reikoyazumi
in
jpex
(no subject)
Even the heavy cross on the altar tormented me, the thin gilt peeling and disintegrating, revealing scarred strips of wood, full of impurities. Like me. I was the wood beneath the gilt, the dark, flawed centre under the shiny, pretty, pure exterior.
It sickened me.
The girl’s hair had been gold. Blazing in the evening sunlight like an angel’s halo. She’d been innocent, pure, deserving of that colour. I ruined her. I tarnished her. I killed her.
The blood is congealing on my hands, now. Thickening, clotting, the deep, crimson colour of it fading to brown. I killed her kneeling before the altar like a priest offering up a sacrifice. I spilled her blood like the Mass wine, the deep, rich claret pooling in the cracks on the floor beneath my penitent knees. Penitent and pleading, waiting for a god who didn’t exist.
Her body lay broken on the dais, a doll long forgotten and uncared for, her golden hair splayed around her face, tacky with blood. Her blood. Her dead eyes were shut, and she almost could have been asleep. Pure, peaceful. Golden. Even barbarous death could not rob her of her purity.
My purity had been lost a long time ago, spilt in the opened veins of hundreds, dashed across floors and walls and faces, swallowed, burned, wasted. I was red and black and hopeless; helpless.
I had come here to escape from my sins, to find a temporary redemption in the house of the Lord. An abandoned church, an abandoned soul. And then she’d walked into the chapel and my teeth had found her neck and the world had disappeared in a blur of hate and blood and pleasure and pain, everything and nothing at all.
I waited desperately for the impossible tears to come, as if they could wash away all the evil in my soul. It was futile, I knew. The tears I could not shed burned in my soul, the breaths I did not need bringing the sweet, hateful scent of her blood to me again and again and again.
You, pretty girl, golden haired and blue eyed - I knew her eyes, why did I know her eyes? - you had pity in your heart when you saw me here. You didn’t know I would be the last thing your pretty blue eyes saw, blood-red and soul-black and full of hate and despair. You didn’t know. How could you know? You pitied me, alone in this cold church, alone and searching for divinity. Alone, trying desperately to feel. I felt you. I lived every emotion in your pretty, golden heart alongside you. I felt when your pity turned to fear, and when your fear turned to revulsion, and when your hate turned to acceptance.
You, pretty, golden girl. Why was it that you could face your death with such a light heart? Perhaps because, for you, death was the end. When you have eternity, you have eternity to face yourself and your demons. I had no demons. I was one.
Blood red and soul-black. And sorry, such soul-rendering, tearing, burning sorrow.
A voice at the door, shaft of golden light painting my sins with flaking gilt. Gilt on guilt. I could almost have smiled. Edward. “Come home.” My helpless gaze fixed on the fading splendour of the cross, thin, delicate gold peeling and disintegrating and revealing the rotting, tainted structures that held me up. Come home. Golden home. Golden Edward, golden family, golden souls. Me, blood red, soul black. No. Not home.
“Come home.” The words, repeated in the soft, pure baritone drifted across the ruined church and found my ears. Come home. And I would, because I was weak. Too weak to take myself away, to stop my taint from tarnishing their soul-deep gilt. Soul-black and blood red. God with his face turned from me, refusing guidance, refusing me. And Edward behind me, haloed with golden sunset light and watching with golden sunset eyes. An angel. And angel here in the house of and absent Lord, reaching out a hand to the most fallen of children. A lost child with blood on his hands and silence in his ears and on his knees before a being made of something I could never hope to achieve.
His brow creased in consternation as he approached, paying no heed to the newly-crimson tiles. “Jasper.” I shook my head; denying, denying. I wasn’t Jasper. I was a beast, a monster. I’d felt her as she died, her emotions flooding my senses, her tears prickling my eyes, her breaths catching in my throat. But it wasn’t enough to stop me. Her thoughts fragmenting my own, her essence channelled for a moment within my monstrous vessel. He knelt before me, his hands reaching and I couldn’t move, couldn’t pull back from her silent screaming pain in my head, and his hands were cool against my skin. “Jasper.” My name again, pained this time, and it felt like fire in my ears.
His eyes found mine, pools of benediction, and the pain and guilt and evil I felt burned suddenly brighter against the wash of his emotions. His eyes closed, his forehead leaning against mine; little things, physical things I barely registered against the flood. Disappointment, yes, sadness. But the thing that burned me so completely was the pure, unfiltered love he felt for me. Love. Love and anger and fear and guilt and understanding, and when his face lifted away from mine the hollow pulse of her blood had gone from my ears.
