ITH Shorts #2: Her
Guess who's still writing? Hahaha, this bitch right here lmao. Here's a particularly edgy piece. I'd make it less edgy, but I just got out of exams...so I'm kind of drowning in feels. In other news, y'all will be getting more frequents with the story now! Of course, they're all snippets, but it's better than nothing amirite?
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“Is it really over?” Wrath asks me, looking at me worriedly. I try to avoid his gaze. It’s a question I’d rather not answer.
“Yeah.” I let out an exasperated sigh. But maybe I should answer. Wrath gingerly puts his hand on my shoulder. Sparks sporadically fly off the crack in my skin. Wires peek out of the cracks like unsuspecting plants growing between the cracks of a sidewalk. Any more damage and I would’ve looked like a walking system unit.
I try to wipe off the blood from my chin, but I end up smearing it, making it worse. I try to rub off the blood on my hands, but it won’t come off. I wish I could cry. Too bad I don’t have tear ducts. I wish I could cry. I wish I could forget. But I have all my memories synced to computers in the lab. It’s all just too bad.
“In the end, no good came of it.”
“You sure?” He doesn’t look convinced. I sure don’t feel convinced either.
Because maybe, I too, want to know if it really is over.
Because it certainly doesn’t feel like it.
She was never mine, but I still let her go.
Or rather, she let go of me.
I look back in the bloodied alleyway. I see her. I discreetly wave to her, hoping maybe we could salvage this.
She doesn’t wave back.
I guess we can’t.
I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Even without a functioning heart.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
Because I don’t want to admit that it is all over. But it hurts so damn bad for it to be true.
Both inside and out.
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“I have better things to do than be here.” She looks at me as if it’s my fault she’s here. It isn’t. I shuffle awkwardly in my seat. The feeling’s mutual. At least we’re on the same page.
“Me too. I have to make dinner tonight. The sooner we hit the books, the sooner we’ll both get to leave.” I look at her, trying not to throw the chair next to me at the wall. I mean, she hasn’t done anything (yet) to make me hate her. Other than the fact that she dates a jerk.
I shouldn’t hold that against her. Sure, her boyfriend isn’t the epitome of evil (Satan is), but he’s racist. Painfully so. Unfortunately, he’d rather use his fists to make his opinion clear rather than words. Then again, he’s tame compared to the others. I rub my bandaged arm underneath my uniform. It’s been about a saptāha since her so-called boyfriend and his friends ganged up on me and almost broke my non-cybernetic arm. It still hurts.
I take a deep breath and exhale. It’ll only be as bad as I make it out to be. Besides, it’s not like this could possibly escalate to anything bad so long as her boyfriend doesn’t know, right? What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.
“So what do you need help with?” I try to put on my best smile. I keep staring at her chocolate eyes.
She seems to take the hint.
“Nothing really.” She sounds like she means it.
“Your parents say otherwise.” I quip good-naturedly.
“Hey, you can’t hold me up against unrealistic Cipherean* standards. I can’t help it if my parents have high-as-fuck expectations of me.” She retorts, not so good-naturedly.
* Cephirean= Eastern Asian (it’s a work in progress)
“Whoa there, I didn’t ask for a life story. I’m just here to tutor you.”
She stares blankly at me for a second in confusion. Shit, that’s what her expression seems to say. She blinks back into reality and blushes profusely. Well, this is going great. At this rate, I just might make it home by just half past never.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that people make assumptions because I date a ‘jock’ that I’m a stupid blonde bimbo. Well, I’m not.” She grabs strands of her ombre cherry blonde hair and points to them. “And okay, I’ll admit my grades are slipping, but I didn’t think it’d be so bad that I’d need you,” She gestures to all of me, “to tutor me.” Her eyes throw daggers at me. “No offence, there’s nothing wrong with you.” She gestures to all of me again.
Like I’d believe that. Everything is wrong with me. Low-esteem and boys don’t exactly work well together. Especially if you’re the universe’s punching bag. Which is a title I wish I didn’t have. But I do, which sucks. A lot.
“Well, at least there’s you to believe there’s nothing wrong with me. That’s a first.” She smirks. “You haven’t been down on the streets, have you?”
“Actually, contrary to popular beliefs, I haven’t. It’s not like my parents would let me out there anyway, took me ages to convince them I was mature enough for a boyfriend...Why are you asking?” She gasps, her face turning pale. “You aren’t a drug dealer-- are you?”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” I chuckle. This girl certainly has her priorities straight. I was scared she was going to ask if I was a murderer. Which I definitely wasn't. At all. Nothing to hide at all.
