Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Anatomy of Melancholy ❯ Side 2: Spine and Skin ( Chapter 9 )

 

I had to get this little series done up first - and then it is on to Higashi and Kibito (I apologize, but it is important this go in order). Let me see here. Precautions: darkness, lots and lots of morbid darkness. I decided to tap into Sin's core. Not pretty. Blood and agonizing neurosis. I ask again that those sensitive to eating disorder, suicidal, masochist or domestic abuse themes make use of the exit for this set. I am not here to traumatize anyone. I admit, we tried to be polite and subtle about this. It was pretty impossible, though, because to get the emotions through properly, we needed to be a bit explicit. I got it done early, though. Go me.

 

Song featured in this chapter: Curses is courtesy of The Golden Palomino's. Song in the previous chapter also courtesy of The Golden Palomino's, Victim. Eerie, eerie song. Not for the faint of heart. So, this, of course, takes place after that savage confrontation between Sin and Varish ... right after Chapter Seven. Sin loses it. Bad. Short chapter, actually. Sort of abstract. Enjoy. (Oh, and if you're wondering, Sin discarded her dinner - bad girl.)

 

::smacks Sin::

 

Sin: ::death glare::

 

Side Chapter Two: Spine and Skin

 

This is noise.
This is curse.

This is talk.

This is red.

This is pale.

This is ache.

This is last.

This is slow.

This is shock.

This is thrown.

This is fire.

This is break.

This is snow.

This is witch.

This is spell.

This is cut.

This is final.

This is fine.

This is moon.

This is tide.

This is hell.

This is hers.

This is theirs.

This is mine.

 

Her slender figure slid incoherently, like an ill-omened raindrop slipping into the thirsty intestines of a curbside gutter, along the cold polish of the closed bedroom door. Calcified eyes lashed out in panic, drinking in but not digesting her eloquent peripheral surroundings. Her mind sped a hundred miles an hour in the wrong direction, racing past rueful recollections and disastrous mental detours, crashing headlong into asphyxiating metal space.

 

Feels like storms,

Feels like thunder,

Feels like storms,

Feels like I'm going under.

 

Here comes the slow going,

Here comes the pain.

 

Slithering like a snake on liquid limbs, she inched her bleached silhouette closer to the nebulous, incandescent air of the moonlit bathroom. Her clipped pants and seething screams ignited the atmosphere in gruesome shades and grotesque shapes, her lips bleeding a holocaust blood bath.

 

I fade out like a ghost,

And run out like the rain.

 

One intangible hand clutched the glistening scrap of sterling as though she held God on a pedestal in her palm. Slicing flesh almost to bone she sighed in sensual remorse. One line, then another ... a paragon mausoleum etched into the porcelain of her jaded skin. Cries, sacrificial pleas, smashed mirror molecules into dust, her atonement creeping on skeletal legs into the gore tarnished drain.

 

All you know of heroines is what you read.

Sometimes we burn, sometimes we bleed.

All you know of heroines is what you read.

Burn.

Bleed.

 

Soiled fingers dipping into cooling crimson, staining mirror and marble in a macabre, blood-blackened requiem. Lips licked at polluted hands, spoiling pink petals in dead tones of murdered scarlet and butchered garnet, coating a flush tongue and ulcerated throat in high-velocity impact spatter vermilion fire.

 

There's a red, red howling down my dark hall.

I was everything you wanted, now I'm nothing at all.

There's a red, red howling down my dark hall.

I was everything you wanted, now I'm nothing at all.

 

All you know of heroines is what you read.

Sometimes we burn, sometimes we bleed.

All you know of heroines is what you read.

Burn.

Bleed.

 

This is pale.

This is ache.

This is last.

This is slow.

This is shock.

 

Contours crumbling to the floor like molten ash, lean stems thrashing out in mortified anguish, she contorted her knees to her chest. Black lacquer nails scathed a perilous death spiral along milky, achromic thighs, transparent salt stains braiding and interknitting punctured tissue and protoplasm. Bending like a snake coiled set to strike, the threshold split and snapped into particle paper cuts like splintered teak.

 

Nail my knees together,

This time it's not about you.

You have no power here,

You don't know what I need.

I'm giving in,

I'll get there in a box.

Turn away,

Now let your legends bleed.

 

There's a red, red howling down my dark hall.

I was everything you wanted, now I'm nothing at all.

