What is Love? (Bang Bang, You're Dead.)

[Ishmael]

NOTE: This isn't a nice short story. It deals with religion and life in a very blasphemous way, and any christians are cautioned before reading this. I'm not much of a church goer, and I have my own theories, so stuff it in your ear if you want to complain about my f***ed up mind.

Okay?

Okay.





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"Think. Think of everything you've done in life. Think of everything you'll never get to do, see, hear, smell, feel."

Cold metal pressed against the temple of a boy, someone living on the street without a family, a home, or a name. Blue eyes stared at the floor, jaw slack, tears long faded from his cheeks. Was it murder? The pulling of a trigger, the lead tearing through the bone and fat, ripping out the other side effortlessly to send blood and particles of what was left of his brain against the wall. What was it? Freedom looking him in the face, teasing him with the twitch of a finger, telling him it'd be all over... but it'd never happen to someone like you.

Dirt and oil caked hair barely moved when he lowered his head just a bit, the assiliant leaning in closer to whisper in the boy's ear. It was a cruel silence that lingered with his hot breath caressing the boy's ear, the sound of water running frm a tap to splatter against the porcelain sink filling the room. If it wasn't fear, it was how lonely he felt in this moment more then any other time in the world. A kiss touched the rim of his ear, then the movement of lips to signify the assiliant was speaking.

"Ever see a cloudless night sky, standing there on the top of a building with the wind in your hair?" The gun lowered, and a hand embraced the other side of the boy's head as gently as a mother cradling her infant. "Ever wonder how something so magnificent could be created out of nothing? Something so... awe-inspiring, so passionate, so amazing, out of particles of dirt and chemicals just floating aimlessly?" Fingers stroked the boy's cheek, smearing the dirt and the oil and the sewage across the smooth surface.

How old was the boy? maybe ten? Twelve? No older then twelve, and already left to die. Sweet amber eyes stared at the boy's distant ones, looking down to the floor awaiting his death. "Some people believe that a God did it. An almighty all-knowing power, guiding their lives and rescuing them from their harsh existence." the man continued, following the boy's gaze to the floor. "They believe that God, being as wise as he is, would care for a race that destroys themselves and ruins people's lives for the quick satisfaction of seeing blood. Seeing people suffer. Hearing people scream."

"If God created man in his own image," nails raked the boy's cheek, but not hard, just enough to get a response in a low whimper to make sure the boy was listening to his words. "Then God must be as sadistic and melodramatic as the rest of this damned world. A three-year-old sticking his hand into a large wasps' nest, only to get stung and ripped apart and wonder why."

"God wants us to behave and listen to us. But what's listening? People say they kill in his name, while others lock themselves away to pray until their death. Some presecute others of the same faith in the name of the same God, and send them to their death." He pulled away, gun to his side, hand sliding to the top of the boy's head. The boy looked to be having a nervous breakdown, the tears beginning to flow again.

The man lifted the boy up with care, making sure he found his feet before he walked towards the window of the run-down building that overlooked the city. Motioning with the gun, the tip lined all the streets and all of the people withing view in an arc, before resting against his side once more. "Why would someone like the people of this world give a f***, if they created it and it became a disaster like this? Would God want to fix it up, want to correct everyone's little problem one by one? Futile."

"Face it, we're all alone in this battle for survival in a place that everyone has a story to cause you pain." The boy brought a hand to his face, collapsing to the floor in a series of gut-wrenching sobs. The man tared, still holding the boy's arm, amber eyes fixated on the hand that held the child's face. "All we have, is our hearts, our minds, our eyes, and our hope."

"Hope?" The child choked out, tears flowing faster.

"Hope that even though, this world hates us, we can still live through this pain, this torture. Hope that one day, it'll all go away, and you'll be able to live freely. Hope that someone in this world will love you, and you in return to them dearly." He crouched down, pulling a cloth from his long jacket's pocket, and wiped away the dirt and grease on the boy's face using the tears he cried.

"Hope that all the beautiful things we posess in this world will keep us living on, with this hope in our hearts, so we can take those blows to our body, and just return to the garden where they bloom, all of our dreams and wishes, and smile. Feel whole in our own place of security and love."

The boy was silent, tears stopped flowing, eyes closed, trying to remember when he's ever seen something beautiful enough to live for. After a few minutes, his eyes opened, looking to the man with a slight smile. "Take me to the roof, I want to see the stars for the first time." The man stroked the boy's face with a slender finger, grasping his arm once more and lifting him to his feet.

