literature

Black Celebration

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Mr. Hyde's 24th Birthday...
      He’d never liked birthdays. Even before she’d died, they’d only ever been a reminder that they’d been put through another year of living – and, if the trend of past years continued, were likely to endure another in the future. A reminder of their mother, whoever she was, had ever spawned them; and a reminder that she obviously hadn’t cared enough about him and his sister to abstain from dropping them off to the orphanage right after the damn umbilical was cut.
       And now, the damned date served as a glaring, big-ass, lit-up billboard that screamed down at him to help him recall that the one with whom he shared his birthday wasn’t here. November 6th.
       Not that the local bars minded this time of the year. After all, their number one customer barhopped the whole week of the anniversary; he wasn’t a very agreeable guest of course, but he gave them money, so minimal complaints were made.
      Not that he did anything more rowdy than sit quietly and drink. It was the whole thing about still lingering at the counter two hours after closing time that bothered them.
       It was two-o’clock in the morning, now. They’d cut him off a few hours ago, so he could walk straight – even if the dark, amber-lit streets weren’t quite lucid in his eyes. It was the time just after Elysium’s nightlife had collapsed onto their beds in sleep, and the graveyard shift was drawing to a close. Early-morning workers would be getting up in an hour or two – but for now, the streets were empty.
      Well, more empty than less, anyway.
      The scent of liquor must have covered up the scent of danger. ‘Cause the red-eyed thing coming at him from across the street apparently couldn’t discern the smell of crossbow-oil and kagune chitin on its trench-coated prey.
      It was a kid, no older than twenty, Hyde supposed, and fell to the ground when he gave it a face full of spray. Dumbass was hungry and dumbass dropped like a rock. Dumbass probably didn’t expect a drunk guy to know he was there, but a‘course this wasn’t Hyde’s first time stepping out of a tavern in the wee hours of the morning wasted as hell.
      The ghoul was still moving, writhing on the ground, so he sprayed it some more, and hooked a buzzing fist through the nape of its hoodie so he could drag it along. Best be getting home. Didn’t want to deal with any other hungry bastards.
       It was heavy, but Hyde somehow got it from here to there – there, the safehouse nearby where he’d be crashing for the rest of the night. He even managed to finish two cigarettes on the way there, and stuffed the emptied carton of cigs into the ghoul’s mouth to see if it’d make him stop babbling. It sort of helped, but the kid was still trying to make conversation. Pissed off, he was, Hyde supposed. Well, he’d be a little pissed off, too. ‘Cause where was this strange human even taking him – the little bastard didn’t know. He didn’t begrudge him the f-bombs or other colorful expletives the ghoul tried to let fly, as he unlocked the door and moved the prone ghoul inside with his feet. Going from dark alleyway to dark antechamber to a dark basement that was one of his humble abodes.
      “Where – where are you taking me?! What the hell!” The ghoul had managed to get the cardboard out of his mouth and was making a ruckus, which Hyde silenced with his foot.
       “Quiet.” The man had turned away to rub his face, feeling blood tingle numb through hand and skin. Half of him wanted to sleep – but after shutting the door – locking all the deadbolts and resetting the security – even drunk, he never forgot to do that – he flipped on the light-switch so that cold light could start buzzing in the room, so he could blink blearily down at the ghoul on the floor, who also happened to be looking up at him. With the black and red eyes, a grimace on its face like a gash. Yeah – half of him wanted to sleep. But…
     Miles to go before I sleep.
      When it was still conscious, a few rags shut up in its craw worked well enough to keep its screams inaudible. Hyde worked by memory more than consciousness, as the liquor-molasses thoughts in his head dripped away like blood. The blood he was watching move with the rhythm of a jagged pulse.
       Six years ago, if he’d have been there, if he’d have been there like this, if he’d had the power he did now.
     His sister wouldn’t be dead, and he wouldn’t be spending their birthday alone. Alone with this piece of meat.
      He’d thrown the usual towels around the floor to make sure the blood stayed on the linoleum and didn’t leak to the rug, and now just worked with the knife, as the ghoul’s life left through the openings in its body.
      Why couldn’t it be like that – why couldn’t it be just like that? Why couldn’t life return just as easily as it left? That made sense, right? Just like a battery pack. Old juice is out, put some new stuff in. Why couldn’t it be as easy as the way the blue-tipped blades went through the skin. That would be just, wouldn’t it? Trading in a few of these lives for her? How many ghouls would be equal to the trade? Hell – more than he’d killed so far. She was worth more than a hundred ghouls. Her heart had been made of gold – and it would have been in one of their mouths if he hadn’t gotten her away in time.
       How many could bring her back? How much blood?
      This hadn’t been what he was thinking about on his first kill. That’d been all rage and impulse – and vomiting after; better and worse than a first kiss. Like pissing on the sun.
       But now that killing – this – the red in his hands now, the gargling noise from the ghoul’s open throat, and the sight of its moving insides. Now that this was boring – now that a good kill was getting harder and harder to come by – he breathed – now it gave him room to think.
      Of course he knew. This blood couldn’t be put back into his sister’s body. Hell, she probably had hardly enough cells left to clone her by, where she was, buried under that tree. There was no fucked up magic that could put the dirt back into a corpse back into a body, and no fucked up magic to put this blood on his hands into her veins. The dying light in this ghoul’s eyes was just like the dying light in hers. The snuffing out of a two-millimeter candle. It wouldn’t ever be relit.  
      But.
      Wouldn’t it be a funny thing to try?
      Not try and dig up her body and bring her back to life with dead ghouls like fucking Frankenstein – that’d be idiotic. That wouldn’t work. That would never work. He wasn’t crazy.
      But couldn’t he – pretend?
      Pretend that this blood was doing something. Pretend all this blood was doing something besides staining his fingernails, besides giving him a mess to clean up tomorrow. Pretend all those bullets had gone into something worth killing. Pretend he was doing it because he could bring her back. Because – couldn’t it be more than just vengeance? Wouldn’t it be a nice change, something more than vengeance or his own personal unholy war?
      Jordan probably would have liked it better that way. Not that she’d like the killing at all. But if it was for a purpose, maybe it wouldn’t make her sad. If it had to be, if it could only be for something more. He breathed. Like the memory of her was aerosol. If it could only be for something more.

      Or… not.
      Hyde was sitting over the ghoul like a paramedic crouched over an injured athlete. Of course, this ghoul was a little more than injured. And he was not a paramedic. His dark eyes lingered on it like cold cubes of ice, absorbing the sight of its disassembled body the way black holes absorbed light-waves.

      No.
       While his sister was still dead. While he still had the knives, while he still had the crossbow and the Barrett, while he still had the bullets. While there was still blood to see that wasn’t Jordan’s. While ghouls still crawled the streets like so many roaches.
      Vengeance would be enough.
      Bleach and hydrofluoric acid weren’t all that expensive, anyway.
WC 1442 - IP to Unaffiliated AYYY
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Cornspiracy's avatar
rip angsty man with sister pains


i like how u write things
im gonna kick ur ass tak stop that