Yami no Fics, Yami no Malik, There's no telling what I want to tell you
Title: There’s no telling what I want to tell you
Theme number and theme: # 5, Truth
Genre: introspective
Rating: M
Warnings(if any): mentions of gore and violence
Character or pairing: Yami no Malik
Short summary: Hatred and pain festers in one’s heart, but what has truth got to do with it?
Key: ---------------- = scene change
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I hate you. I hate you too. I’ve always hated you. The moment I saw you, I hated you. I know you’re not surprised by this, but on the other hand, you’re not very bright. To think that you are supposed to be the dominant personality, actually makes me laugh. You’re pathetic. You cry hot tears every night that you’re so afraid of the dark. You ask your sister to keep on a nightlight. You ask your brother to tuck you in at night so you know there aren’t any monsters around.
I’m the biggest monster of all, and I’m you. A monster called truth, and you know it. Deep down, you know it all, you know it very well, but you pretend that nothing’s wrong, there’s no darkness, la la la, happy unicorn paradise rainbow land.
That’s why I hate you the most. You’re a weak, pathetic, whining coward. If it weren’t for me picking up the Rod, you would still live according to your father’s will… or should I say, your father’s tyranny? Have you forgotten how he smiled, when heating the blade in the light of a candle? You should be thankful, grateful, that I took care of that problem. I killed him, I stabbed him and skinned him alive, tore it straight off of him and smelled his blood, tasted it, so salty and coppery and sweet at the same time, delicious delicious.
But no. You had to scream and yell and cry for your big brother, you baby. You had to be comforted by him, who’s not even a real Ishtar by birth. He’s merely adopted, he should be nothing more to you than a simple servant. You care for him because you had nobody else to turn to, and he listened patiently to your crying and wailing, and dried your precious tears.
I tell you the truth. I’m the truth. There’s nothing dishonest about me and I don’t tell lies. You can deny it as much as you want, but you know it, and I know you know. You want your revenge, but you don’t want the consequences. You want to get out of your shell, but you’re afraid, that your plans will fail, that you won’t get what you want, or what you feel you’re entitled too.
You gave me full reign once. You can do it again. The truth is, deep down somewhere in that weak, feeble body of yours, or perhaps deep down somewhere in that conflicted, soft brain of yours, you want more. It feels good to hold the Rod and plunge it deep into tender flesh. To withdraw it and lick the blood off of the dagger, and feel how the razor sharp blade cuts your tongue; blood mixed with blood, divine liquid, nectar of the Gods… I’m sure you would like the taste, if you give it a chance.
That control, to be in control… to not cower behind your silly ‘fears’, but to take matters into your own hands. A dagger. A knife. A gun. A sword. What better way to take care of problems than to solve with violence? You think there’s no truth in violence? That it’s not the answer? Well, is your father bothering you still? Is he still carrying that whip of his around, to beat you? I don’t see him, that man who grinned when he carved your back, and I grinned along, because I loved the pain. It was so warm and so heavenly, the tip of that knife, so hot and sharp.. it didn’t cut, it melted the flesh away and forced it to take shape, pushing the skin into a mold.
Truthfully, I enjoyed the ceremony. I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘painful’. Everything is painful to you. The memory of your murdered father, so you pushed it away. The memory of the Pharaoh, so you set out to seek your revenge. The memory of living underground, so you stay on a boat or you ride your bike, just to get away from a building. Should I tell you to confront your fears? Should I tell you to take the plunge, to jump into the deep? No. I like you scared and sour, because it feeds me. I want you to be angry and full and pain and self-pity. It’s the truth, isn’t it? You hate me because I am you, because I hate you, because life hates you and you hate everything about life.
Now now, don’t be upset. You don’t have to listen to me. The truth is always hard they say, but I’ve got a quick solution and no, it doesn’t involve violence, for once. You can always deny truth. You can always ignore it. It doesn’t exist! Problem solved! There’s no truth but your truth, and the rest can go to hell. They can all fall into the darkness, into nothingness, and curse each other for not paying better attention. For not fighting back. They will claw at each other just for their own survival, gouge each other’s eyes out and cut off their lips, using their nails to split and splice their sweet flesh, and cry, cry delicious cries of anguish, just like you do.
