Mama's Gun! Visell and Dedestra become a couple Pt. 2

40 minutes later.
Miles away from Visell begins to notice one or two familiar landmarks. They turn onto a long dirt road, They reach a small long since burnt-out bonfire before entering a long corridor of trailers, and small cabins, dead seedbeds, and unkempt gardens. Dedestra walks ahead of Visell and stands facing the remnants of the main bond. Staring at it, examining it. Remembering the all-encompassing warmth of its embrace during the long winter nights after work. Abandoned, sleeping bags and chairs adorn its corpse. The wreckage, debris, bullet holes, and burn marks were vividly illuminated by the burgeoning, dim sunset. Visell’s eyes wander around aimlessly bewildered by the scenery.
[Huh, I remember this! This is your old commune, right? I’m guessing she’s nostalgic?] Dedestra looks out into the woods, staring down the long line of trailers, neatly sorted side by side. She walks down the dirt path, clasping her hands together by her waist. Visell confused and paranoid "So, what's up Zempai? Feeling nostalgic or Is it something . . lewd, or . . . '' Blush. Dedestra stops "Symown, No questions, remember?” She said in a blunt and stale fashion, as she glares at her from the other side of the car with that ol’ icy glance. Visell blushes again, fiddling with her hair “Geez, S . . . Sorry, Zempai.''
[Damn, she’s kinda hot when she’s mad.] "Shhh, It's quite alright. I'm here to get someone. Wait here." Visell raises an eyebrow. Dedestra says lushly as she walks a couple of trailers down. Visell sits on an old aluminum chair still picking with her hair, running her fingers through it." [Someone?] The stink of deadwood and rotten food stings her nostrils as she waits. Dedestra walks slowly, her stride weighted and stiffy. The sensation of a hollow pit in her upper chest grows as she walks down the corridor. Her eyes transfixed on one singular, silver trailer with a small white door hanging off its hinges. As she stops in front she stares at it for a while.
The door of the cosmos she dare not knock! As she lifts her hand and grapes the plastic handle. A black, haunting melody is played by the whistling wind. Her hand tightens around the knob as her breathing increases. The haunting melody scores the bleak aura of what lies behind. The haggard sound of her deep breathing through her teeth joined in. The melody grows louder and louder than, SNAP! The plastic handle cracks in three places in her hand. She looks at it and drops the jagged pieces. Dedestra glances up, grabs the door frame and yanks it off its hinges, and drops it. With one strong exhale she enters the trailer. 5 minutes past Dedestra emerges from a brush with a clump of white sheets with a big red spot in the middle of it. Visell’s eyes widen. She walks over to Dedestra. She catches a glimpse of her cold eyes staring tentatively at the sheets. The life that was there drained and transposed to the figure in her arms.
“Zempai . . .'' Dedestra walks straight past Visell, staring at the clumps of sheets. Visell’s eye squinches and her face twists from the nauseating smell coming from it, she steps back and the back of her hand shields her nostrils from invasion as she passed. Another terrible and familiar sent rams through her defenses. Her nostrils flare! Gasp! BLOOD. Dedestra stops, still looking at the sheets. "Symown, gather some wood and meet me at the bank of the beautiful river down this path. I'll be waiting.” “Zempai!” Her call goes unheeded as Dedestra partitions gracefully and calmly down the dirt path. Visell a noticeable look of confusion on her face. She sighs defeatedly and ruffles her hair. Visell begins to break up tables.
She magnetizes her sword out of the back car seat and into her hand. She trawls through camp slashing and breaking any wood she could find. “Sigh! Why won’t she just talk to me It’s always-*SLASH!*-theater with her, no wonder why Mother and her hit it off! Putting pierces into a burlap sack. SLASH!
"That's good enough.'' Her mind starts to ruminate on Dedestra’s expression, her eyes. Her fist clenches and shadows of concern loom over her as she remembers the times she studied it before. She sheathes her blade and tightens the sack and sprints forward. “Zempai. I know you. I know that look you’re really, really not okay, What are you hiding!?” Dedestra appears in the distance, kneeling on the ground on the other side of the river. Visell stops her stride right at the edge of the bank, panting tears running down her face. Dedestra holding the length of the sheet turns to Visell. Visell looks down and sees a dry slightly decomposed face of a young boy. Visell drops the wood. "Zempai, Is that . . ." The sheet conceals the boy’s face again. She stands “Thank you for getting the wood Sym . . .'' Visell jumps across the river landing in front of Dedestra. The dust of the path parts from the impact. and throws her head up to look straight into Dedestra’s eyes and balls her fist. "Symown . . .'' She says longingly.
“Zempai . . . Is that the kid!? The one you always talk about!?” Visell says with her fist tightening.” It is, isn't it!? Why did you lie!? You said he was missing!” Visells fist quivers as tears start to fall down her face. Dedestra looks up at the dimming sky “ Yes, It is him. My apologies for my dis-” "Why aren't you crying!” Visell interjects in a shaky quilted tone, trying to stifle herself, gritting her teeth.
“Stop trying to act tough! You don't have to do that(!) The poor kid just left here . . . that's just!" Dedestra pets Visells hair gingerly "Shhh, shhh, It's okay, Symown. I'm . . . okay. Please, Look up at me." Visell looks up, her frustrated breathing subsides slowly as she glances into Dedestra’s eyes. Dedestra wipes her tears away, pushes her hair out of her face, leans over, and whispers in her ear with a sensual, tender tone "You must understand . . . I ran out of tears, a long, long time ago, Symown." As she retreats, Visell looks at her with a concerned, awe-struck gaze. Dedestra calmly walks over to pick up the sack of wood. Visell looks down at the ground. “Zempai I know you're not okay! It's all in your eyes!" Dedestra's eyes indicate a smile "Symown I’m okay, I'm okay . . . I promise." Visell air of doubt creeps in her mind as she stares down at the dirty mound of sheets. Visell’s breathing starts to increase again. She frantically reaches down into the bosom of her hoodie to pull out a modestly sized joint, she turns around swiftly and walks towards the river. She lights it with her thumb, she stops at the river, and a long thick cloud of smoke jets from her nose and follows the stream. Visell crosses her arms and taps her foot in places she takes regular puffs.
