We Could Be Human

BY : Tex117
Category: Original - Misc > General
Dragon prints: 303
Disclaimer: This is a snippet. A snippet of something I may very well end up writing at some point. It's about a character I've had in my head for an extremely long time. Probably won't make a whole lot

[[Note: This is a snippet. A snippet of something I may very well end up writing at some point. It's about a character I've had in my head for an extremely long time. I've wrote a whole bunch of stuff about him, with a friend of mine, but this right here? This is a little bit of his past. It probably won't make a lick of sense to anyone who reads it. But, whatever. My character, who you will come to know as Church, is Nephalem (half-demon, half-angel). Just FYI.]]



 

"He's gone.."

"What are you talking about?! He's fine!"

"South.."

"No! He's fine. Can't you see? Look!"

Don't do this.

"Don't.. Don't you look at me like that! I can't.. He's okay! He's not- Inias, please.."

"I'm so fuckin' sorry.."

"Shut up! Inias! Wake up. Please! Wake up!"

"South! Stop!"

"It was working! Church, it was working! Why won't he wake up?!"

*

Three weeks of watching her, and she's a broken shell of herself. You can't stop it, you never could. Everything you've ever done is meaningless because she's gone. So far inside her own mind, you're not sure she'll ever come back from this. And you've tried. Not good enough. Nothing you ever do is good enough. And you feel the pain she's feeling, like a thrumming inside your own head, an itch you can't scratch, and this is the first time in your life you ever wonder what it would be like if she were gone. It hurts.

Her pain is deafening.

~

She's in her room again. Hasn't left for days. Hasn't eaten, hasn't slept. He can see it on her face when he goes to check on her. Blue eyes meeting from across the room, and they're so much like his own, the only thing they share in the way of looks, but hers are dead. Staring blankly up at him like she doesn't even know he's there. He doesn't think she does. He tries talking. About nothing in particular; the weather, his bike, how he'd make her spaghetti bolognaise if she wanted. She never granted him a reaction. He left. [i]Sleep, eat, repeat.[/i]

*

"I know what to do now.."

"South, what? When did you.."

"I know. I know what to do."

"What are you talkin' about..? South, come on. Come eat somethin'. You ain't eaten in days."

"You're not listening. I know how to fix it."

"Fix what?"

"Us."

*

He didn't want this. Not ever. And he'd never really had a problem with what he was. That was everyone elses job. He was used to the disgust. The looks they'd given him when he was a kid. And at first, they'd hurt. But he'd never wanted this.

"We could be human.." she'd said, in that hollow voice that wasn't hers, unfamiliar and broken.

"No. We can't, South. I don't want that" She was staring at him, now. A blank look like before, the small glint fading from her eyes at the idea that, he didn't want this like she did.

"You don't know what you want." And then she was gone. Church stared after her, numb. He knew this feeling, it was dread.

For weeks on end she would sit in her room. A chant of a name under her breath - "Inias.. Inias.. Inias.. Inias." And all he could do was watch, try to snap her out of it. And then there were the days that she'd look at him, good and proper, and try to convince him that being human was something they desperately needed. He shot her down each time.

Until he didn't have a choice.

*

Hey, remember when we were kids. After I got away an' found you? An' we would spend each night lookin' up at the stars, an' wondering what we were gonna do with our lives. We wondered if we'd ever mean somethin'. If we'd always be by each others side. We wondered at the world, and why things were the way they were. But we had each other. Through everything, we had each other.

He wasn't expecting it. He was caught off guard. How could he have known she'd be in so deep? That she'd do something like that to him? Looking back, it was glaringly obvious. But he still hadn't known. Or maybe, he hadn't wanted to.

*

"If we're human, we could die. Right here, right now. Please. I want this. I want him."

*

It'd been easy.

Too easy.

There was a blow to the back of his head, and a deafening crack!, and the wrench he often used to fix his bikes fell - down to the floor with a clatter that felt like thunder. Had he been human, he would've died. He'd be dead. Gone.

Instead, he fell - useless, to the floor, and the wings that were so much like hers dropped into a slump, lifeless. She'd been smiling, then, something wide and dark and full of teeth.