You don’t like the truth? Change it. Challenge it. Cherish your denial. Comfort yourself with your lies and your hatred, use it as a cloak, as a blanket, as a cover. It’s so beautiful, why should you be ever afraid of hatred? Of darkness? You were born into it, you gave birth to me because of it - why, you should make love to the darkness, embrace it, touch it, kiss it; it’s where you belong, safely in its arms.
You didn’t expect to hear this, did you? And even if you did, you won’t pay attention to it, you’ll deny it just like you deny everything. Your delicious truth is your own, but it’s a bunch of lies. I’m your truth. Pure, unadulterated hate. Pain. Anger. Destruction. Darkness. Why even bother to hide from it? All this light doesn’t serve a purpose. Friends don’t serve a purpose, family… hah! Family is not an anchor, it’s ballast; why would you need your precious brother and sister when you have me?
I understand you. I know exactly how you feel. I am you, interior and exterior, inside and outside, from that cramped smile on your face to your wicked self-loathing in your heart. I would almost pity you, if I knew how to pity; I only hate, remember?
Truth. It’s nothing but a concept. Love. Friends. Family. Pharaoh. It’s not that hard. Just words. Think of it as a concept, that you can mold and knead to your own liking. Of course I’m telling you to lie. A lie is another concept, why should you feel bad about it? What’s that, you say? It hurts your family when you lie? Pffrt, a lie is just a lie. Another concept, get it? If they choose to get upset by their own perception of the truth, which is a lie to you anyway, who is lying? It’s not your problem how they view your words. Come on, don’t be so afraid.
I have always told you the truth. I have never beaten around the bush. You’re an instrument of darkness and you want revenge and you’re full of hatred and anger. What do you expect? Do you want to drink tea with your sister and perpetuate the traditions of your tribe? Do you want to plant flowers and roses and take care of them? Admit it, you’re not the nurturing kind - you’re the destructive kind.
One thing’s true about the truth, though. It’s cold. And hard. And dark. Exactly the way I like it. I’ll be waiting for you until you realize it, and accept it with all your hatred and anger. Nothing beats hateful truth. It’s a catalyst. It’s a motivator. It’s who you are.
------------------------------------
This entry was originally posted at http://the-goldenpath.dreamwidth.org/85154.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
Theme number and theme: # 5, Truth
Genre: introspective
Rating: M
Warnings(if any): mentions of gore and violence
Character or pairing: Yami no Malik
Short summary: Hatred and pain festers in one’s heart, but what has truth got to do with it?
Key: ---------------- = scene change
------------------------------------
I hate you. I hate you too. I’ve always hated you. The moment I saw you, I hated you. I know you’re not surprised by this, but on the other hand, you’re not very bright. To think that you are supposed to be the dominant personality, actually makes me laugh. You’re pathetic. You cry hot tears every night that you’re so afraid of the dark. You ask your sister to keep on a nightlight. You ask your brother to tuck you in at night so you know there aren’t any monsters around.
I’m the biggest monster of all, and I’m you. A monster called truth, and you know it. Deep down, you know it all, you know it very well, but you pretend that nothing’s wrong, there’s no darkness, la la la, happy unicorn paradise rainbow land.
That’s why I hate you the most. You’re a weak, pathetic, whining coward. If it weren’t for me picking up the Rod, you would still live according to your father’s will… or should I say, your father’s tyranny? Have you forgotten how he smiled, when heating the blade in the light of a candle? You should be thankful, grateful, that I took care of that problem. I killed him, I stabbed him and skinned him alive, tore it straight off of him and smelled his blood, tasted it, so salty and coppery and sweet at the same time, delicious delicious.
But no. You had to scream and yell and cry for your big brother, you baby. You had to be comforted by him, who’s not even a real Ishtar by birth. He’s merely adopted, he should be nothing more to you than a simple servant. You care for him because you had nobody else to turn to, and he listened patiently to your crying and wailing, and dried your precious tears.
I tell you the truth. I’m the truth. There’s nothing dishonest about me and I don’t tell lies. You can deny it as much as you want, but you know it, and I know you know. You want your revenge, but you don’t want the consequences. You want to get out of your shell, but you’re afraid, that your plans will fail, that you won’t get what you want, or what you feel you’re entitled too.
