Scraps, musings, night-time colds, and 3am

I go through my documents from time to time to review things that I've written. It's just something that I do for fun or when I'm in a particularly scathing mood (has nothing to do with you, dear readers) about something. I decided, after playing several rounds of Text Twist and talking to a few of my dear friends on Facebook, that I would go through and find some interesting/funny/strange/weird things or tidbits that I've written in the past. There's no order to them... no rhyme or reason. You don't have to enjoy... but... well... here you go:

“Do you really think so…? You know, I’ve always wanted a pet zombie,” I said around a mouthful of food. “I think I might name him BoBo, and I’ll feed him the brains of my enemies and teach him how to do tricks. Aw – I made myself kind of sad there because I know I can never have a BoBo.” All other conversations stopped, and so did the eating.

___________________________________________________

The only sound I could hear was my own breathing harsh and heavy in my ears. My lungs burned. My heart felt like it was about it pop in my chest. The vibrations from my feet hitting the ground was enough to rattle the teeth in my mouth and jar my eyes in their sockets. The rain stung coldly against my skin as I ran.

“Crypt,” I gasped, daring to glance behind me. The demand that was on my tongue died before I could voice it when I realized that he wasn’t there with me anymore. I knew that he wasn’t hit because he was out of there before the firing started, pulling me by the wrist behind me. Somehow, somewhere, we had gotten separated. It could have easily been when we hit the crowded streets of the city that one or both of us got turned around.

I stopped dead in my tracks, sliding on the slick pavement. Gulping air, I looked around for him, but all I saw were people who called the city home. He could have been anywhere in the bustling metropolis.

It was then I noticed the stares that I was getting, and I realized what a sight I must look – hair soaked and disheveled, clothes pelted through with water, and no umbrella even though I was standing in the middle of a flood-worthy downpour.

There was a library in front of me, so I bounded up the stairs and opened the door, ducking inside.

I tried to ignore the people who stared at me as I walked down the aisles dripping water on the floor with audible plink-plinks. I still felt the blush rise on my cheeks, and I wondered when I had developed such a sense of humility – especially for Earth property.

“Is there something I can help you with?” asked a stern looking middle-aged man. He was skinny to a point that almost made me want to offer him food. His skin was pale and a little wrinkled, and he had thick, graying, bushy eyebrows over lifeless rheumy eyes. His hair was the color of ancient steel; it was styled in such a way that it vaguely reminded me of something akin to a mad professor. He was dressed simply in a gray suite. Overall, he didn’t seem threatening, but I still felt that I wasn’t wanted here. Whether or not they thought that I was homeless or just a mess, I wasn’t sure. He leaned to the right of me, staring at the wet trail that I had left behind me and scowled at the puddle of dripping water at my feet.

“I… I have a school project due, and I… the storm started so suddenly, and I didn’t have an umbrella,” I stammered, hoping that he would buy it. I cursed my teeth as they started to chatter in the coolness of the library.

“You may enter the library once you dry a little more,” he said stiffly and directed me towards the women’s restrooms. I nodded vigorously, drops of water flying from my hair and landing every-which-way and took off before he could yell at me.

The bathroom was just as grand as the inside of the library. The lights were a soft yellow, creating the pretense of candlelight. The walls and fixtures were a soft bronze color and ornately carved. There were splashes of either yellow or gold to create a faux expensive (or aristocratic) look. There were carved arabesques and hyperboles that – should you try to trace the paths with your eye – you would undoubtedly get dizzy and chance either falling to the marble floor or throwing up in the fine China-sector porcelain toilets. The only thing lacking from this overly extravagant bathroom were windows. Ha- figures.

So, I grabbed a towel that was sitting on the marble sink and started to squeeze the water from my hair and clothes.

I wasn’t sure how long I was in the bathroom trying to dry my dripping self, but after what seemed like eons I was finally done. I left the large, haughty bathroom and entered back into the library. It was still pouring, and I didn’t want to get drenched again. I was about to wander off and find a good book to occupy myself when Mr. Stuffy appeared out of nowhere, grabbing me by my damp elbow, and dragged me to the reference section of the library.

“On what was your project?” he asked. My mind went into overdrive as I tried to remember what he was talking about.

“It’s on our great military, and the many battles that the brave men have fought throughout the history of this war,” I said, thanking the cosmos that I remembered what I had told the stuffy old-ish man.

“These,” he said, pointing, “are our military and history references. The ledger –” he pointed at a huge book sitting on a glass table “– has every one of our military ever registered. Please make sure that your hands are dry before you touch anything, and make sure you do not tear any pages. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I said as politely as I could muster so as not to draw suspicions to myself. In reality, it was all that I could do not to smack the old geezer something silly; if this was how the old fart treated people that were from Earth – or that he thought was from Earth – imagine how he would treat a colony-rat. Maybe, I thought, if I gave him a good whack, I would knock some humility into him. But I thought better of it. If I just gave the bugger a smack, I was likely to draw attention to myself that Crypt wasn’t apt to like. So I gave him a clenched-teeth smile, and, once his back was turned, I flipped him the bird.

I figured that, as long as I had a chance to take a look at the Earth records, I might as well. It could prove to be valuable intelligence in the future. I started to reach for a book off of the shelf, and then I remembered that I didn’t have anything to write down the information that I gathered. Great going, Genesis, I thought. But I grabbed a volume anyway and sat down at a nearby table. It just so happened that there were several notebooks sitting not far away from me – some procrastinating college jock probably cramming for a test or exams or something – and I pulled one from the stack that looked fairly new. (Really, though, they all did; whoever this was either just bought the notebooks, or they just never used them.) Either way, I grabbed one of the pens from the pack sitting next to the notebooks and switched tables. I doubted whomever was there was going to miss either item, but I didn’t want to be too close to the spot where I pilfered them from incase I was wrong about the person being a jock instead of some genius nerd who could name pi to a hundred-thousand places. That would be just my luck.

I sat down and started to read.

One of the most influential military men comes from a long line of army gentlemen from the Italian sector. His father was once the general of the Earth army until he was stricken down with non-specified ailments. After the unfortunate passing of his father, Lancelot Blackmoon took over the commanding office.

Originally from the Italian sector, Lancelot Blackmoon was born into a wealthy home to two parents: his mother – Lenore Croix – and his father – Ambrose Blackmoon. Lancelot Blackmoon was the only child of three to survive past his fifth year.

Not long before he took over his father’s place as general, Lancelot married an Italian gypsy maiden – Absynthe Cryptblood. The two had one child – a son – whom they named Valentine Rumer Blackmoon.

When asked about their choice of name for their son, Lancelot replied, “I want him to remember that love is one of the most powerful weapons that a person can wield next to words – a common belief from Absynthe’s people. Because we’ve named him after the ancient Catholic saint for love as well as an ancient word for ‘gypsy,’ it is our hope that he remembers from where he comes as well as the values that his ancestors follow…. Love will ultimately set us all free.”

As Valentine grew, he began to follow in the footsteps of his father. At an early age, Valentine showed a promising interest in the military, enrolling into the same academe that his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather attended.

Once at the prestigious academe, Valentine Blackmoon met Nicholai Morganti, the son of an army commander. The two became good friends, and eventually Morganti introduced Blackmoon to his half-sister, Jessamine. Not long after the introduction, Blackmoon and Jessamine began a relationship. It was soon after this that Blackmoon entered the front lines.

Although his father protested at first his son’s entrance at such a young age into the actual fighting, Blackmoon – along with Morganti – rose quickly through the ranks. Soon, at the age of 14, Blackmoon became a First Lieutenant….

It seemed that not even the young of Earth were spared from the bloodshed. Although I highly doubted that they actually saw any of the fighting. They were probably packed away in some plush office somewhere while Earth’s poor – still millionaires to tramps like me – were out doing all the fighting. At any rate, I took down my notes, never really paying much attention to the actual names of the players. At least – until I turned the page.