“We'll both be human. It's okay..”

She'd dragged his body down the hallway, through the door and into the kitchen, and she'd already set  everything up for her self-appointed task. He would be proud, she'd thought. Her methods of organising wouldn't go unnoticed when her brother woke, of that, she was certain.

Everything had been placed exactly where she wanted it, and to anyone else, it wouldn't have made sense. “He will understand,” she said. Nobody else would.

She had him on the table, now, blonde strands of hair clinging to the back of her neck and cheeks with the wetness of the sweat she'd worked up like a sort of grisly halo.

When South pressed a hand to his face, she was still smiling - because she knew, and knowing was half the race. She knew.

In the end, he'd be grateful.

"This is what we need." She murmured, her voice hoarse and frantic like an overexcited child. "You didn't understand it then. But now, you will.”

“South...” a whispered utterance, and his eyes fluttered, as though waking. He needed to stay down, to stay under. She had a vial in her hands, and she used it before his eyes opened. Its contents put a stop to any fighting or screaming he might have been able to do.

She stroked her tremulous, tiny fingers through short strands of brown hair, and there was the lulling sound of song in the air as she hummed - a soothing croon, something he'd often done for her, when they were children.

It was time for her to look out for him, now.

To protect him.

It was time.

*

“What is that..?”

“Hm..?”

“That song. What is it?”

“It's 'Just Friends', remember?”

“Oh. Of course. I liked that one..”

“I know.”

*

The knife in her hands slipped. She'd been trying so hard to cut perfectly, to minimise the damage, but when the serrated edges sawed through flesh like it was butter, and the tip hit bone, ground against it, the rounded incision became jagged and messy. Her smile never wavered, even with the thick coating of red on her hands.

There was so much blood. She forced the knife deeper, anyway, dove in with the blade as her muscles burned, and from there, all she had to do was carve.

The body beneath her hands jerked. A pained groan filled the air, and then there was silence. She continued where she'd left off - she did not stop, she could not stop - and the knife slid against her wet skin with its gore, metal scraping back and forth over bone, splintering, cutting, sawing slowly through.

Inch by inch.

“We're almost there," she soothed, anxious. "This is good. You're going to be just fine.”

There was so much blood.

The knife made full circle.

South pressed her sharp little fingers into feathers, and then she was twisting, pulling at the wing in her small, trembling hands, holding onto a lifeline she wanted to tear down, to pull out, to extirpate like a cancer. There was a sickening crack, snap and pop!

His scream crescendoed and echoed across the empty walls like a mantra. She felt the ground tremor beneath her feet with it.

South giggled, through ragged breaths, and Church saw Hell once more, looking back at him from his little sister's wide blue eyes.

“One down, brother...”

*

“There's no place in heaven for creatures like us, Church. You know that, don't you? There's only one solution. One way I can be reunited with him. And I can't do it without you. We need this.”

*

If the first wing was difficult, the second was much, much worse.

The knife she wielded had dulled - there was no time to replace it, and he'd stirred again, a bleary, unfocused look in his eyes as he'd lifted his head to gaze at her. The betrayal there, the hurt, the rage had been so profound.

“You'll forgive me. You will.” She'd promised him, unsteady fingers threading once again through his hair, tugging sharply where his own dried blood matted and knotted strands together. He'd dropped his head back onto the table, then, and his breathing had evened out, as though sleeping.

She drove the knife back into flesh, and all Church could do was whimper. She thought maybe he'd finally resigned himself to his fate.

Her smile grew, just a fraction.

The sound of the knife hacking through bone was as grating as ever, the tip of the blade forcing its way through his shoulder-blade, and for a moment, South couldn't free it – had to twist and pull and grind the knife against bone until it broke free, but she didn't stop. Stopping would be futile, at this point. He'd already come so far. The perfect transformation. There was an end to this, she could see it. With just one more push, it'd be over.

She wedged the knife beneath the groove in bone she'd made, and slammed her weight behind the handle.

CRACK!

The wing snapped away.

Church had no screams left to give.