The walk up the stairs was silent and slow, one foot in front of the other, eyes set to the ceiling and they ascended. The boy had a hand over his heart, staring up at nothing, wondering how beautiful the sky must be. That kept a smile on his face, bare feet gaining slivers and shards of glass with every step. What would it look like? Something described to take the breath away from the restless and make them still, humble the loud and make those blind to everything see, for just those few instances they stopped to stare at something they've ignored all of their life, too busy looking ahead to look above.

And there it was. The door collapsed with a tap of the gun, and the boy stared to completely struck with shock and beauty. Thousands of dots in the sky, so tiny, so bright, staring back at him. Whatever his mind had pictured faded away as incomplete and incorrect, forgotten within that small instant it took to hold his breath as he stared up. The man released the boy, his amber eyes gliding to the night sky in silence.

It was an eternity of moisture filled eyes and gaped mouths, everything around him seemed to fade. How could he have not noticed it before? Something so vast and so brilliant...

"What will it be, then, child?" Came the soft spoken words of the man as he looked down to the boy. The boy smiled, still staring up at the sky. "Give me a name," the boy asked, blue eyes focused so deeply on the heavens. The man smiled, stroking the boy's hair. "Ishmael," he said softly, stroking the boy's hair.

"Shoot me, so I die with my eyes open, to stare up forever at the night sky in death."

The man nodded, lifting the gun and placing the cold metal against the back of Ishmael's head. Ishmael lifted a hand, trying to reach the stars. "Is mommy up there, waiting for me? Will I go there, when I die?"

....

The body collapsed to the floor, blood flying into the air in a small puff of red before splattering Ishmael's face. Eyes still wide open, lips curved into a smile, hand still reaching for something, anything. The man smiled, hands coated red as he rested Ishmael's head against the cold concrete tiles and began to walk away, gun in his pockets with his hands and hat tipped to cover his eyes.

Perhaps the boy was reaching for a sense of purpose, trying to find one in the complete beauty of the stars. Perhaps he was looking for love in the first thing that's made him smile since he was born. Maybe, even, he saw his life to be reflected back at him as but a nightmare, his life of happiness to begin with the pull of the trigger. Perhaps that bullet was a kiss, ushering him into a world surrounded by comfort, surrounded with love that he'll always have, if he let go of the diseased and pained carcass he once held. The man would never know, but a silence that filled his mind seemed to register that he understood, disappearing into the crowd of people wandering the streets in a city that never sleeps, the night sky completely smothered by light and buildings and smoke.

Written by Helix, and I'll kick your ass if you steal it

[Jade Starr]

I already told you what I thought of it, but official-looking comments are always fun.

I absolutely adore it, love.

[Ishmael]

(Thankyou again, Jade. ^^)

'kay, the one above this was 'Bang Bang, You're Dead'. The one I'm posting now is 'What is Love?' written to a specific song. Any Dir en grey fans that have listened to it before and know the translation should get it instantly.

NOTE: This story deals with rape, incestuous acts and murder. If you are sensitive in any way to these subjects, don't read it. Please.






A child lay on the floor, sweat strewn through her hair, tears smacking the polished hard wood as she clung to herself with a comforter covering her naked frame. The lamp was on it's lowest setting, illuminating the bed where the sheets were pulled out-of-place, the comforter three-quarters pulled off the bed to cover the girl, and a man passed out with a cigarette between his moist lips. The CD player was set on repeat to a mixed CD of Placebo, singing out a soft tune that stuck in her ears as she cried.

Black hair spilled over the floor, forehead pressed into it and her back arched with her hands clutching the blanket to her chest, legs folded underneath her arched frame for support. When will it ever stop? Brown eyes stared, the detailed lines and scuffs in the floor just before her face imprinted into her memory like ink on paper. Torn emotionally from the pain she had to endure every day of her life.

What else did she know now? Her mother... she missed so much... Tears streamed down the bridge of her nose and fell, caressing the floor with ease. Eyes shut, she sobbed harder, hands gripping the blanket tighter. Why, why did her mother have to leave her like this? The mother she loved more then anything.... The one that had died in a car accident on her way home.

The light dimmed a bit more, signaling the bulb was dying, then cut out completely, leaving only the candle-light coming from the dresser to light the near pitch black room. The young girl hardly noticed, pulling her legs closer together as she forced herself to breathe through the wracking sobs. The figure on the bed was barely noticeable anymore, swallowed in the darkness that turned the white sheets greyish black. She wished he was swallowed whole, swallowed so he wouldn't abuse her like this anymore.

All because of her mother's death.