There, staring right back at me, plain as the nose on my face, was Crypt. He was younger than the age that I knew him at, but I knew it was him all the same. His face is more mature now, but, even at the young age, he still had the same features – albeit softer and kinder than what I knew them to be. His hair was still in the classic braid in which he always wore it; the plait was just a bit shorter then. His eyes were bright in the photograph, and he had a wide smile spreading across his face. It was kind of funny, looking back at it now; it seemed a little like he was playing dress-up with his friends. Just like in the colonies, they started them young.

Crypt’s (Valentine’s) left arm was slung carelessly around Morganti’s shoulders – the blond man’s grin was just as wide and carefree as Crypt’s. Likewise, Morganti had his right arm slung around Crypt’s shoulders. Between the two, in the foreground, sat what I assumed to be Jessamine. And was she ever beautiful!

Her golden tresses fell in soft curls around her shoulders and budding breasts. Her eyes were wide and blue, and they actually seemed to twinkle and sparkle with a light all their own. Her mouth was full; her grin wide. Her flawless skin was lightly tanned, and she had a lithe body. She reminded me vaguely of the princesses that I would read about in my smutty romance novels when I had free time. But she also seemed different: she wasn’t smutty like those women in the novels; she wouldn’t rip her bodice for just any handsome face – oh, no! Not pretty, pure, perfect Jessamine.

Yet suddenly everything made sense – every anomaly, every quiet slip that no one noticed. How Crypt was able to fool the computer – how he was able to hack the system and change his home planet – was a mystery. His knowledge of Earth was far too advanced to just be common. He knew his was pretty well around – through most of the cities and towns, which places were good to stop at or stay the night, where to get a restock on munitions should we ever run low.

It began as a small giggle, but it grew until I was laughing from the bottom of my belly, loud laughter, until the people around me were staring at me; these glares would make Nexbit hang his head in shame. Mr. Stuffy was walking over to me, and he grabbed the top of my arm, pulled me around, and slapped a hand over my mouth.

“I don’t think that I should have to remind you that this is a library, and that you should act and conduct yourself in a civilized and respectable manor,” he growled in my ear. I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop the crazed laughter from bubbling out, and I thought about all the kids on the street dying because of these people – these Earth scum. I didn’t want him touching me, and it was all I could do to keep from pulling the knife I had up my sleeve and slashing his throat. I wanted to see, vaguely, if he would still hold his high-collared attitude when his jugular was vomiting blood from a grotesque smile in his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” I finally managed when my homicidal urge passed. “I was laughing at one of our victories.” I felt horrible that I was lying. Foxy would be so angry at me. It was the unwritten law that you could do anything you wanted, but you never ever dared to let a lie slip through your lips – never. I wondered if this would earn me a slap like when they were teaching me how to pickpocket. Or maybe this would be worse. I wasn’t sure: no one had ever lied before.

“Very well, then,” he said, standing and tugging on the bottom of his suit jacket. “Just keep it down.”

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you.”

I wasn’t sure how I would be able to look at Crypt when I found him. I knew his secret. He was from Earth. It tore at my heart and made me sick to my stomach all at the same time. I was in love with a man from Earth. And not just any man – no! This man used to be in the Earth army. This man’s father was one of the greatest members of the military, and I’m sure had Crypt stayed, he would have been one as well.

But in a way, I also admired him. He faced death on both sides. On Earth, he would be killed because he was a deserter, and he joined with our cause. If the Colonial Revolution ever found out, Crypt would just be killed for being from Earth, no questions asked. They would charge him with being a double agent and off him right away, no matter what he had done from the Revolution’s causes or how many times he saved their butts. Still, though, he fought. And he fought for us. Against his home. Against the people he used to love.

It showed me that not all people from Earth were complete scum. Some of them were worth saving. After all, there has to be more people on this planet like Crypt. He can’t be a singularity. So there has to be more people out there who believe in doing the right thing; people who believe that this war is wrong, that hording the antidote was wrong. There has to be more good people. There has to be.

Picking up another book, I continued my reading and note-taking.

There were some people who thought that Nicolai’s attraction to his half-sister was well on the road to incest. It was widely speculated by some that he killed Jessamine when his friend and brother-in-arms, Valentine Blackmoon, began a serious relationship with her.

That theory, however, was rather quickly shot down. Sources say that it was Morganti himself that introduced the two.

The investigation with Morganti as the lead suspect was quickly closed.

The murder of Jessamine Kapp-Morganti was attributed to rebel attacks from the Colonial Revolution. Blackmoon has been missing since, and it presumed that he too was killed during the attack. Vigilant Star has an on-going investigation open as to the murders of the lovers.

It was just reported that Absynthe Blackmoon, wife of General Lancelot Blackmoon, was stricken today with the mysterious illness of the Colonies known only as The Plague.

Mrs. Blackmoon is one of the first 200 Earth residents to be stricken with this disease.

While it is still unknown as to how The Plague came to Earth, it is thought that it was carried in by rebel forces during insurgent attacks.

Mrs. Blackmoon was the first of the Italian Sector to fall ill. Reports say that she isn’t doing well….

….The world has lost a great woman today. Reports broke earlier this month that Mrs. Absynthe Blackmoon, wife to General Lancelot Blackmoon and mother to Valentine Blackmoon, has passed away today.

Her son and husband were by her side as the illness known only as The Plague claimed her life.

“It’s obvious that there needs to be a cure made, and not just because this illness has come to Earth. Too many people have died because of this disease,” General Blackmoon said just after his wife’s passing. “I’m only sorry that it took my wife dying for people here to see it.”

Mrs. Blackmoon was seen giving her son, Valentine, a ring just before she passed. It was taken from her left hand. When asked, General Blackmoon said, “It’s her wedding ring. It’s tradition to give it to the son.”

___________________________________________________

I woke drenched in a cold sweat, heart racing, and blood pounding in my ears. Tears were falling uncontrolled from my eyes. My head ached and my stomach churned. I felt sick. I put a hand over my mouth as a wave of nausea washed over me, sure that I was going to vomit. My vision swam. I stood on shaky legs and made my way to my bathroom, flinging the door open. I knelt at the small toilet, smoothing the hair from my face and putting up the lid. I winced at the loud clank the porcelain made.

I wasn’t sure how long I knelt there before the nausea passed. It couldn’t have been very long – there was still seven hours until role was to be called, according to the countdown alarm next to my bed. That put me at just after midnight. I nodded to myself, rising from my position on the floor. Before going back to bed, I splashed water on my face and rinsed out my mouth.

I would be fine, I promised myself, laying back down in bed. I’ve been raped before; it was nothing new. Only last time, my friends weren’t forced to watch. I only had my own screams of protest echoing in my ears. This time, there were several sets. I closed my eyes as I settled back onto my pillows and saw their faces again, saw them struggling to get to me before I was….

Gasping, I shot up. Tears were on my face again, but I didn’t care this time. I threw my covers aside and bolted to my door, pounding in my access code. The door didn’t open fast enough for my liking. When it was high enough for me to get through, I shot across the hall and stopped at Crypt’s door. I raised my hand, ready to knock, and stopped.

He would think I was silly for taking it so hard – for letting it get to me. Like I’d said: I’ve been raped before. I should be used to it.

I opted for sliding down the door – sinking to my knees in a heap on the floor – tears falling from my eyes. I kept telling myself that it was stupid of me to get so worked up over this. That it was only my body, and all I had to do was close my eyes and go somewhere else in my mind. If I could disconnect myself, I wouldn’t be slumped here outside Crypt’s door crying my fucking eyes out. It was just my fucking body. Just a fucking hole.

