Dedestra lets out a strong exhale,
"Symown . . . when we were attacked I was running through the woods and saw the smoke and fires, and all I could think about was saving him even before my other brothers and sisters. I was looking for him as people ran for safety, an injured man gave me a gun and told me to help evacuate people, I went straight for his trailer! His reprehensible wretch of a father was nowhere to be found, so it was my responsibility as his guardian to find him! I heard him cry for help, he called out my name! His door was rammed in! I frantically stumbled to his room, his door was hanging open. I was about to call out to him but I froze when I heard the voice of a man! I crept over trying to hear what was transpiring. I heard him laughing this piggish ugly laugh.
Then I heard him crying, my little pumpkin, his boyish whimpers, burned holes in my heart, Symown.” Her fist clench.
“I cracked the door and looked in . . . through the darkness, a man, standing there.
A fat, slobbish, reprobate, mass of human garbage! His pants around his ankles walking towards the little boy's bed, wielding a pistol with a smile on his putrid, perspiring face! I saw the terror and anguish in the boy's eye, as he desperately hugged the wall, clawing at the wallpaper, begging and pleading for his life as that corpulent, dung heel leaned over the edge of his bed!
He was going to defile that little boy. He was going to hurt . . . my baby!” The metal of Dedestra first started to crunch and rattle; some oil streams and drip down her fingers, staining the dirt.
Dedestra feels a force pull her clenched fist. She looks over to see Visell holding her hand, staring down at the ground. She exhales and continues “I was shaking. But then, perhaps it was instinct or perhaps a spark of inspiration from you, I sprung into action! So I kicked the door in and aimed! I shot that bastard, 3 times before he could even get up! He stumbled back and started shooting blindly. I charged forward and continued firing. Striking him twice in the neck as he crashed against the wall, blood spraying everywhere. I dropped the gun and seized him out of the bed, sheets, and all. I dashed to the door, The second I passed the threshold of the living room . . . he coughed blood in my face, I noticed the white sheets turning crimson.
The harrowing sound of his ragged wheezing and choking stabbed my ears. I collapsed to the floor and unraveled the sheets, to reveal a bullet wound right above his heart. The blood crawled around my hands and pooled on the wooden floors. I tried to stop it, I told him it would be okay. He tried to speak but all that came out was blood. I hugged him tight and begged him to keep breathing, rocking him back and forward. He looked up at me with a quivering smile, tears pouring down his face. He raised his hand to me - weak and trembling- stretching out to caress my face, he wiped the tears from my eyes. . . " Dedestra waves her free hand across the side of her mask. "I peered down at him, my teardrops scouring the blood off his face. All I could tell him is “it's okay, pumpkin . . .” I gazed into his pretty brown eyes as his wheezing shallowed, his eyes grew dim and. With all his strength he had left, he strained, choking trying to speak. He said under the gurgle of blood, "Mama" He called me Mama . . . and I told him "Mama's here . . . Mama's here." The smile left his face, his hand slid from my face, his eye slightly opened, no coughs, gasps.
He was gone.
He was only 12, the same age Jin was when I saw him last . . . And to this day I don't know whether it was my bullet that killed him or that slobbering cretin. After that, I called you, I was captured and forced to prance around and serve those Nuthra-Yakuza simpletons that attacked us. Then . . . you saved me. And now here we are. And now all I have to do is give him a proper memorial. I can’t bear the thought of the unworthy creatures of this world to continue feasting on his flesh. And I wanted you to do the honors, Symown.”
Visell glares at Dedestra with awe on her face! She quickly looks away from Dedestra, wipes away her tears, and clutches her fist together at her sides. She grumbles in a hushed, frustrated tone. “You can’t honestly ask me to do that! You want me to . . . I can’t. It would be more disrespectful for me to burn his body! I could never take that away from you! Wouldn’t it be better if you-” Visell is interrupted by a cold sensation with as strong squeezing force between the bones of her wrist. She looks over to see Dedestra with a stronghold on Visells wrist lifting it outward.
“Very well, we’ll do it together! Visell’s breathing increases, looking at Dedestra in befuddlement. Dedestra gently maneuvers her hand towards the pile of would, looking down at the grave, intensely. “It’s okay, Symown. Please just do it . . .for me. . .for him . . .for us.” Visell looks away and grits her teeth. With a staccato sigh, she slowly unfolds her fingers, spreading them out into a wide web. Feeling the electrons raving and running between the wood and her hands. It could all be so easy but why does she hesitate?
Visions and hallucinations pang in her mind for a second and vanish as she flinches from a stern squeeze on her wrist. “Please, Symown do it (!) It’s okay. It’s okay!”
Visell’s hand starts trembling. The feeling of the charge between her skin and the wood intensifies. Her nerves start to burn. The pathways of electricity lighting up. She tries to resist, her mind becoming torn, and then one little thought crosses her mind. “For me . . . For us” Her eyes string open as she remembers the first time she held Dedestra’s hand. As her eyes close, relaxed, she takes a deep breath.