Dedestra meticulously sorts the dry wood around the body; mixing it with dried leaves and tinder. Dedestra looks down at the boy, mummified and rioting; his eyes look so peaceful. He looks like he's sleeping. She remembers shuffling into his room in the evenings, to see him sleeping, toying small hairs out of his face as he slumbered. A smile on his face as he sits up and eats breakfast. The bookmarked bedtime stories him bedtime at his bedside. [It never really put him to sleep.]A tuft of hair peeks through the sheet and sways in the wind, just as they did when she escorted him down the dirt paths in his little wheelchair as she delighted him with stories about life and love. Love. . . She remembers she used to always talk about Visell. Recounting to him all the stories about how strong she was, her bravery, how she saved her, her cute little nose and her soft hair, how she was so excited when they would spend time together. How she was unquestionably mad at her for leaving. He said something once.
"I don't think she’d be mad at you, she couldn't be. She's like a knight! And knights don't get mad, they wait until the princess needs to be rescued. At least I hope because I wanna have two big sisters. or wait no! You kiss each other that's gross, yuck! Hm . . . maybe two Moms!" She giggled at the prospect, knowing Visell would probably get worked up and flustered over the situation. "Yeah! you would be like my nice, sweet mommy that would read me bedtime stories and she would be like a mommy that would scare bullies and play games with me! A nice idea, right!?" He was so sweet and precocious, so innocent. The little gleam in his eyes and a full cheeky smile “A nice Idea, Pumpkin . . ."
With every piece of wood placed, a new fantasy spills over in her mind. Cuddling with that sweet boy as he slept, with him on one side and Visell on the other. A little apartment in Glowtown or Hi-Lo city, watching him and Visell eat a breakfast made with love and more than enough nutrients for a growing boy. Dressing up for school, debating with Symown about whether to get jeans or slacks, blazers, or sweaters. Movie nights. [If he had made friends at school would I like them? Symown would probably be very selective and protective.] Watching him mature into a bright young man. [He’d probably bring home a little romantic companion, so cute.] [Would I and Visell argue? All couples do, but if he heard . . . No, we'd talk to him.] [I would've worked myself to the bone just to see him smiling in a nice, warm bed, even if it's for the dirty capitalist swine! What would he think of his grandmother, Naomi, and his aunt Nasrin, their not that far in age, though? Symown would make a great mother, an abrasive and angry mother, but a good one.]
[A nice warm dinner every night for him, my little pumpkin. Eating desserts with him after school. Looking at him and Visell asleep on the couch and thinking, ‘This my little family. My . . .Little. . . Fam-”
Her heart jumps as her hand meets with no resistance as it creeps around the burlap sack. She felt the pressure under her eyes. She stands and composes herself, clasping her hand by her waist. "Ahem, Symown, come here, please." Visell sighs and throws her hands in her pockets as walks over, looking down at the cold pile of sheets surrounded by wood. "Hey . . ." Visell said in a stale fashion with a twinge of concern. Dedestra returns "Greetings . . ." They sit in silence. Dedestra breaks, "He was an immaculate little boy. One of the reasons this little village changed my life. My sweet little boy." "You really loved the kid, didn't you? I bet he was great, I would've loved to meet him!” "He wanted to meet you, too,” Dedestra proclaims “I told him so much about you, you’ve practically met him by proxy. I think perhaps we could've been . . . a little . . . ahem! Anyways, please join me in prayer." Visell nods with determination. "Sure thing." They clasp their hands together flat and sit in silence for a few minutes. "Simunye," Visell says with solidarity and lamination. Dedestra’s eyes open “Did you finally figure out what that means?"
"Yeah, It's the word I’m named after. Uncle told me; apparently, it's something grandma used to say. It means "we are one." the last thing my father said to me . . . I figured it’d be appropriate . . .” Dedestra closes her eye "Simunye, Little Pumpkin." Visell smirks "Aww. Little pumpkin, huh? Was, that his name?" Dedestra solemnly responds "Yes." as she continues to pray.
Visell clears her throat and puts her hands on her hips. "Hey, I mean it's a cute name for a kid . . ." Silence settled in again "*Sigh* It . . . It just freaking sucks! Not even kids are safe from this world's bullshit; he didn't deserve this! And I'm angry as hell right now, I wanna cry for hours and I want to punch like 100 trees, so I know you're fucking furious so you can just -" Dedestra sighs heavily and yells, "SYMOWN! Do not curse in front of the child(!) Honestly, have some respect for god sake!" She throws her fist down and curls her fist. Visell glances. “Geez . . . I’m s-sorry Zempai! It's just . . .” She says reeling at the intense electrical current coursing through Dedestra in her anger. Visell 's hand shivers it rises to caress Arthur's shoulder. It flinches back and indecision She surrenders. "I'm really sorry . . ." Dedestra glances of spotting that forlorn look in Visells eyes; she's about to cry again or . . . at least trying not to.
Dedestra glances down sighs stiffly, centering herself. Clasping her hands together at her waist per usual. She says in a calm measured voice "No, he didn't deserve this . . . He deserved a country that cares for him and his friends, education, long life, and love. Thank god for the people that took care of him and thank god I came! I hope I made his last few years joyous. She stares longingly at the little grave.