I heard a sob escape my throat, and I cursed myself for being so loud. They were all asleep, and I didn’t want to wake them. I didn’t want them to see me this way. I had assured them I was fine, and I played the part pretty well. I didn’t cry at all. And in that stupid therapy circle that Pops had us do, I only talked a little bit. The others talked a lot about it, and Mustang sat there and listened. They talked about what they felt like when the guards took me off the wall. They talked about when the Captain stripped me down and tried to fuck me. And the only thing I could say was that I felt a little dirty, but it was ok because it was nothing new to me; that I’ve been brutally fucked before.

But when Mustang asked the guys how they felt about being raped, they used words like violated and filthy and broken and defiled and debased and polluted and squalid and stained and smutty and just everything I felt inside. But they were things I could never say – never find the courage to say. I could barely talk about the first time I was raped; there was no way in hell I would be able to open up to the guys about this last time.

I was so embarrassed that they had to see me that way, on my hands and knees, crying my eyes out, pleading – fucking begging and screaming – for the Captain to stop. To watch me as I flew into blind terror when I felt the Earth dog’s head touch my body. To hear me scream until my throat was so raw it was bloody. I didn’t want them to see me with my clothes ripped off of my body, covered in scratches, blood and semen running down my thighs. I didn’t want them to see the tears of shame in my eyes because I knew – I knew – I was filthy and defiled and no one would ever want me. I didn’t want to see what they thought of me. I knew what they thought of me. They thought I was some little slut for being able to be taken so easily. They thought that I like it. That I wanted it.

Twenty for a blow; thirty gets you all the way.

“Genesis, amante, what are you doing?” Crypt asked. “Why are you crying? Are you alright, piccola?” I hadn’t realized that I had been all out sobbing. My mind was a million miles off, thinking about how dirty they all though I was. Now I had woken them all up, which was the last thing I wanted. Karma sucks.

“Sweetheart, it’s ok,” Dred said. “I promise.”

“Kitten, just tell us what’s wrong,” Edge cooed, kneeling in front of me. Xany sat next to me on the floor, bringing my head to his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and rocked with me from side to side. He didn’t seem to care that my tears were soaking his naked shoulder or that I was dirty and unclean. Stained, as he had said in that stupid circle.

“Please,” Mal said. “We don’t like to see you cry.”

“It tears at our hearts,” Xany agreed.

They were waiting for an answer, so I gave the only one that I could. “Twenty for a blow; thirty gets you all the way.” The words came from my mouth before I could stop them. My façade was suddenly shattered. I was no longer the hard-assed chick that didn’t care. Now I was the scared little girl who was forced to go through something she shouldn’t have been.

“Amante,” Crypt said, kneeling down to my level. We were, after all, right outside his room. “Amante, we don’t understand.”

“Sorry,” I said, forcing a sad smile. I looked at them with glassy eyes as more tears threatened to spill over. “Nightmare. It’s silly, really,” I sniffled after a pause. “It just shook me up is all. I… I didn’t mean to wake you all up. I don’t even know why I came into the hall.”

“It was more than just a silly nightmare,” Crypt said. “You wouldn’t be that shaken up if it was just a nightmare, piccola.”

“Why don’t you tell us what really upset you?” Mal asked, tucking hair behind my ear.

“Twenty for a blow; thirty gets you all the way,” I repeated. “I’m a whore. And I am dirty. And unwanted. And I know that I’ll always be alone. And because I know how… damaged I am, I can’t look at anybody – least of all, you – because I’m scared of what I’ll see in their eyes. I don’t want to see pity or disgust or… anything. I just want to see eyes.”

“First off,” Mal said firmly, “you’re not a whore. And you’re not dirty or unwanted. Secondly, you’ll never be alone. You have us, remember?”

“And third,” Edge said, “you should never be scared to look any of us in the eyes. We don’t look at you like some smutty hooker. We don’t think you’re easy or blue. The only thing you’ll ever see in these eyes is respect and admiration.”

“Affection,” Xany nodded. “Fondness. Friendship.”

“And you’re not damaged or dirty or unwanted,” Crypt said, catching my eyes with his. I looked away. “Stop doing that,” he commanded softly. “If I didn’t want you to look at me, I wouldn’t look at you. Now stop thinking that we don’t want you. Damn it, you’re the best one of us all.”

“But I’m – ”

“What ever it is, you’re not,” Crypt insisted, cutting me off. “Haven’t we been over this before?” I nodded. “Who are you?”

“A Wing Boy,” I said softly.

“And who are we?”

“The most infamous faction of the Colonial Revolution, renown for our bloodlust and savagery in battle as well as our tact in stealth combat.”

“And what do we do?”

“Protect our own.”

“And since you are a Wing Boy and we’re all Wing Boys, we protect you,” Xany said matter-of-factly, like it was as simple as that. Maybe to them, it was. Maybe they were so full of testosterone that they felt like they had to protect me. Maybe they thought that I was a fairer-sex member that needed to be cuddled and cooed over. And maybe they were right. But I wasn’t used to such treatment. I had never been cuddled or cooed over before – I grew up on the streets; there’s no room for such things there.

“That’s right,” Crypt said, and, before I could really register what was happening, his arms were thrown around me in a fierce hug, holding me tightly to his body, and the others joined in, grasping me. Heads were sat on my shoulders and on top of my head; hands rubbed soothing patterns on my sides and belly and back. And I held onto them as tightly as I could, because it was the only thing that I could do. I needed them right then. The six of us sat there in the hall, embraced for dear life. A sob wrenched itself from my throat as I realized just how deeply I really was loved by them. For the first time in my life, I was overcome by that warm, strange emotion. I had a little bit of that infamous sunlight shine down on me, and I kind of liked the warmth. It was so different from the cold of the shadows.

Whispers of “never alone” and “always here” were echoing in my ears, and I realized for the first time that my pain was shared by them. That we were truly in this thing together and nothing I could ever do – or have done to me – would ever change that. My days of flying solo were over. When one of us was suffering, we all were.

For probably the first time in my life, I knew what it felt like to be loved by a family. And it was that feeling – that wondrous feeling – that made me weep harder, clutching at skin and material alike. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t ashamed to cry. For the first time in my life, I let those emotions go. I was safe.

_________________________________________________

“I’m not sure that’s the best thing, for true,” Foxy said, looking at Zuriel. “We’re not to make her way for her. She’s made her own way. And she has to stick with that way, for well and for worse.”

“She’s nothing but a murder protected by law,” Zuri spat. “I had hope for that one. I thought that, for true, she’d spare from the slaughter. But now she is awash in blood.”

“Zuri,” Ro said softly. “You don’t mean that. Baby’s still a wholesome babe. There’s hope for her yet.”

“She joined with the Wolves. She’s as bad as the Earth dogs that put us in the streets.” Her lemon-yellow hair flew wildly around her shoulders as she shook her head, voice rising in steady volume. I cringed. At this rate, we’d all be deaf.

“We’re here so that you don’t have to worry about the Earth dogs inhabiting the city anymore. We’re stopping them, in case you didn’t know, Zuriel,” I growled. I should have known that she would be a major protester. Edge and Crypt didn’t seem to mind. It’s like it went through one ear and out the other.

“You are a dog for true,” Zuri spat.

“Zuri,” Munkir said sternly, “enough. Baby has made her choice. For true, she does a good thing. There will be nothing more you will say to the Wolves about their choice. They shed the blood so you needn’t.”

“What does Baby look like?” Argent asked, changing the subject. I smiled at her. She always had a way of doing that. “It’s been a while since I’ve last heard anything.”

“I’m all grown up now,” I said, coming closer to her. I knelt in front of her, took her hands, and let them travel over my face.

“You have,” she agreed. “Your baby fat has all flown. I suppose that means we shalln’t call you Baby anymore. Another call then. Have you a name now?”

“Genesis,” I said softly.

“Genesis,” Argent repeated slowly. “A woman now. High cheeks. Fair brow. Supple, clean skin. Are you palled or sunned?”

“Palled,” I whispered.

“You feel palled,” Argent said, nodding. Her hands continued seeing me. “Long neck. Strong collar and shoulders. Lithe arms. Soft hair. Is it still long?”