She raises a concerned eyebrow. I quickly reply, “No, I’m not.” to assuage her growing fear that her serial-killer tutor was a drug dealer. Because I am definitely not. Her face slowly gains colour. She’s sceptical.
She has every right to be.
“Moving on, I didn’t catch your name. Your name is?” She brings out her hand for a handshake.
I hesitate. What if I grow attached to her? I’ll suffer for it. But I have to tell her my name. It’s common courtesy. I bring out my hand to shake hers. “Kaito. Kaito Riseborough.” I reply.
“But no one calls me Kaito. I just go by Kai.” I quickly add.
We shake hands. I hold on for a little too long.
“Well, I just go by Genevieve. But my close friends call me Vive.” Genevieve laughs this bubbly laugh, and it makes me want to hurl. I don’t need this. I don’t want to like her. Or like like her for that matter.
“Am I one of your ‘close friends’?” I joke.
“You might earn that highly coveted title soon.” Genevieve giggles. “But seriously, like you said before, the sooner we do this, the sooner we get to go home. I want to binge watch Faye.”
The universe is trying so hard to make me not like her. “How far are you?” I ask before I realize that if we keep talking like this, we’ll never get to leave the godforsaken library.
“You really don’t want us to leave this library, do you?” Eyeing me carefully, she continued. “If you must know, I’m three seasons behind. I’m only one season five.”
I try hard not to fanboy. I try hard to keep myself from spoiling the season for her. I swallow my excitement and compose myself. “So what do you need help with?”
“I don’t really need your help.”
“Not this again.” I look at her knowingly. It’s a vicious cycle. I guess we both don’t want to leave.
“Okay, well maybe I might need a little help with Universal History. We got this project-”
“Wait. You're a freshman? I thought you were a junior.” I exclaim. Genevieve looks much older than 14.
“Shhh. We’re in a library. And yes, I am. It’s the makeup, I look like a baby without it. So there’s this unit project-”
“Where you research about lost races and civilizations across the universe and present it to the class as a five-minute lecture.” I finish. “You have Miss Ahn, right?” She nods. “Yeah, we did the same thing last semester.”
“Awesome! Kind of off topic, but how was the exam for U.H? I heard it was easy but then I heard it was hard, so I’m kind of worried.”
“It’s not that bad-” She looks relieved. “But it’s not easy either.” The look of relief disappears. “I can lend you my notes if you need them.” I quickly finish.
“Really? I mean, I’m doing fine in her class, but that exam is worth 20%. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need to bring my average up.” She looks grateful. My heart does a figurative backflip.
How am I supposed to do this?
I guess even if a lot of me is just wires and circuits, I’m still cursed with falling for the first pretty girl I see. Funny how that works. I don’t even have a functioning heart. Not like hearts really have anything to do with feelings. It’s all just symbolism.
“Because, you know-”
“Cephirean parents?” I finish her sentence.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry. Athiean parents aren’t so easy on their kids either. It’s either be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer.” I chuckle softly. Almost all my cousins are either doctors, lawyers or engineers, or some other high-paying job. “If not…” I make a gesture of me cutting my neck with a knife.
“Oof. What a mood. My parents want me to be a pharmacist. But I just want to be a cat lady.” She sighs dreamily. “Say, what do you suggest that I do? For, you know, the project. It’s worth 10%.” She looks nervous again.
“I know, I did the project already. But I thought it was a group project?”
“It is. But I wanted to do it on my own. Working in groups are a pain. I do most of the work anyways for every project. My classmates are just lazy asses.”
“Smart choice.” I think for a bit.
“Maybe...you should do the human race. We don’t hear about them often, now do we?”
ITH Shorts #1: Morning
Also, please comment below as to what y'all wanna read because I'm almost outta school and I need to flex my writing muscles. Also, notify me if there are grammar mistakes, please? And thank you.
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“Are you going to say good morning?” I ask, wearing a fake smile. I busy myself with adding eggs to the cupcake batter I'm making.
“...No.” He glares at me, seeing through my facade. I return to adding eggs to the batter.
“What is it with you and mornings?” I mutter under my breath.
He heard me. He grunts “There is no such thing as a good morning, only bad ones.”
“Only you would say that.” It is true. He can’t seem to see any good in this world. He acts more like a moody teenager than I do. But maybe it’s the lack of hormones in my body.
“Easy for you to say good morning, you haven’t lived for a kajillion years.”