ZAP!
The sheet that mummifies the boy is eaten by the small flame leaving blacked teeth marks in its wake. The mound of dirt and blood-encrusted white becomes a blaze of orange, red, and yellow. The funeral pyre begins to crackle and the sputter smell of rotting burning flesh penetrates Visell’s acute nasal passages.
Visell's slowly creak open in awe as the flames consume the young boy’s body. Figures of death dance in the flames. A throbbing pressure in her brain swells. Glimpsing of the burning bodies, melting bodies scraping towards her from the crashed plane that took . . .Mary pangs her mind.
She grabs her throbbing head and looks over at Dedestra. Her icy demeanor unshaken, unphased as the fire reflects in her eyes, not one tear comes down to cool her cheeks. The tears she used to know so intimately. Visell feels a well of anger and confusion spring up from her chest as her heart starts pounding. She feels like she wants to reprimand her for not feeling anything, reprimand her for bottling up her feelings, like she doesn't care but she loved that little boy. Visell clenches her fist, her mouth shutters open to say something, but her heart stifles her words, as soon as she lucks into Dedestra’s eyes gleaming in the flame.
“Thank you, Symown . . . I’m . . .even more in your debt,” Dedestra says solemnly while fixated on the fire.
Visell’s fist relaxes “My debt, huh?” she says with suspicion, questioning Dedestra’s intention. Dedestra, being acutely aware of Visell’s mood recognizes the tone of stifled frustration; “Symown?” she says longingly. Visell presses one of her fists to her opposing palm in one last show of prayer. Dedestra joins Visell in prayer. A silent drapes over them, the crackle of the wood interjecting as they bow their heads. They release “Symown, you must understand. What you spoke of about reliving demons from our past and being there for each other, I figured such excursions like this is what such an arrangement entails. Whatever your frustrations whether at his killers or me, I’m glad you're here. This certainly brings credence to your terms.”
Visell drops her hand to the side. “No problem! Geez, I just . . . wished you would’ve told me about this sooner. I’m glad I’m here too, but I just don’t get you sometimes.” Dedestra steps over to Visell “Are you okay?” She says tenderly. Visell ‘s eyes dart over to Dedestra “This isn’t about me! Are you okay!?” She yells as she steps closer, grabbing at the tail of Dedestra’s robe, and pulls her towards her. Her eyes downcast clenching her fist holding back tears. “Symown . . .”
Visell shutters in frustration, “It’s just, Zempai . . . If you really can’t cry that just means your hurt more than words can imagine! Like your tear ducts turned to ice. And I don’t . . .I don’t want you to think that your life isn’t worth it . . . like before . . . So, I’m just worried about you(!) Part of me just wants you to cry for hours and part of me understands.” Visell grabs at Dedestra’s robe, crinkling the armor weaved fabric tightly.
“Besides, I can cry enough for the both of us!” She looks up at Dedestra determinately with a cavalcade of tears falling down her face and a faint smirk. Dedestra glances down at Visell, her icy glare breaks a little bit as her heart goes numb. A certain warmth washes over her at the sight of her passion.
“Symown, you’re . . .*sigh* as sweet as ever. But, I surely hope you don't plan to need to force yourself to cry for me at every appropriate junction!” Visell nods her head, with the conviction of a reprimanded child. Dedestra scoffs “Honestly. The mad idea you conjure!” she snickers and wipes Visell’s tears. “No need for that. So earnest, and saccharine! I thank you.” Visell wipes her tears and pouts with a disappointed glare.” Dedestra’s to drop her robe falls as Visell grabs her hand as it was past her cheek; she molds her fingers to her face and stares into her eyes. “If you say so. But don’t push yourself down! Don’t . . . don't be like Father, ok!? Promise me! I love seeing you solid but I’ve always loved being the one to see you care. Just talk to me and no matter what I’ll have your back! No two ways about it!" Dedestra’s hand drops to her side
“I promise, Symown. And thank you for being open to my changes. My heart will always run free as long as it resides on your fruitful pastures.” She says solemnly, looking down at the pyre, the heat searing her eyes.
“Letting go of my little pumpkin . . . with you, has been . . . In a word, cathartic . . . ” Dedestra releases a long sigh while quickly and steadily running her fingers through the front of her hair. Dedestra glares into the screaming, roaring blaze below her.
She turns back around swiftly " I’ve . . . said my goodbyes so . . .” She slowly raises her hand to grab Visell’s shoulder. “Let’s return to the temple and speak further about the situa-"
Visell swats Dedestra's hand aside. Her heart drops and then skips a beat. Visell grabs her hand. "No!" Her eyes downcast. “Don’t run from the people you love! Stop running. We should stay right here till the embers die and you can be sure his spirit is at rest! I know you're not okay but don't you think he deserves us staying here with him?"
Dedestra shudders a little, her heart rate spikes as she starts to think about her baby boy's smile. The heat of the fire dancing on the back of her neck. She puts her hand on Visell's head.
“ . . .You're right. We . . . best stay here.” They sit down, shoulder to shoulder in front of the pyre.