“Yes,” I said. “I have it pinned up now. If you wish, I’ll fall it.”

“Later,” Argent said, patting my cheek. “For now, I am content in knowing that you breathe, for true. A relief to my heart knowing that the air still leaves your lungs.”

“At what expense?” Zuri demanded.

“Mine,” I said softly. “If I don’t die in the war, do you know what’s to come of my breath?” Zuri shook her head. The rest of them followed suite. Edge frowned. Crypt set his jaw. They knew, my brothers. They knew what was going to become of us. What we would be reduced to. “Then I’ll tell you, shall I? I’ll be locked away in some room where no one will think of me anymore. I’ll pass my days rocking back and forth, murmuring to myself, tears running down my face. I’ll plead to the emptiness – to an omnipresent god that I still won’t know if it exists or not, even in my insane state – for redemption. For forgiveness. Because I’ll see all those people that I’ll kill. That I’ve killed. Because it will rot in my mind for all those years. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m already losing my grip on reality.

“So, whatever hell expense you’re talking about, Zuri, it’s mine and mine alone. That cross is mine to bare. I’ll carry the weight because I don’t have a choice. It’s you or me. I was the unlucky one, you see. I’ll be dead or crazy. Neither looks too good.”

“Well, that was depressing,” Edge muttered.

“Who was that?” Argent asked. “Was that a Wolf? He sounds commanding.”

“He could be worse,” I smirked.

“Did you have to remind us of our fates?”

“Edge is nothing but a big baby,” I whispered. Argent smiled. “You see, he whines about everything.”

“That is how most males are, for true,” Argent nodded.

“I should think that having such a depressing future would be something to whine about,” Edge protested, hands coming to his hips.

“We all gotta go sometime or another, for true,” I said, flashing the tramp sign for honesty with my right hand.

“What was that?” Crypt asked. “Do that again.”

“Another Wolf?” Argent asked.

“Another Wolf,” I nodded. “My Wolves.” I flashed the sign again like Crypt had asked. It was a simple sign – my fingers were relaxed, my pointer almost straight and the other three fingers going down from there, my thumb flush against the side of my hand. It reminded me vaguely of a priest offering absolution to a sinner. “Honesty.”

“You have your own language?”

“We’re the street dwellers. We kind of have to. Samma here is the most educated of us all. He almost finished school. The rest of us were never taught proper speech techniques.”

“Yet you speak almost flawlessly.”

“I taught myself to read,” I said, raising my eyebrow. “Remember, I steal all your books? I horde them, and I read them over and over again.”

“But you speak the street language too?”

“You’re daft,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Of course I do! What kind of tramp would I be if I couldn’t speak the Tongue of the Street?”

“Not one who has flawless ways, true damnation,” Raz said.

“Raziel,” I barked happily, jumping away from Argent to throw myself in his arms. He hugged me back, a smile lighting his face.

“For true,” he said, his blue-black hair gleaming in the sun. “I completed a job, Foxy. The worth of this, you’d surmise?” Raz held up a gold pocket-watch.

“Where’d you pick that from?” I demanded. “God, that looks like food for a fortnight or two.”

“Some old Dog was playing it. When he set it back, I took it out,” Raz laughed. I smiled. He was the one who had taught me pick-pocketing. I learned from the best. His hands were quick. They’d be good hands for a killer to have, come to think of it. The smile on my face almost faltered at the thought, but I saved it. I didn’t want them to know how deeply I had already fallen into the war.

Raz didn’t seem to notice it, or, if he did, he gave no sign. Raz was still the same man I had left behind. He was still arrogant and overly-sure of himself. His strangely burgundy-colored eyes still shone with mischief. His beautiful face was still handsome; his body still toned. He was thin but very muscular. Following Mun and Nar, he was the most muscular of the gang. His hair was still immaculately kept for living on the streets or squatting in buildings, the medium blue-black strands brushed and braided.

I untwined myself from Raz and turned around. Crypt bristled. Edge raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. There really wasn’t anything else I could do. These people where my family as well – granted, they were my family from a more peaceful time, but they were still my family nevertheless. Had I not seen any of the Wing Boys for over a year, I would have run to throw myself into their arms as well. That was just how I was. Carefree. Still somewhat joyful. The war still seemed somewhat ethereal and dreamlike. I was deep into the fighting, but I wasn’t as lost as Crypt or Edge or Mal or Dred or Xany. I hadn’t completely drowned in blood.

_______________________________________

He leaned down to my thrashing form. I wanted to scream at the television that he should stay away. That he should know better than to wake me up. That he was too close. That I was dangerous.

His fingers had just started to touch my shoulder when I started awake, pulling the knife from under my pillow, scream cutting off in mid-voice. Suddenly, the sound of cold steel slicing through hard muscle filled the room, and I remembered how it felt sliding into his body all over again. I had to relive stabbing Crypt. And I hated it. I felt sick.

I watched his eyes flutter in a strangely beautiful way as he gasped, hissing in air. He didn’t scream – he was perfectly silent as his eyes made his way down to his belly, blood blossoming on his naked, tanned flesh, snaking its way down to bloom on the waistband of his pants. My eyes made their way down as well, however I didn’t stay quiet.

“Oh no,” I whispered. “Oh, no, no, no!” Each syllable was louder in volume until I was yelling. It was different than the screams, and it must have alerted the others that something was wrong somehow because they were all in my room in a few seconds.

______________________________________

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have, because I opened my eyes again, and it was dark. Foxy had started a fire, and Crypt and Edge and the others were sitting around it. Foxy must have been telling a story. His face was animated, his arms flailing wildly about. Char and Dou were asleep next to me. I took my coat off and set it over them. The night was cold, but I didn’t mind it. They were children, and they deserved warmth. Anyway, there was a fire not far off. I could go sit with the others and just watch.

I stood and made my way quietly over. As I approached, something inside of me told me to stop. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to invade their circle. Every one was either laughing or smiling. Even Zuri seemed to have warmed up to Crypt and Edge. She seemed more relaxed, and her bright smile lit the night as much as the flame from the fire did.

I inched a little closer to hear what they were talking about. Foxy’s voice was loud and jovial. He was recounting my very first street kill.

“Oh, man,” Foxy said, throwing his hands up, fingers splayed. “For true, you Wolves had seen her, snatch her up quick as wind. For true, for true.

“Look now,” he continued, pretending to grasp something in his hand. “Baby had the sliver of mirror in her hand, poised, for true, just here. Any soul could tell her blood was beating hard; there was the slightest quiver in her hand. But not in those eyes. For true. They were colder than Ganymede and harder than the ground under the soles of your shoes. And they were squinted just like a wild cat ready to pounce on prey.

“And that’s just what Baby did, for true. She snuck on the balls of her feet. Step,” Foxy said, taking a step on his tip-toes. “Step, step in a kind of circle ‘round that man. His eyes, they follow her. His eyes were wide as holy-all sin. He let fall that loaf of bread to the ground and tried to fly, and that’s when Baby made her move. Faster than lightning, she was on that man, and she took that sliver and drove it right here,” Foxy said, pounding Samma’s chest just above the heart. “But Baby knew – she knew that she was too high. So she took that sliver out, and she twisted it down again, right into his heart. But the best part,” Foxy continued, eyes growing wide, “was that that man, when she cut him the first time, he started screaming. Second time she bring that glass down, she cut him off like that!” To emphasize his point, he snapped his fingers. He was proud of me for becoming a killer, and his approval was like a strange rapture to me.

“And Baby never screamed at night during slumber,” Ro said. “Not even after her attack when we took her in.”

“Then again,” Raz said. “It was almost a battle to get her to drift off, for true. Up all hours, quoting chapter and verse to keep herself alert. Never let her guard drop, that one.”

“But when she would finally drift, not even a whimper out of her lips,” Ro said again.