Yep, it's definitely the lack of hormones in my body. You can’t get more resentful than Wrath.
“Well, I’m not you.” That too is also true. I’m only fourteen.
“I know, not all of us are interdimensional space demons. But give me a break. I dragged myself out of bed. I think I deserve a cookie.”
“Of course you do.” I roll my eyes. “But no cookies. Aunt Marilyn didn’t send us cookies so that you could eat them for getting your ass out of bed.”
“I like to think that she did.” He slyly tries to slip his hand into the cookie jar, thinking I wouldn’t notice. I do. I slap his hand.
“Come on, I think I should get a cookie for destroying an entire galax -” I shoot him a dirty look.“Yeesh. Okay. I’ll hold off for now.” He glances over my shoulder and sees the batter I’m mixing in a bowl. “What is it this time?”
Flour is splayed over the kitchen counter. He knows something’s up. I’ll admit, I’ve never been good at hiding my anxiety. If what I feel can even be called that.
“Nothing.” I retort.
“Mmm, yeah, like I’m willing to believe that bājē kathā. We all know that you bake when you’re stressed.”
*Bājē kathā means bullshit in this case.
“I like to think it’s better to bake than to kill people.”
“You keep my hobbies out of this.”
“You keep your nose out of mine.” I counter, feeling good about the fact that I’ve managed to have a conversation with him for more than a few minutes without kicking him out of the room...yet.
“Something’s up. You’re baking purple cupcakes.” He eyes the cupcake tin on the stove top. “You’re having another operation today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, it’s not like it’s been written in bold red marker on the calendar. ” I exasperatedly point towards the calendar across the kitchen.
He sighs. “You should be making breakfast. Not cupcakes. That’s more an afternoon thing.”
“That’s when the operation will be taking, dumbass.”
Wrath looks at me, staring deep into my eyes. I squirm. I mean, who wouldn’t when someone glares at them with creepy red eyes?
“Stop looking at me.” I push him away and focus my attention bake to mixing the batter.
“This’ll be the fourteenth one, wouldn’t it?”
“Sixteenth, actually. I didn’t expect you to keep count.”
“What’s it for?”
“They’ll be replacing my retina eyes with higher resolution ones. After the beatup two saptāha ago, I can’t see for shit in class.” I point to my eyes, which are suffering from a bad case of lazy eye.
*Saptāha means one week. A saptāha in this story is equivalent to 9 earth days.
“Anything else?” He doesn’t look convinced. I’m pretty sure it’s the lazy eye.
“They’ll be replacing the left side of my rib cage and will replace the flesh there with a substitute. Made of what, I don’t know. I suffer a lot of flesh decay because of the other parts I have, so I have to replace them before it mutates into some monstrosity.”
“You have to do all that?”
“Yeah, it’s a minor operation.”
“That’s minor?”
“Yeah.”
There’s an awkward silence. I can’t blame Wrath for not knowing. He’s busy destroying worlds with Chaos and whoever else who likes to get a kick out of mass destruction. He’s busy, and I’m lonely. He’s around, but he isn’t actually there. He’s far away, and I can’t reach him sometimes. I guess he just doesn’t want to be. I try not to leave the awkwardness to suffocate us, but it’s hard, even knowing that we’ve been best friends since forever, even though he’s well over nine thousand years old, even though we've been through it all together.
Almost all.
“Besides school’s in session in two weeks. I need to heal up by then.”
“Only to get beat up again.”
“Like the ancient poets used to say, it’s a pretty fucking vicious cycle.”
“I’ll be damned if old men who thought they knew everything swore back in the day.”
“I’m just creative with my language only because of a certain bad influence.” I nudge his side with my elbow. I proceed to place the cupcake liners into the tin.
“I’m not a bad influence.” He looks hurt.
“You’re not then. Maybe just cut with hooking up with random people and having one night stands in my room. My room still reeks of alcohol from last time.”
“I’ve been banned from every brothel and love motel in the city.”
“Just go to that planet two asteroid belts over, I think-”
“I’m banned there too.”
I sigh. The real question is, is there a place in the universe that Wrath hasn’t managed to fuck up? Honestly at this point, probably not. I pour the batter slowly into each liner.
I look at him squarely in the eye. Or as squarely as a guy with lazy eye can get. “You need to get out of that sad place you’re in. I am not ready to find another thong in my bedroom.”
“I know-” His voice cracks.
“You need to find someone.”
“I know-”
“Someone who’ll actually give a damn. Not someone you pick up from the bar.”