A few minutes pass, Dedestra rests her head into Visell’s hair tenderly. The smell of cinnamon helps to mitigate the peeling smell emanating from the fire. As she closes her eyes the memory of hugging the little boy in her arms on cold winter nights, pressing her cheeks to his head as he drifted to sleep.
As she relaxes with Visell in her arms, her mind goes blank, and a volley of only beautiful thoughts flood her mind. As the warmth of the fire and the warmth of Visell seep through her skin and her heart flutters. An image drifts by her mind as her heavy eyes narrow.
The glare of the sunset out of a plastic-clad windowpane. The warmth of the dusk blesses the room with an orange aura, The room is lightly furnished, with some pictures and trinkets. A full view of the traffic on the ground. Perhaps the 3rd of 5th floor. The feeling of carpet grace her toes, her skin teems at the feeling of the beaded cloth. A soft feeling forms to her weight. A cushion. A couch, a purple one, with the ambiance of a television playing god knows what, perhaps a documentary?
And that warmth. The warmth that massages the veins and excites the heart. Visell laying on her shoulder fast asleep, all that hair covering her face, I’m surprised she can breathe, and yet she’s so peaceful. And right below her a soft pressure on her lap, a little boy resting, her little boy, her pumpkin laying so tranquil as the flash of the tv paints different silhouettes from his face.
The subtle details of their breathing captivate her, the subtle sound becomes more beautiful than any melody she ever heard. Captivated and raptured by the rhythm and the harmony, symphony of safety and love. Her deep almond fingers trail around the Boy’s soft, thick curly hair. . . My little fami-
CRACK!!
Her eyes spring open! Panting softly, Her heart cramps and chokes in her chest, and her lungs try to revive it, she grasps her chest through her robe. The warm feeling of her own hand she expected is missed for the sensation of cold metal and rubber, colored mocha brown, a facsimile, a façade of her hand. The glow of the dying fire and the crack of the wood disorient her; blurring her vision as her eyes desperately attempt to adjust.
The comfy cushion turns to a hard, cold dirt floor pressing painfully against her hip bones. The small city apartment adorned by dusk falls into a dimly lit forest barely touched by dawn.
A cool breeze passes through her hair, yet it's hardly felt on her cheeks. The wind presses the armor weave cloth against her upper lip. Her voice quivers a little “It’s all a façade . . .” Her toes curl, she scarcely feels the coarse, loose dirt between her silicone toes. She raises her voice with prose “ It’s all just façade and false consciousness. Just dreams, and demons and-OOF!” She feels a hand limply strike the side of her face and maintains its placement. She hears a muffled, slurred “Shut up! Geez!” from under a mound of hair as the hand falls relaxed in her lap. Dedestra’s heart flutters, savoring the warm sensation on her cheek.
“Symown . . .” She says tenderly as she looks at Visell examining her holistically as she rests, propped up on her shoulder. Dedestra’s memories beseech her mind and a wave of desire creeps across her body as she places a hand on Visell’s shoulder. Inhibitions take hold of reason and she pushes Visell to the ground with her as she falls back! Visell’s eyes spring open and she starts to blush “Zempai . . . what are you- !?” Dedestra hangs over Visell, propped up on her hands and knees.
Visell gets a little . . .scared. She blushed profusely as she practically straddled. Dedestra’s eyes break from Visell’s and trail down her body to her chest. Dedestra sensually asserts “I want to . . .” Visell blushes more “Wa . . . want to what!? You can’t . . . Honestly think . . . !” Her eyes dart to the side. Gasp! A heavy pressure appears on her chest and the coarse feeling of curly hairs tickle her neck. The giant tower of hair blocking her view.
“I just wanna listen, okay?” Dedestra nestles and nudges her head to get more comfortable.. Maneuvering her hair with the resistance, getting her ear in the right position.
Visell blushes profusely, the kneading sensation of her head into her breast sends a perking tingle through her chest. “He-hey(!)” She nervously exclaims in flimsy opposition. Dedestra huddles her hands into Visell’s frame, molding around her form. Caressing her like a fitted dress. The rushes of Visell’s flustered heart drum against her ear. The contortions of her diaphragm, the rush of air that fills her lungs pushes her upward and Dedestra sends a relaxing tingle down her spine. Visell becomes captivated by her mature Zempai curled up on her chest like a little puppy or like a cold fox perhaps? Visell takes a deep breath and tranquil proclaim. She places her hand on top of Dedestra’s hair and combs through it gingerly. She musters past the distraction.
Her tepid defiance surrenders and she smiles. Visell keeps brushing through her hair. Their breathing becomes eased and regular, drifting off into a comforting sleep. Visell looks up at the star-studded sky and follows, into a newly warmed slumber.
Drifting, weightless. A warm sensation morphs to her form, like water. Conforming to every ridged edge of her being. Then a cool sensation slowly replaces it, more and more. An icy penetrating sensation. Unbearable and unnerving! Creeping up her spine.
Comments