“She lived by the code, for true, that one,” Nar said.

“She lived by both,” Mun nodded in agreement with his brother.

“Both?” Edge asked. “I was only aware of one.”

“Code of the Streets,” Raz began. “The one that all of us follow. Then, we divide up into sects. We have separate codes for honor. She followed ours. For true, she lived by both to the very last letter.”

“Do you know the Code of the Streets?” Mun asked. Both Edge and Crypt shook their heads.

“Been a rat before,” Edge said. “But it’s been a long while, and on a completely different colony. I don’t remember my days on the street. I was too young and taken in too early.”

“We all were,” Crypt nodded, looking up. He caught my eye. Heat pulsed through my body.

“It’s a simple code, for true,” Argent said.

“Let me be faster,” I said, choosing this moment to come out of the shadows. “Let me be meaner. Let me be stronger. Let me have the conviction to kill, and let me have the courage to sleep afterwards. More like a prayer than a code, really.” I waved my hand. “Foxy’s was a little more complex. It made more sense, though. You run when you’re told to; you don’t look back; you don’t ask questions. When you hide, you don’t make any noise at all. You kill when you’re told to, otherwise you’re killed. You never hang your head in shame because of where you come from. You have pride in where you come from. You run, you hide, you steal, you kill, you make them fear you, but you don’t dare ever fucking lie.”

“Baby, where’s you cloak?” Ro asked. She moved to stand, but I held up my hand.

“It’s with Char and Dou. They needed it more than I did. And, Foxy,” I smiled. “With you around, I have no reason at all for vanity. Thank God I didn’t have any naked baby pictures.”

“Genesis, you’re shivering,” Crypt said.

“It’s just the fire playing tricks with your eyes,” I said, looking at the barrel with the flame dancing from it. “You two promise me,” I said, still staring into the fire, “that you won’t tell a soul about these guys. I don’t want them in the war.” I heard rustling, and I turned to see Edge produce a small pocket knife from his coat. He opened it and slit his left hand. Crypt held up his, and Edge ran the blade across it, too. They both stood and stepped over to me. “What’s this?”

“Our promise,” Crypt said. He held out his right hand, and I put my left into it. Crypt ran his fingers across my palm, and Edge followed behind with the blade. The cut wasn’t deep – hardly more than a scratch. Both men held their hands open over mine, letting a couple drops of their blood fall onto mine, mixing with my blood.

“As far as we’re concerned, they don’t even exist,” Edge said, tearing a piece off of a kerchief and wrapping it around my hand.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Come here, Genesis,” Crypt said, pulling my underneath his arm. “You’re freezing. And it’s not just the fire playing tricks with my eyes. Your skin’s icy.”

“I’m fine,” I said, but Crypt would have none of it as he dragged me back to where he was sitting and sat back down.

“You come out of the shadows just like that big ebony Wolf,” Foxy smiled.

“When I was younger, I never had a name, so Death couldn’t find me,” I said, resting my head against Crypt. “And now that I’m older and have a name, it is Death. How ironic… I’ve been running from myself this whole time.”

“That’s how life goes, Baby,” Mun said. “Those Wolves, they take you up, and they made you the Angel of Death.”

“Welcome to my church,” I said, laughing wryly. “Neon is my light. Screams and gunfire are my choir. And the God of Death is always hungry.”

“For true, little Baby, you make one hell of a frightful sight,” Raz laughed. “Bet lotta men have evil dreams of you.”

“Well,” I sighed, “at least they’re not naughty dreams.”

Foxy laughed. “I’m sure they have that type, too.”

Things lulled into what I thought was an uncomfortable silence. I kicked myself. Things were happy before I came and joined them. I don’t know how I have the ability to do it, but I always seem to be able to mess up the happy moments. I should have just stayed back with Char and Dou. Or I should have just stayed in the shadows. Why couldn’t Foxy start in with another story? I didn’t care what it was over. It could be about me, for all I really cared. I just wanted people laughing again.

I cleared my throat. “Well,” I said. “I’m just going to go back with Char and Dou. I don’t like to leave them alone.” I moved to get up, but Crypt held me fast.

“They’re fine. We can see them from here,” he said. “Stay.”

______________________________________

I felt jostling for a few minutes, and I assumed that they were getting up from their respective positions. The blackness was getting deeper, and I let myself drop off the cliff even more into the abyss. Never had the blackness been so welcoming to me before. Never had I felt so safe. So warm. I let the nothingness envelop me in its arms as I forgot about my pain and my tears and my fear. It felt like I was flying. I was giddy with freedom.

I was so drunk with my new-found emancipation that I forgot that I was just raped. I forgot how dirty I was; how used. I forgot the pain that was radiating in waves throughout my body. I felt warm wrapped in Crypt’s arms. I couldn’t understand anything he or the others were saying. Their words were meaningless to me in the black void where I was, but the guttural sounds were soothing, and the vibrations I felt through my body via Crypt’s calmed me. Their jostling was almost like rocking to me. It was a strange, quasi-sickening lullaby. It was the kind of lullaby that would make most people turn their heads away in disgust. But I was soothed by it.

All the more reason I was damaged.

Movement :

I don’t know how we got back to the base. I was out the entire time. I have no idea how many more of the Vigilant Star the others took out. I have no idea how many dead were left behind in the wake of my brothers. I have no idea how deep the blood was or how many orphans and widows are now crying. And I honestly couldn’t have cared.

I know it sounds bad, but it’s the truth. I was angry at myself for losing all control. I was angry at the people of Earth for letting their soldiers do that to their captives.

But, then again, this was war. It wasn’t a war for peace – if there was such a thing. It wasn’t a war for independence. It wasn’t a war for the cure. The terms were much simpler. It was a war for dominance. The winner would rule completely and supremely over the loser. And if we were the losers… God, Earth and Vigilant Star would wipe us out. The colonies would be detonated. Millions upon billions of people would be killed. Innocent people. All because the Colonial Revolution couldn’t live up to the so-called dreams of grandeur. All because we couldn’t live up to their dreams of grandeur. Where was the justice in that?

And if we won, we’d tear up the people of Earth. Slavery would probably come back. The posh would know exactly what it would be like to work their fingers to the bone. To know what it’s like to bleed. To cry and to sweat. To have walking be torture because of the number of blisters on the bottoms of their feet. We would burn homes, wreaking childhood memories. We would plunger and pillage. We would be the heathens that the Vigilant Star made us out to be.

Really, we’re all just monsters in the end.

When I woke up, I was in the medical wing. I missed the blackness and the security the shadows brought with it. No longer did I feel safe. No longer did I feel free. I felt ashamed. I felt scared. I felt damaged. I was damaged.

I clenched my eyes shut, wanting to hold on to those fleeting feelings of refuge and sanctuary. I wanted to shut out the light. What the others saw in the light, I thought, was highly overrated. Give me darkness and shadows any day. They can keep their bright lights. They can keep their sun. I want the darkness. I want the cover. I want the safety.

“She’s awake!” someone from my right exclaimed. “Get someone!”

“Will you shut up?” I demanded.

“A doctor would be nice!” the same voice yelled again. I winced.

“Xany, shut up,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been out for almost two days,” he said, looking down at me. His hand found mine. I tried to hide how shocked I was, but I felt my mouth drop. “I’d say that you’re not quite fine. Hey, a doctor!”

“Two days,” I said again, still reeling slightly from the impact of his words. “That can’t be right, Xany. We just left the base a couple of hours ago. It couldn’t have been two days.”

“It can be, and it is,” he said, squeezing my hand gently.

“You passed out on us just after we finished taking care of the guards,” Dred said softly. He stood from his seat at the end of my bed. I hadn’t noticed him there before. In fact, I hadn’t noticed that Edge and Mal were on my left, either. “You really scared us, sweetheart.”

“Have you all been here since?” I asked. I room swam a little.

“I want a doctor over here, stat!” Xany yelled again.