“I know.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Picking people up from bars.” I hesitate. I have to thoroughly think of what to say. “But you need to find someone who cares, who you love and who’ll love you back. You deserve that. You deserve more than what you give yourself. Every person deserves love.”
“I’m pretty sure interdimensional space demons don’t count as people.”
I smiled. “Fourteen-year-olds don’t count either, as far as I know.”
He smiled back. “Since when did you become a smart-aleck? You've always been too smart for your own good, but-” He reaches over and gingerly combs my scraggly hair with his fingers. It’s been a while since he did that. He’d always do that before he sent me off to bed. "I never thought I'd hear you talk back at me, you know?"
“And you’ve always cared too much for your own good, too.”
“I know.”
He sighs. "How long has it been, Kai? You seem like an entirely different person. How long have I been gone?".
"Too long, Wrath," I say, barely above a whisper. "Far too long."
We both shuffle awkwardly in the kitchen. To avoid the elephant in the room, I change the subject.
“We should try to set to set you up with someone.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me again.” He paused. “Wait. We?”
“Me and Noori.”
“Please don’t bring your sister into this. She didn’t do anything.”
“But she’ll do anything to get you a date.” I wasn’t lying. Noor was itching to put her matchmaking skills from multitudes of tween magazines to work.
“But there’s already someone I like.”
“Oh really? Are you sure it’s not yourself?” He pulled this off before. He showed me his reflection in the mirror when I had asked him who he liked at the time.
“Yeah, but I don’t think they’re into me.” He gives me a sad smile. Unrequited love is a killer.
“Well, don’t be sad-” I start.
He recognizes what I’m trying to say. He tries to stop me.“Oh no, please, Kai-”
“Because sad spelt backwards-”
“Kai, please, I’ve heard this enough ti-” He pleads.
“ is das, and-” I grin like an idiot.
“Stop!”
“Das not good!” The damage has been done.
“Fuck you, Kai.” He groans. I’ve drilled the quote into his brain, and he hates me for it.
“Funny coming from the guy who told me that in the first place. I was considering making it my yearbook quote.”
“Oh, my stars, Kai. I only told you that after you got lost in the market. If I knew you would spit it back to me almost every day, I would have never said it that day.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s done with me.
I put the tin in the stove. I clean up, Wrath just stares into nothingness.
“Welp. That’s all for now.”
“What about breakfast?”
“That can wait, it’s only about nine in the morning. Everyone won’t wake up till thirteen. Besides, we have to go to Ranstone Square to do some errands. I used up the last of the eggs.”
*There are 26 hours in a day on this planet. 13 o’ clock is the equivalent of noon for us here.
“Ugh, do we have to?”
“Yeah, we need fresh air. Besides, it's about damn time that we talked.”
"Fuck."
Re:(Insert Title here)-1
First thing’s first.
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck.
No, really. What the fuck actually happened for me to get Insert Title Here-1 get like 3,000 odd views?
It must be the world playing a cruel joke on me.
Just the sight of the first paragraph makes me wince in complete and utter pain. No really. I almost threw my phone across the room seeing how horribly ugh the whole story was. It wasn’t even just the story, the grammar, the execution, the ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I don’t think I should still be on this bloody-damned planet anymore. Who in their right mind would read (much less enjoy) my crap?
On another note, I’m dead.
As in dead, this account is more or less dead. Sorry folks, I just don’t have the time to maintain this hunk of junk. Literally. This account is an amalgamation of shitty art and more or less low-key edgy emo garbage.
I mean, I’ll be decluttering stuff at some point, but not anytime soon.
Welp. Watch my future employers die from wincing so horribly while they scan for sketchy internet tomfoolery.
School’s been hellish, and the pre-IB program mixed with high school is probably Satan’s doing. I mean seriously, look at the IB memes. At this point, I may as well be dead.
I have no chance whatsoever of surviving Computer Science with Arkin.
Oh well.
What can I do?
But back to the original point.
Y’all are idiots.
Just kidding.
I’m the idiot here.
I was just posting this to clarify that I’ll be gone for a while. Note that I will not reply to comments, or thank you for llamas, or thank you for favourites. It’s not a very Canadian thing to do. But I don’t want to fall into a DeviantArt hole again. Hours of my life last year was spent staring at art...both beautiful and cringe. I will not make the same mistake again.
And no, I don’t need any of my friends reminding how much time I spend online despite have a tonne of homework. I must procrastinate, and besides, sleep is for the weak.