He stood silently and my eyes followed him. He held out a hand, come home. And here, knelt at his feet and with his love in my head and my heart, it was almost like redemption.
I took his hand.
It sickened me.
The girl’s hair had been gold. Blazing in the evening sunlight like an angel’s halo. She’d been innocent, pure, deserving of that colour. I ruined her. I tarnished her. I killed her.
The blood is congealing on my hands, now. Thickening, clotting, the deep, crimson colour of it fading to brown. I killed her kneeling before the altar like a priest offering up a sacrifice. I spilled her blood like the Mass wine, the deep, rich claret pooling in the cracks on the floor beneath my penitent knees. Penitent and pleading, waiting for a god who didn’t exist.
Her body lay broken on the dais, a doll long forgotten and uncared for, her golden hair splayed around her face, tacky with blood. Her blood. Her dead eyes were shut, and she almost could have been asleep. Pure, peaceful. Golden. Even barbarous death could not rob her of her purity.
My purity had been lost a long time ago, spilt in the opened veins of hundreds, dashed across floors and walls and faces, swallowed, burned, wasted. I was red and black and hopeless; helpless.
I had come here to escape from my sins, to find a temporary redemption in the house of the Lord. An abandoned church, an abandoned soul. And then she’d walked into the chapel and my teeth had found her neck and the world had disappeared in a blur of hate and blood and pleasure and pain, everything and nothing at all.
I waited desperately for the impossible tears to come, as if they could wash away all the evil in my soul. It was futile, I knew. The tears I could not shed burned in my soul, the breaths I did not need bringing the sweet, hateful scent of her blood to me again and again and again.
You, pretty girl, golden haired and blue eyed - I knew her eyes, why did I know her eyes? - you had pity in your heart when you saw me here. You didn’t know I would be the last thing your pretty blue eyes saw, blood-red and soul-black and full of hate and despair. You didn’t know. How could you know? You pitied me, alone in this cold church, alone and searching for divinity. Alone, trying desperately to feel. I felt you. I lived every emotion in your pretty, golden heart alongside you. I felt when your pity turned to fear, and when your fear turned to revulsion, and when your hate turned to acceptance.
You, pretty, golden girl. Why was it that you could face your death with such a light heart? Perhaps because, for you, death was the end. When you have eternity, you have eternity to face yourself and your demons. I had no demons. I was one.
Blood red and soul-black. And sorry, such soul-rendering, tearing, burning sorrow.
A voice at the door, shaft of golden light painting my sins with flaking gilt. Gilt on guilt. I could almost have smiled. Edward. “Come home.” My helpless gaze fixed on the fading splendour of the cross, thin, delicate gold peeling and disintegrating and revealing the rotting, tainted structures that held me up. Come home. Golden home. Golden Edward, golden family, golden souls. Me, blood red, soul black. No. Not home.
“Come home.” The words, repeated in the soft, pure baritone drifted across the ruined church and found my ears. Come home. And I would, because I was weak. Too weak to take myself away, to stop my taint from tarnishing their soul-deep gilt. Soul-black and blood red. God with his face turned from me, refusing guidance, refusing me. And Edward behind me, haloed with golden sunset light and watching with golden sunset eyes. An angel. And angel here in the house of and absent Lord, reaching out a hand to the most fallen of children. A lost child with blood on his hands and silence in his ears and on his knees before a being made of something I could never hope to achieve.
His brow creased in consternation as he approached, paying no heed to the newly-crimson tiles. “Jasper.” I shook my head; denying, denying. I wasn’t Jasper. I was a beast, a monster. I’d felt her as she died, her emotions flooding my senses, her tears prickling my eyes, her breaths catching in my throat. But it wasn’t enough to stop me. Her thoughts fragmenting my own, her essence channelled for a moment within my monstrous vessel. He knelt before me, his hands reaching and I couldn’t move, couldn’t pull back from her silent screaming pain in my head, and his hands were cool against my skin. “Jasper.” My name again, pained this time, and it felt like fire in my ears.
His eyes found mine, pools of benediction, and the pain and guilt and evil I felt burned suddenly brighter against the wash of his emotions. His eyes closed, his forehead leaning against mine; little things, physical things I barely registered against the flood. Disappointment, yes, sadness. But the thing that burned me so completely was the pure, unfiltered love he felt for me. Love. Love and anger and fear and guilt and understanding, and when his face lifted away from mine the hollow pulse of her blood had gone from my ears.
He stood silently and my eyes followed him. He held out a hand, come home. And here, knelt at his feet and with his love in my head and my heart, it was almost like redemption.
I took his hand.