“Yeah, basically,” Mal said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. From the corner of my eye, I caught the remnants of a sheepish smile.

“I don’t understand,” I said, blinking, trying to stop the room from spinning. “The Med Ward is never this crowded unless…” I trialed off. They knew what the ‘unless’ stood for.

“Yeah,” Dred said softly. I knew that that was all the sorrow he – or any of them, for that matter – would allow themselves to show. That was just how they were. When any other emotion besides happiness and anger were expected to be shown, their voices would be hushed to just above whisper levels. It was a dead giveaway that something was somber and sad. It made my eyes prick to hear them talk like that. “It was the Zion Faction.”

“They’re pretty much… gone,” Mal sighed quietly.

My throat felt tight and my chest burned as I tried not to cry. Granted, I didn’t know them very well, but they were still men – they were still alive. It was still nearly six lives that were stolen away because… because… of…. Of what? What are we fighting for anymore?

I thought about my six distant brothers. Thirty-six quarts of blood; 1,236 bones. Twelve eyes. Sixty fingers; sixty toes. Six mouths. I felt an overwhelming guilt over the actions of my life that had brought me to this point. I wondered guiltily if anything good or decent existed in me anymore. If anything ever could. What have I become? Why did the path to peace have to bathe the ground in rivers of blood?

________________________________________

Movement : Shadows of the Past

I gazed once more upon the ghetto-like city. I looked at my home. Things hadn’t gotten much worse, I pleasantly noted. But they were a far cry from even an ounce better at the same time. The streets were still filled with filth. The air still stank of garbage and open latrines. The gutters were stained with blood, the thick liquid running in them nearly every day. Children were still running around uncontrolled.

I turned to Crypt and Edge. “Welcome to my home, boys,” I said, smiling wryly. “I know every street like the back of my hand.” Really it was only supposed to be just these two on the mission. At the last minute, they decided to assign me as well. I guess because I know the streets so damn well. The only thing I knew about it thus far was the mission was supposed to be a simple scouting mission. I guess that those good ole Earth boys were maybe thinking about starting a base on my beloved Moon. I wasn’t sure if they knew where exactly this new semi-base-type-thing was located or not, but I assumed if they did, they wouldn’t need me.

Luna Central, like most of the major colonial cities, was a dump. There was no point in being cute or coy about it. But, like I said earlier, it was my home – the only one I knew until recently – and I felt a strange sort of nostalgia about it. I did some horrible things in my time here, and I saw things even worse.

The air stank heavily of decay. Azrael – my namesake – must have had a field day here. I thought back to some of the church services that I’d sat in on to be out of the cold. I wasn’t sure exactly what denomination it was – Catholic or something such. At any rate, the Father talked about the End of Days where the Seven Seals were broken and cast the world into entropy. The first four Seals unleashed the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse – Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. I remember being so scared, hearing that the rivers would run as blood and the skies would turn black as sackcloth.

And yet now I walked through the deserted sullied streets as the forth and most destructive Horseman. I was the rider of that pale green horse who killed by slaughter and plague with Hell nipping at my heels, hungry to be unleashed. And following behind me was Famine on his trapistine black horse and War on his fiery red one, brandishing their weapons high. Pestilence wasn’t far behind on his pristine white horse, his arrowless bow raised. Our mouths were closed, but I could still hear our bestial, depraved battle cries. Mercy was nothing but an illusion, for we knew nothing save for the blood that stained our hands and quenched our thirst.

“Had I not known I was already dead, I would have mourned my loss of life,” I said. I stopped walking. We stood in front of an old church. Strangely fitting somehow, considering my previous train of thought.

“Genesis?” Edge asked, laying a large hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“There’s a fine line between heroes and madmen,” I said, stepping away from them and towards the entrance to the church. It would be as good a place as any to stay for the night. Safer than the streets.

“And…?”

“And I’m both,” I said, pulling open the doors and disappearing inside. The cathedral was completely dark. To my right there was an alcove with prayer candles inside, waiting to be lit. I started over to them.

“Genesis,” Crypt said, “are you sure you’re ok? You’re starting to give us the chills.”

“We don’t pray anymore,” I said, striking a match and lighting a candle. Crypt and Edge walked up to the alcove. “Pray for us. Light a candle for the dead.” I lit another candle, this time picking it up, and turned to face the two men. The candle cast our shadows high and flickering on the church wall. The firelight, I knew, must have only made me look the part of Death more. I smiled sadly. “Light a candle for us all.”

“Maybe it’s time we bed down for the night,” Edge suggested. Crypt nodded. Maybe they thought I was crazy. But I honestly didn’t care. Like I said, there was a fine line between being a hero and a madman – between being brave and stupid – and the line was often blurred and crossed.

“That’s a good idea,” Crypt agreed. “If we lay in front of the pews, no one will see us if they come in.”

I didn’t wait for them to lead me over to the spot they deemed worthy of us to sleep. Instead, I set the candle back in its holder and turned to walk in front of the alter. I wasn’t sure what made me pause to genuflect towards the seemingly ancient Crucifix that hung gathering dust and spider webs behind the stone slab, but I did. It couldn’t have been from force of habit, for I rarely came up any farther than the last pew when I entered the Sanctuary to hide away from the cold – and ultimately my own demons. Perhaps it was fixed in my memory, seeing the countless strangers go on bended knee in front of the wooden symbol of redemption. Whatever it was, I still felt surprise ripple through me as my left knee fell to the dust-covered floor, my right hand coming up to cross myself.

_____________________________________

First Movement: Damned to Live, Damned to Die

Had I not known I was already dead, I would have mourned my loss of life. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: dying’s a bitch.

That’s the funny thing about life. It’s the “if I had known”s or the “I could have done”s that make things so difficult. I guess that’s why they say that hindsight’s 20/20. Or something like that; I was never too sure.

But all I know is that I would have done things differently. Most people don’t say that. It’s always never changing a thing. I guess they expect to learn something from that experience. The only thing that I learned is heartache and pain and what true sadness is. I learned what it felt like to lose someone who was terribly dear to me. I learned what it felt like to truly be dead on the inside and still living.

I learned what it felt like to hurt like hell.

My friends say that I just went through the motions of living. That, had it not been programmed into my body as Divine Design, I wouldn’t have breathed, my blood wouldn’t have flowed, my heart wouldn’t have beat.

I wanted to travel to whatever lay beyond the stars and strangle the bastard. I was far beyond livid. And after I finished with whatever was up there, I was going to go down to the basement and do much the same to the fat little imp who dared call itself evil. Because I’d have showed it what true evil was. That thing had nothing on torture, but I was sure as hell going to teach it.

There was one thing that I learned from the whole experience, and I don’t just mean this one little snip-it. I mean the whole thing: the war, the killing, the blood, the pain, the loss – everything.

There is no cure for Death. No medication can stop it. No amount of money. No plea, wordless as it is. Not from an aged creature or an infant. Not from a rich man or a poor man. Not from a male or a female. Not from the child-laden or the child-less. Not from those with families or the orphaned. And war? It’s just Death’s toy. Weeds out the tramps.

We seal our death sentences with the very first breath we take and spend the rest of our lives dying.

And that, my friends, is that. That is life.

It’s a bitch, ne?

Just can’t win. Dying sucks, and so does living.

For almost six months of my life, I had a veil covering my face. This went beyond the whole dreamy-haze shit. I was a zombie. A walking corpse. I was half alive and half dead.

For a month, I was locked in a cell. Food was sparse. So was sunlight. For exercise, I was taken out and beaten or tortured or raped. Or any variant of the three. Or all three. It all depended on how froggy my captors were feeling. I knew they’d get bored of me. I just wished they’d hurried the hell up.

And then the unthinkable happened.