*

They'd been sitting on the grass one night, or, more accurately, Church had been sprawled, with his head in South's lap, whilst she'd been sitting on the grass. And he'd been chewing his nails as usual, a habit she'd often tried to get him to break, but both pairs of blue eyes were to the stars above them, the clouds few and far between - a lazy crawl across the midnight sky.

She looked down to him, then, an easy smile upon her pink lips.

“What's your favourite thing, about being what we are, Church?” she'd asked, curious.

Church had given her this look, as though he didn't quite understand the question. As though, with everything that had happened to him, to her, there was nothing in him he had left to favour.

And then he was smiling.

“My wings, prob'ly. They're bad ass, don't you think?”

*

Everything hurt. His head, his arms, but most of all, his back. There was an ache throughout his whole body, a dull, throbbing pain. And he didn't know where he was, eyes squeezing shut against the glare of sunlight through the cracks in the blinds. This was all wrong. A buzzing in his ears and a pounding behind his eyes, he tried to move.

Agony.

He would have wailed had his voice complied but instead, his vision washed to white, and he slumped back down with a whimper.

"It's okay. I fixed you. You're all better now.. All better."

Nothing about this is okay.

"South..? What.. What're you doin'..?"

"You're free." He felt sick. Felt hands press against his cheek and he flinched away from them, from her. From the woman his sister had become. His shoulderblades burned in protest at the movement, and he was scared to look; to turn his head and see nothing behind him. He did it anyway.

Nothing.

Just blood and flesh, and the ghostly feel of what was no longer there. She'd taken his wings.

"You see it, don't you? Look how far you've come, Church."

He saw nothing.

*

"Why are we still like this?!"

Because clipping our wings was never going to change anything..

"I can't take this anymore. I can't do it. I just want.. I just want it to be over."

I can't help you.

"Hey.. Church..? Do you think, if I died.. you would feel it..?"

Don't ask me that.

*

Adjusting was difficult. After all is said and done, you have to live with the consequences of your actions. This wasn't living. This was torture. Watching her and knowing this was it. This is what she's become, and she's not coming back. He couldn't save her. He had nothing left to give.

She had a gun in her hands and it was aimed toward his face.

"It's going to be okay. At least.. at least we'll have each other. Right Church?"

They'd always known there was no heaven waiting for them at the end of the line. There was only the pits of hell and the creatures that came with it. Tainted blood didn't qualify for a passport through the golden gates. They'd known that.

"I don't want to die.."

"I don't want to live."

*

We were both left on a doorstep. Do you remember that, Church? Me, too. Why can't we forget? Why are these things so ingrained so deep inside our brains that they can't ever be washed away, or scrubbed clean? Do you think it's because of him? It doesn't matter.

You found me. I remember, because you were running from something. And you put your finger to your lips and told me I had to be quiet, or they'd know. I'd never seen you before. But I knew those wings, and those eyes. Those eyes like mine. I wasn't scared because I knew you. My darling big brother to the rescue.

*

She was weeping. Wrecked sobs tearing from her throat and he could do nothing but stare. At the gun, at her face, at the hand pulling at her own blonde hair. Tears streaked her cheeks and it hurt to see her like that. A remnant.

She shoved the gun into his hands. Curled her fingers around his, positioned them just right, pressing his finger lightly to the trigger.

And then she was pressing the gun to her own head.

"No.. No, South, please.." His chest constricted, like arms were squeezing around him too tightly, and he couldn't breathe.

"I can't. I can't." she was shaking her head, and tears were falling from her eyes. "I hurt you. I hurt you so much, even knowing you didn't want it. I can't fix it."

"You don't gotta.. I'm- I'm okay, see? I'm right here."

"I can't fix it. I deserve this. I don't want to live like this anymore. Don't you understand? He's gone. He's not coming back. And I hurt you." Blue eyes met, and through the pounding in his skull, he heard her whispered plea, and he knew. This was it.

She squeezed his finger down on the trigger.

Her head snapped back with the blow.

*

You were always there for me, after that. And we never had much, but we had each other. I wouldn't change you for the world. Maybe heaven for us isn't a pipe dream afterall? Maybe it's right here, in the good we do. Maybe heaven is in the people we meet. Hang onto yours, when you find it. Okay, Church?



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