Ok, I admit, I am very weak.
And yes, I have restarted the whole story again.
For like, the gazillionth time.
No kidding.
But I would like, for the people who have been curious, to explain who the people who you almost always see me drawing.
The guy with glasses and edgy looking hair (if I can call it that) is Kai. Kaito Riseborough. He’s...a mess, to be honest. He’s changed a lot from when he first started pestering me when I was eight.
Which I now realize was 6 years ago.
Shit.
Ok, then.
His name used to be Aaron something-something, honestly, I have no clue. The name Kai was taken from Prince Kaito from the Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer, who I was well-read in as a 10-year-old. Yeah, I read teen fiction as a 10-year old, and yeah, I read adult fiction as an 8-year-old. The latter was unintentional, my dad had gotten me the book from a garage sale and thought “why not?”. But back to the point, Kai used to be a prince, but then shit went down. Like it always does. Besides, my story had more similarities for comfort with the Lunar Chronicles. No, I did not read the last book, Winter. I got tired of the series. Just not enough world-building.
Riseborough could be related to a park of the same name in Markham (which I have never visited), but it comes from a girl from almost 100(?) years ago. Hattie Riseborough was her name. I’d delve into the specifics, but I’d rather not. It’s almost 12, and I have to volunteer for 4 hours tomorrow.
I’d say what the original story was, but at this point, it’s an unrecognizable carcass of tears, insecurity and derp. And lots of it.
I’d say it was my first fanfiction before I knew fanfiction was a thing.
And yeah, my first fanfiction was for Pokemon. And yeah, I was like 8. No...actually, scratch that. My first fanfiction was when I was 7, and it was for the Barbie movie with the 12 Dancing Princesses or something. Am I the only one who thinks that the old Barbie movies were the best ones? Like, I need someone to sin these movies like Cinemasins.
But back to the subject.
Wait...what was it again?
Ughh.
I ramble quite a bit.
My twin brother hasn’t been saying much for a while, so I’m quite…
Bleh.
So, back to Kai.
He is, to be frank, at least in my own words “The Universe’s Punching Bag”.
I say his trademark shirt would be “I’m the Universe's Punching Bag and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt”. I need that as a shirt. Someone, please do that.
He’s just a smol cinnamon roll that must be protected.
Honestly, I just like to think of him as the masculine version of me, of such could exist.
Ugh, why is it so difficult to describe someone I’ve known for years?
Kai...Kai…
He’s Athiean. He lives in Athia, a country on the planet X (X because this, like most things, hasn’t been very much thought out.) If you got any good (and original) planet names, call me up. I reply within the decade. And no, you cannot tell me to use a planet name generator because I had the perfect name, but I forgot.
He is an assassin. Oh golly gee, how original.
Fuck originality, it’s the direction of how you take the shit and its quality that matters.
Everything practically exists.
Ok, that’s an overstatement, but yeah.
He kills people. Yup, cos that’s what assassins do.
He doesn’t like killing people because he is an edgy emotional teenager who needs character development. He has FEELINGS.
Oh, shit, a killer with feelings! So revolutionary!
Not.
But he truly does has conflicting feelings about killing people.
If you had to kill a newborn child, would you feel great about it? Not unless it was Hitler or something like that. But he doesn’t have much of a choice. He is bound to the deadly sin Wrath, the 4th born of the Deadly Sins. Wrath is also called Ira. I plan on finding him a different name but I’m holding out for now.
But WHY?
Actually, why?
Because reasons.
What reasons?
These reasons.
Wrath being the dumbass he was (and is) fell in love. With a humanoid thing Athian thing person thing. Yeah, now that I type my ideas out, it looks like 6 years of brainstorming has gotten me literally nowhere.
Who was Kai’s millionth great grandma or something? So they had some happy fun times and did stuff and she broke his heart cos that’s how shit works. Well, because she wanted to use Wrath to become more powerful (for reasons left disclosed to the public) and took advantage of him. He at some point figures this out and leaves. Broken-hearted, because I’ve mentioned it like twice already. To spite her, to show her he’s in a better place now, he just ends up going out with Charity (or one of the Seven Virtues, not sure which one now). He actually does fall for her though, to his surprise. And well, whoop-dee-doo, God/Creator goes ballistic and war ensues. It destroys a lot of shit. Including planets and people. Oopsie.
Once the war’s over and done with, the two lovebirds must pay.