_______________________________________

Things around me were fuzzy when I awoke. The lights were too bright. The noises too loud. The air was too thick; I couldn’t breathe it. I wasn’t sure where I was or how I had gotten there. I felt panic sear through me. My stomach twisted, and I thought I was going to be sick. I could taste bile rise in the back of my throat, but when I opened my mouth to gag, nothing came out. Briefly, I wondered if I even had anything on my stomach to retch. And if not, I should have at least dry-heaved.

Things began to come into focus. I could see bright over-head lights and stark, sterile, white walls. There was a soft beeping off to my right, and I realized that it was a machine that was connected to my hand though a small tube. The air was heavy with the smell of disinfectant, making it difficult to breathe. The harsh chemical smell burned my nose.

It was then I realized that I was in the medical ward – a place I was no stranger to.

And suddenly past events flashed back to me. The cell. Crypt. The guns. His blood. My pleas. I squeezed my eyes closed, willing the tears I knew were coming away. I felt them well all the same though under my lids. My throat began to tighten up, and that queer thing that happens with your nose happened. I swallowed a sob down and took a deep, shuddering breath in. I felt my lower lip begin to quiver.

________________________________________

I was told that I’m supposed to write a letter to my family. But I don’t have a family. You guys are the closest thing I have to a family. I love you guys. Really and truly.

Is this supposed to be my Last Will and Testament? Am I supposed to leave my possessions equally divided between you? I dunno if I have enough to go around. I mean, I guess I could come up with something.

Ok. This is going to be really hard. So, I’ll go through you guys one at a time. It’s hard because I know that this letter is the last thing that you’ll ever hear from me. These are really my last words. There isn’t much that I can say but what’s inside of my heart.

Xany, I love you. You were like my really cool, fun-loving older brother. You really watched out for me. There was a bond that we had that I really didn’t share with any of the others. We were close – right like rain, as the old saying goes. Remember that time when we were in the Mess? Oh, God, I laughed so hard – my sides were killing me. We had to hang on to each other to stay standing, and we were both crying, we were laughing so hard. I wish I could remember what it was. Oh, now I remember. As per usual, it involved Nexbet as the butt of one of our jokes. This time, we used mashed potatoes and water, and you tripped him. He couldn’t have landed better! I honestly thought that I would never have the chance to laugh like that. I thought that, no matter what path I chose in life, it would be filled with hardships and difficulties and tears. Thank you, so much Xany, my beloved brother, for teaching me and showing me that those tears can also be from joy. It means a lot that I got to laugh so hard that I cried not once, but numerous times.

Mal, you’re sweet. I love you. You were my smart older brother. You were the guy I could go to if I had a problem, and you’d just listen. And no matter what I would say, you would never at all be surprised or shocked. And you’d always offer a response, even if it was just a simple ‘I understand’. You were the kind one of us. You were my angel – and I know how much you hate being compared to an angel, but you were really and truly mine. There was so much that you taught me. I doubt that I could learn it anywhere else. You genuinely cared about my welfare. It was a strange feeling to have, knowing that someone cared about whether I lived or died. I felt warm inside, cozy. You showed me exactly what family was. It was a wonderful gift, and I treasure it every single day. You were the central, grounding, calming force for us; you were the glue that held our haphazard family together. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where we would be right now. Thank you, Mal, my beloved brother, for showing me what family was, teaching me how to be in a family, and showing me what home was. It means so much that you cared so greatly for me – and for the rest of us – to keep us together. For welcoming us home.

Dred, you were wonderful; I love you. You gave me probably one of the greatest gifts of all. You taught me to love myself. You made me discover things about myself that I never knew. Who honestly would have thought that I could pilot a zip craft without crashing it? Or that I could survive in hand-to-hand? You made me open my eyes. You made me try, even if I felt uncomfortable, because you knew I could do it. And when I couldn’t quite get it, you’d work with me until I could. And you taught me there was more behind the mask than just a killing machine. You taught me that there was a person with flesh and blood and needs. You taught me that it was ok to have likes and dislikes; that I didn’t have to agree with everything a superior said. You taught me to be an individual. It means a lot because if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be nearly the person I am today. Who knows where my personality would be? But most importantly, you taught me that, even though some bad things have happened to me in the past, I am beautiful. That I have a beautiful body and a beautiful mind and a beautiful soul. Thank you, Dred, my beloved brother, for teaching me to love myself and for giving me my individuality; for showing me I’m not just another sheep.

Edge, I love you, and you supported me in everything. You were the first to agree with whatever came out of my mouth first, no matter how stupid it was. And we all know that I’ve said some pretty stupid things in my time. But still, you were always the first to agree with me. You backed me up without hesitating every single time, no matter who it was I stood up to. You always found a way to support my claim, even if it was completely crazy and totally out there. It meant a lot that you would put yourself out like that for me. Who knows how many times I was dead wrong on something, but you still made it out like I was right, and it was the clearest thing in the entire universe. And, Edge, you taught me about the finer things in life. You taught me about luxuries and pleasures that I would have never thought about before. You taught me that it was ok to be a little selfish every now and again. That the whole world wouldn’t collapse because I decided to do something for myself. You taught me about appearance and confidence. You taught me how the outer shell reflects the inner shell. Thank you, Edge, beloved brother, for supporting me in all my choices and never telling me that I couldn’t. For teaching me about poise and pleasures, both simple and ornate.

Crypt, you said once that you were more like a friend to my surrogate family. I agree with you. You see, I love you most of all, but I know that it isn’t in the platonic way the rest of us love each other. I have a deeper love for you, and, even though I know it’s one that you can’t return, I value that most of all. From the very first day you treated me like your equal, and that meant a lot to me. More than you could ever know. And maybe because you treated me as your equal, what we could have had was sabotaged from the very start. Or maybe you just aren’t ready for love again. I can’t know. But I can wait. Well, I could wait. I’m dead, if you’re reading this now. I fell in love with your strength, your power, your command. I fell in love with your presence. I fell in love with the shadows in your heart and your guarded eyes. I fell in love with your ability to take me into your arms and keep me safe but still make me feel strong. I fell in love with your hand on my back, pushing me ahead into the future. Thank you for freeing my heart from its cage, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you.

I’ve been running for a long time now. Those black wings flutter in the shadows, waiting to take me home. It was only a matter of time before they enveloped me. If you’re reading this now, it means that I’m quite possibly home with my Father now. And if not, well, at least I’m warm. But who am I kidding, right? There are so many sins on my soul that I bet it sinks to Hell straight as a stone the second I get free.

You were better soldiers than me – fine. And worse people, maybe… whatever the hell that means. Somehow, though, we’re exactly the same. We all have to operate with tunnel vision: focus on one thing – make it the only thing you can see – and then fight for it so hard that you can feel your fingers close in on it, slick with the blood of the hundreds you’ve killed. And tell yourself that it’s worth it. I never wanted to fight in the war. But I couldn’t just give up. I wanted things to be better and not just for me. This doesn’t have to go on; the ugliness, the war. There’s got to be a brighter future somewhere, a future that I had to help make. A time that’s brighter. Bright enough to know better than to kill the innocent. Some people think I’m wrong. Maybe they’re right, and fighting only engenders more fighting. But sitting around on your ass has never brought any peace, either. I’m only doing what I think is right. It’s the only thing I can do.

There comes a time in every person’s life when they must face the Angel of Death. It’s a funny story. I used to run from it. Now I am it. Who would have thought that I would be in such a place? Who would have thought that it was me that I was running from this whole entire time? Now that’s irony. Pure and simple. Irony. We switch one mask for another. Who are we, really? What’s behind the mask? What do our faces really look like? In my case, is there anything even there? It’s been so long since I’ve see the person behind the mask that I don’t know what I look like anymore. Or if there’s even anybody there. Maybe the mask has fused itself to my skin, making it impossible to remove.

