those were pearls that were his eyes.) But you cannot speak. Your mouth is full of blood. Your lips part. It gushes out, spills all over the ground. You vomit rusting chains, encrusted in black blood, spooling out like intestines. You cannot deny the charges. You failed to avenge Mother's death. Your actions were for nothing. The chains snake up around Elfangor's legs, pinning him to the ground. They wrap around Marco's thick yoma neck - he makes a choked sound and begins to shrink, but the chains mold to his demorphing shape. Your eye burns. Runs lightning through your veins. You laugh because there is nothing else you can do. There is chaos.
Someone's arms reach around you from behind, enfold you in an embrace. Mother whispers in your ear: I would really like it if you came to visit me, Lelouch. I miss you.
[ Lelouch wakes up in the middle of a coughing spasm, choking and gasping. The late, late afternoon sun shines with incongruous cheer in the window. There are three thin red lines running down his cheek from his temple; he had scratched them in his sleep. ]