That summer in 1983... You were always smiling with me. Always there for me. I'd always hold your hand as we walked to the swings together, just you and I... How I miss your smiling face, so flawless and beautiful, so loving... Oh how I wish you were still here for me... How I wish father wouldn't rape me because I look like you...

Such a memory brought the tears back into her eyes, such words whispered the moisture to well up, and overflow once more as silent witnesses to the hurt the child suffered for the past nine years. The girl was too weak to lift herself from her spot on the hardwood floor, so she rolled over on her back, the comforter pulling completely off the bed to fall beside her. She wrapped it around her more, grabbing the newly fallen half and draping it over her body with a gentle pull.

Was this love? Having to endure being raped again and again by her hated father because he grieved her mother so much to use her as a substitute? What was love, anyways, if this is how the world defines humane. Brown orbs stared blankly at the flickering flame of the candle, breathing slowed down to a gentle hush. She couldn't do this anymore. This nausiating task just to stem her father's tears and her mother's smile.

'So rape me until you're satisfied that I am yours, father.
But see, mother is looking down on us from up above.'

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The morning was freezing cold, bundled tightly in a fleece jacket in the snow with her winter boots. It was the winter of 1992, nine years from the car accident that claimed her mother's life. The life was drained from the girl, she lost almost all of her will to live within that space of time, sitting in that school desk cutting out snowflakes with the scissors. Her father will never stop, she knew that, and the child was just turning sixteen this year. A cold chill echoed inside her heart, the noise from the classmates singing christmas carols and laughing to one another drowned out by the hurt she held.

A slice from the scissors brought her back to reality, looking down at her finger. Blood drooled down the side, and dripped onto the paper snowflake. The cut wasn't that deep, but the realization that came from it cooed softly in her ear. Blood stained on white paper, blood poured over white sheets. Brown eyes drifted to the open scissors, the one blade lined with the crimson liquid. Was this her answer? It seemed to be so beautiful, so innocent, so complete. She had to do it, she had to free herself.

A grim smile etched on her face, but quickly faded to the cold, distant expression held previously.

And so that night, scissors stolen from the school and hidden in her back pocket, she walked into her room after pulling her winter boots off and peeling the large jacket from her frail body. Her father smiled at her, but she just waved and walked away. How could the b****** ever come to realize how much he hurt her every day of her life, treated like dirt, swallowed in this punishment that brought her to tears every time in happened.

Her father, gripping her wrist, pulled her back into the room she remembered so well, so hatefully, the distant expression on her face matching the one in his eyes. A cycle that'll never end, him unbuttoning her shirt and letting it fall to the floor. Tears began to pour with the sudden reality of what had to be done, the acts by her father that were forced upon her making her nauseous. But to kill?

Pressed against the soft sheets, a kiss pressed against her neck without meaning ebhind it but sheer lust. He worked at her tight jeans, her sliding the scissors from her back pocket to under the pillow when he was too pre-occupied to notice even her screams. They choked out as she jerked, but a hand pressed her down as a tongue trailed up her form from her undone fly all the way up to her collar bone.

The action of pressing his lips against hers so forcefully brought the hand tightened around the scissors into motion, and they sunk into the side of her father's neck. A choke came from his lips, eyes filled with tramua staring into those eyes filled with hate, as she slammed him away with a scream.

This was how she returned his love. His figure, sprawled out onto the floor bleeding profusely from the wound in his neck, slowly dying, twitching and convulsing in shock. The girl, still in her bra and her unzipped jeans, lay covered in her father's blood. A cold feeling of saddness overwhelmed her completely in a wave with more hurt then she had ever felt. She had done it. Murdered her father. Murdered the man that raped her for nine years straight, the man that loved her mother as much as she did.

Why, why did he have to do such things to her?

Mother, you're smiling so hard... Please be happy for me, father's gone. I've always loved you, I miss you so much. I won't cry anymore, I promise. He can't hurt me anymore. I'm pregnant with his child... But I won't cry. Just smile for me, won't you?

Just keep smiling for me, while I hold back my nausea and start anew.

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Story written to Kyo's beautiful song 'Embryo'. The storyline and credit goes to him, for without it, this story wouldn't be here.

[Xailyn Rose]

They were very well written. ^_^

Sad too...but they were very good. I especially like the first one.

[amy]

Just beautiful, Eurus. You've caused tears to spring to my eyes once again. Very well written, I adore them.

[Nefastus Eurus Caelestise]

I seem to have a talent for that for some reason.

I'm glad you like it, I'm in the process of attempting a 'happy' short story.

(whatever that means.)