 

The tempest unfurling like a fern, regret blanketing pain like moss, droplets of mutilated lust slanting and misconstruing her perception. The only appreciation discernable disfigured disillusionment and the disrelished taste of tortile resentment. It had seemed so perfect and natural at the time. She let herself sink into the maddening scorn that nibbled her insides, closing shame blistered eyes and fading into insipid oblivion.

 

Drag a slow line down my leg to my mouth from my thigh,

Show it to the police and the priests so you can say that you tried.

 

I thought you wanted me. I thought you ... I thought you ... you ...

 

There's a red, red howling down my dark hall.

I was everything you wanted, now I'm nothing at all.

There's a red, red howling down my dark hall.

I was everything you wanted, now I'm nothing at all.

 

How could you? You used me ... you just used me. How could you possibly ...

 

I'm half alive,

Barely worth keeping.

I rule the bed,

Soon I'll wake up sleeping.

 

“So, you regret it.”

 

Feels like storms,

Feels like thunder,

Feels like storms,

Feels like I'm going under.

Here comes the slow going,

Here comes the pain.

 

“I - I ... yes. I regret it. Yes I do.”

 

I fade out like a ghost.

And run out like the rain.

 

I had hoped you would say no. I had hoped, because - but then you ...

 

This time it's different,

This time it's close.

This time it's between the spine and the skin.

 

“Is this it ... is this what you want?” He snarled as he slammed her petite frame savagely into the wall. One hand thrust her wrists high above her head, the other crushed her body to his so tight that she could barely compensate the air that had been so viciously knocked out of her heaving lungs. “You want to get laid, fine ... I can do that.” He spit, his hand brushing her robe aside murderously, hips grinding into her so hard she could feel bruises forming as his teeth latched onto her neck and bit, her pale flesh almost seeping blood.

 

All you know of heroines is what you read.

Sometimes we burn, sometimes we bleed.

All you know of heroines is what you read.

Burn.

Bleed.

 

“I need to get out of here.” She gurgled, trying to get to her feet. Tripping, almost faint, she made it to the closet, plucking out a short, black, crop tank and black vinyl pants. She dug around a bit more, dragging out her signature black trench and lace-up, leather combat boots. One more round of scurrisome gestures brought out a slippery, black leather, spiked o-ring slave collar and gleaming chrome hand scythe. Trips to the bathroom filled a large velvet bag with burdensome girly essentials: shampoo, conditioner, soaps, lotions, exfoliators, perfumes, deodorant, tooth brush, toothpaste, floss, razor, and a boatload of cosmetics.

 

In three minutes, Sin had packed all she thought she might need. She cast one last, mournful glance about the exquisite room before slipping out the window and heading into the outskirts of the planet in search of a way to escape the painful memories.

 

End Side Chapter One.

 

Darkness. Fun. I am about to plummet Sin straight off the edge of Kaioshin-Kai. Humour us and play along. I need a loophole to get Sin into Hell (more cameos and the introduction of Sake, the bat-winged monkey), and this one seems semi-logical enough. It has been dark, I know, but vampires can be dark, depressing creatures. It is about to get a lot better, though, I promise. I think you're going to like the Kaioshin and Kibito chapter. I am going to put a good, healthy dose of humour in there to balance things out.

 

The moral - and yes, there is one: there is nothing that can not be overcome if you seriously put your mind to it. You can not control the things that happen to you, but you can control how you react to and cope with them. Sin and Varish understand this. One might always be tortured by the memories, but both have a good grip on putting it in perspective, learning from it, and getting a good laugh at the end. Surviving is not as much about losing the pain, but rather understanding it and living through it. It is about not letting the bastards grind you down. There you go.

 

Kibito: You can not fall off of Kaioshin-Kai.

 

Creature of Habit: How do you know - have you tried it to see?

 

Kibito: Er ... no.

 

Creature of Habit: There, you see. No one says she can not fall off of your planet.

 

Kibito: You can not fall off of a planet.

 

Creature of Habit: It's fiction. I am a writer. I can make the sky purple and the grass pink if I want. So there.

 

Varish: Then why can you not spell Skindred right?

 

Creature of Habit: ::glares:: I meant to do that.

 

Varish: Ha, sure you did.

 

Creature of Habit: Keep it up and I am going to write you into a scene with Cell and Freiza.

 

Varish: ::blinks::

 

Creature of Habit: Thought so.