You gave me full reign once. You can do it again. The truth is, deep down somewhere in that weak, feeble body of yours, or perhaps deep down somewhere in that conflicted, soft brain of yours, you want more. It feels good to hold the Rod and plunge it deep into tender flesh. To withdraw it and lick the blood off of the dagger, and feel how the razor sharp blade cuts your tongue; blood mixed with blood, divine liquid, nectar of the Gods… I’m sure you would like the taste, if you give it a chance.
That control, to be in control… to not cower behind your silly ‘fears’, but to take matters into your own hands. A dagger. A knife. A gun. A sword. What better way to take care of problems than to solve with violence? You think there’s no truth in violence? That it’s not the answer? Well, is your father bothering you still? Is he still carrying that whip of his around, to beat you? I don’t see him, that man who grinned when he carved your back, and I grinned along, because I loved the pain. It was so warm and so heavenly, the tip of that knife, so hot and sharp.. it didn’t cut, it melted the flesh away and forced it to take shape, pushing the skin into a mold.
Truthfully, I enjoyed the ceremony. I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘painful’. Everything is painful to you. The memory of your murdered father, so you pushed it away. The memory of the Pharaoh, so you set out to seek your revenge. The memory of living underground, so you stay on a boat or you ride your bike, just to get away from a building. Should I tell you to confront your fears? Should I tell you to take the plunge, to jump into the deep? No. I like you scared and sour, because it feeds me. I want you to be angry and full and pain and self-pity. It’s the truth, isn’t it? You hate me because I am you, because I hate you, because life hates you and you hate everything about life.
Now now, don’t be upset. You don’t have to listen to me. The truth is always hard they say, but I’ve got a quick solution and no, it doesn’t involve violence, for once. You can always deny truth. You can always ignore it. It doesn’t exist! Problem solved! There’s no truth but your truth, and the rest can go to hell. They can all fall into the darkness, into nothingness, and curse each other for not paying better attention. For not fighting back. They will claw at each other just for their own survival, gouge each other’s eyes out and cut off their lips, using their nails to split and splice their sweet flesh, and cry, cry delicious cries of anguish, just like you do.
You don’t like the truth? Change it. Challenge it. Cherish your denial. Comfort yourself with your lies and your hatred, use it as a cloak, as a blanket, as a cover. It’s so beautiful, why should you be ever afraid of hatred? Of darkness? You were born into it, you gave birth to me because of it - why, you should make love to the darkness, embrace it, touch it, kiss it; it’s where you belong, safely in its arms.
You didn’t expect to hear this, did you? And even if you did, you won’t pay attention to it, you’ll deny it just like you deny everything. Your delicious truth is your own, but it’s a bunch of lies. I’m your truth. Pure, unadulterated hate. Pain. Anger. Destruction. Darkness. Why even bother to hide from it? All this light doesn’t serve a purpose. Friends don’t serve a purpose, family… hah! Family is not an anchor, it’s ballast; why would you need your precious brother and sister when you have me?
I understand you. I know exactly how you feel. I am you, interior and exterior, inside and outside, from that cramped smile on your face to your wicked self-loathing in your heart. I would almost pity you, if I knew how to pity; I only hate, remember?
Truth. It’s nothing but a concept. Love. Friends. Family. Pharaoh. It’s not that hard. Just words. Think of it as a concept, that you can mold and knead to your own liking. Of course I’m telling you to lie. A lie is another concept, why should you feel bad about it? What’s that, you say? It hurts your family when you lie? Pffrt, a lie is just a lie. Another concept, get it? If they choose to get upset by their own perception of the truth, which is a lie to you anyway, who is lying? It’s not your problem how they view your words. Come on, don’t be so afraid.
I have always told you the truth. I have never beaten around the bush. You’re an instrument of darkness and you want revenge and you’re full of hatred and anger. What do you expect? Do you want to drink tea with your sister and perpetuate the traditions of your tribe? Do you want to plant flowers and roses and take care of them? Admit it, you’re not the nurturing kind - you’re the destructive kind.
One thing’s true about the truth, though. It’s cold. And hard. And dark. Exactly the way I like it. I’ll be waiting for you until you realize it, and accept it with all your hatred and anger. Nothing beats hateful truth. It’s a catalyst. It’s a motivator. It’s who you are.
------------------------------------
This entry was originally posted at http://the-goldenpath.dreamwidth.org/85154.html. Please comment there using OpenID.