__________________________________________

Even through it had been over a year since I last saw the man, Foxy looked exactly the same. He was dressed in the same holy, worn pants and the same ragged shirt, the cuffs of the light material looped over the thumbs of his massive, dexterous hands. I remembered with faint delight exactly what was under that filthy shirt. He was tall and lithe with an athletic build to him, his subtle muscles rippling with arrogance and male pride whenever a woman would look at him. His rust colored hair was shaggy and his face looked a little scruffy; he probably hadn’t been able to find a decent razor for a few days. But his beautiful afternoon-sky colored eyes were just as sharp and quick as ever.

Foxy was the unquestioned leader of a band of tramps. They were sort of like the conglomerates of the homeless underworld, monopolizing most of the pickings. The vast majority of tramps and beggars and the like vied for the chance to be apart of his gang. It meant you got fed and sheltered and protection. For a little while after my attack, they took me in. Foxy offered an invitation to me, but I refused. Had I accepted, I would be with them right now instead of fighting. Which was worse, I wasn’t sure: the slums or the carnage.

Though I would never admit it out loud – and certainly never to his face, else I boost his already inflated ego – I looked up to Foxy. He joined ranks with Edge and the others as a brother-type figure. In my surprise and joy, I forgot myself and raced to him, throwing myself into his arms and my hands around his neck, squealing his name. He picked me up in his arms, spinning me around.

“Baby, how been? Long time,” Foxy said as Crypt and Edge finally sauntered forward. “Baby, who’re they? Causing you trouble?” he asked, eyeing the two men behind me.

“We might ask you the same thing,” Crypt said softly, bristling.

“Baby?” Edge echoed. I felt dwarfed among the three taller men.

“Never had a name, this one,” Foxy said. “So, since she’s the youngest – and smallest – called her Baby.”

“Her name is Genesis,” Crypt supplied. His voice was a low rumble – a purr from the back of his throat. It was his ‘dangerous voice’ as I had come to call it, loving the sound of it as it vibrated through my body.

Foxy looked down at me. “Fits you,” he said, his hand coming up to stroke my hair. I could have sworn I heard Crypt growl. “Genesis: the first book of the Bible. Name yourself?”

“No,” I said. “Parents did.”

“Found them, then, did you? Look-it that.”

“No,” I said. “Didn’t find them. They’re probably dead and gone long and away now,” I said, unwittingly slipping back into the street language.

“Hold the faith, lil’un,” Foxy said, throwing a lazy arm around my shoulder. Crypt and Edge eyed him. Crypt’s eyes were murderous; Edge’s were cautious and faintly wary.

“Let me introduce you,” I said hastily, trying to avoid any bloodshed between the men. “This is Foxy. Foxy, this is Edge,” I said, gesturing to him, “and this is Crypt.” To abate his perhaps growing frustrations, I laid my hand on Crypt’s nearest arm. His muscles felt tight and ridged under my palm.

“Don’t you worry,” Foxy said to me after giving a brief nod to the others. “They may still breathe the wind for true. Now, what wonderment have you tangled yourself in?”

“Few fortnights after I left you and the gang, got into some mess. Black blood on my hands,” I said, referring to the Earth soldier I had killed. “Took the air and got caught up in the slaughter.”

“For true?” he asked, surprised. “A soldier now. Well,” he said, impressed, “these two Wolves here must be fellow brethren?” I nodded.

“Wolves?” Edge asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“It’s a complement, I swear,” I explained, hand still resting on Crypt. “Means you’re the top of the pack – the alpha dogs.”

________________________________________________

The cell door creaked open. The light was strangely harsh considering that I had only been out there a few moments ago. Or had I? Really, I wasn’t sure. My neck snapped up, and I felt my entire body burn. They were slowly killing me. I thought that when they captured you, they made it a quick death if you wouldn’t talk. They were toying with me, using me as they had nearly five years ago. This was a fate far worse then death. I was alive, yes, but I was broken. Perfectly broken is so many ways.

A shadow filled the entire doorway. I started to shake. This time was going to hurt far worse then any of the others. I braced myself for the pain. My eyes clenched and my face was screwed up instantly. My body tensed, painful as it was. I was scared. I was beyond scared – hell, I was terrified. I wished they would just kill me and get it the hell over with.

The figure stepped into the room. Christ. I knew I was done for. It was Crypt. He had a gun in his hand. Good ol’ Crypt, always one to follow orders. I knew his orders had probably been to kill me to prevent me from talking. I guess they didn’t know I wasn’t saying anything anyway. But I could see where they were coming from. They couldn’t afford to take any chances. Especially with me. I was the God of Death, and I knew far too much about their precious plans. I could bring down the colonies. I could kill millions of innocent people. They couldn’t have that happen.

And then another thought hit me, callow and narcissistic as it was. I was sprawled on the cell floor, bloody, dirty, and broken. I couldn’t have Crypt see me that way. He might think less of me then he already did. My body was still on fire, but I struggled to stand all the same. To be truthful, I wanted to die in the heat of battle, not like this. Crypt was going to put a bullet in my head and it would be over like that. Where was the honor? That’s just it; there was none.

I tried to stop myself from whimpering in pain. He was never tolerant of pain. He’d tell me to ignore my wounds and to continue on. He’d tell me they were nothing. He’d tell me to forget about my torn womanhood, my broken body, my shattered pride, and continue. He’d tell me to disregard the dizziness and nausea and the smell. He’d tell me that I hadn’t lost that much blood and that I could still fight easily. He’d yell at me not to give up. He’d scream at me to stand. He’d remind me that weakness was unforgivable.

All the same, though, I felt the tears stream down my face. If it wouldn’t have hurt so badly, I would have laughed then. I was crying. I was fucking crying. I knew I would get it now. I’d hear him screaming at me any second that I was nothing but a weak little bitch that had everything handed to her, including her death. I guess he’d be right. I couldn’t even fucking die right. Here I was, the fucking God of Death, struggling to her feet in the middle of a rancid cell, blood and God-knew-what-else all over me, waiting for release. But it was a release I somehow wasn’t sure I really wanted.

I hadn’t made it quite to an erect stance when I finally found my voice.

“Go on,” I said. “Kill me. Yell at me, scream at me, and then put me out of my misery. Release me. Follow your orders, damn it. Kill me!” My voice was cracking. I couldn’t even order my own death without being weak. I really didn’t want to die anymore. I was scared of what was on the other side. I would be… alone again. I never wanted to be alone. Not ever. And I knew I would be. And I knew that I’d never to get see my family again, because they would be in Heaven, and I would be put on the expressway to Hell. Never mind the highway. The freeway to Hell wasn’t even fast enough. And once I was in Hell, they’d do much the same as I was going through now. I just couldn’t win. Karma sucks.

It was then I registered laughter. Crypt was laughing. At first I thought it was the mirthless, manic laugh he had right before he killed someone that particularly pissed him off, but then I realized it was real laughter- the kind that came from your belly. I remembered the way he’d laugh after we completed a successful mission together. God, it was the best sound in the whole damn universe. We’d be huddled together in a safe house – sometimes it would just be he and I; sometimes it’d be a couple of us, and still others it would be all of us. The first night would be nothing but tense hours passed in silent restlessness, but with the coming of the dawn, his laughter would awaken something inside of me – something I thought I’d forgotten long ago. I felt love. I felt safe. I felt home.

He looked at me and his laughing got louder and harder. I glared at him. Christ, was he crazy? Why didn’t he just pull the trigger and get it over with? Why did he have to torture me, too?

I hadn’t realized he’d trained the gun at my forehead until he lowered it. He was still laughing like a clown high on Meth.

“Kill you,” he breathed. “Fuck, Genesis. What the hell kind of guy do you take me as?”

I looked at him.

____________________________________________

What would you do if I died? If someone just took a knife and pierced my heart with it right in front of your eyes? Would you cry? Would you hold me until my eyes slowly closed, and my last labored breath was gone?

What would you do if I died? ‘Cause you know what I did when I thought you died…? I let go…

Save me… I need you to save me.

Just be mine. Let me be yours.