Wrath must do 1000 acts of repentance and is bound to the humanoid thing Aithian thing person thing in a blood contract (more like curse). The contract states that they must follow the orders of Death, who is Wrath’s uncle by the way, and kill whoever Death needs dead. Children, animals, whatever and whoever. They can cause circumstances to make death ‘natural’ such as suffocating a newborn child. Sick, I know. But it’s the price to pay for the wench and her ‘lover’ who caused so much suffering. The wench is Kai’s gramma, who broke Wrath’s heart...leading to the chain of events...
Charity (or whoitsface) gets off the hook (for reasons left unsaid for now). I think I’m conflicted about the two possibilities I have in store…
So Wrath’s stuck with HER. I’ll call her HER now.
And well...things get crazy. SHE becomes one of the most powerful beings in the world…(clarification will be needed, I didn’t think so far into the backstory). And SHE becomes one of the greatest villains alive. Until SHE’s not. SHE becomes so corrupt with power, with hatred and greed that it kills her. (There’s a hella more behind this and what the repercussions ad shit are, but that’s for another day)
But Wrath, the poor guy, is bound by blood to her kin.
He’s not so committed to the 1000 acts of repentance thing. He thinks it's BS. I do too. How do I come up with 1000 acts of repentance? I don’t know. I haven’t the slightest clue.
So how this works is this:
-Descendant turns 20 and kills previous head (aka assassin) of the family to gain title as head
-They sell their heart and soul to Wrath, who takes it as token of their bond, and as a symbol of the promise to follow through with the contract in order for the contract to be renewed/be official
-The head of the family must be a direct descendant of HER and must be the first child of the previous head
-If no child is produced, then the next in line (ie. a brother of the head, or their child) will take their place
-The only way to break the contract is for the head to die, which sucks tbh
-Also, dying is also difficult because Wrath sort of “fuses” (yes, SU reference here rip), with the head when it is time to kill (so they are more or less immortal until it is time to die because Wrath is a manifestation of a concept, and concepts are more or less immortal)
-How do they die if being bound by Wrath makes them immortal? Good question. Their soul and heart are stored in a necklace which Wrath wears. Wrath is always nearby, but if he’s too far away, the head is left in a catatonic state. When the new head is to be chosen, this necklace becomes a weapon to kill the current head with. Since the current head lives with their heart and soul close enough to live, but not actually inside them, once they are maimed or impaled or whatever manner that would otherwise leave them unharmed, they die from the shock of just how heavy their heart and soul really is.
-There are more rules and regulations, but whatever, I think y’all got the jist of things.
INSERT TITLE HERE is really just a slice of life/drama/romance/comedy/sci-fi/many other things story.
I’m sorry that I haven’t said much, and that this is just the tip of the iceberg. But I need to sleep.
There’s a lot goin’ on, and I hope that I can stuff the important parts in a few journal entries.
If any of y’all have any questions, comments, or notice plot holes or what not, please feel free to express yourself. I’d like the criticism.
I’d cry about it for a minute, but whatever.
Oh, also, I won’t be posting much on dA, so follow me on Instagram (where I am considerably more active) (yes, this is shameless self advertising, but I honestly think my art has gotten better and that DeviantArt is so meticulous and tedious when it comes to posting, which isn’t bad but isn’t for me). My ig is @kokichino_benaben
So I hope you all have a wonderful day and/or night!
Sorry for all the cringe that I have put you through. You should get a cookie. I’d give you one digitally, but I'm certain that it wouldn’t taste nearly as good as one in real life.
(Insert Title Here)-1
Once upon a time, an assassin and a totally ordinairy, totally-not-sketchy normal person-Ah, screw it.
Look, I’m not one for fairy tales. But give me credit for starting with the almost cringe-worthy introduction that all fairytales have been graced to share.
But seriously, how do you expect me to be able to start this bloody trainwreck of a story?
It is a story, but this is all real. At least to me.
But just click on something else, read some random clickbaity article. Just not this.
When I say this so-called “story” is a trainwreck, believe me.
It all started when a man, no younger than in his early-twenties, fell for a woman with a corpse of a little girl in her arms at the stroke of midnight.
Hey, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Highly specific, I know, but my father is not the type to mince words, and he likes to romanticise things with these pink lens he calls love. He always told me that that night was the night that he fell for mother. I think it's either because my father saw something that no one else could have seen in mother, or it is because he is secretly a sadist who gets turned on by women who are drenched in the blood of a child they just murdered. I’m leaning more toward the latter, but I’m not one to judge.
My mother was an assassin. Once was the head of the most powerful clans out here in Athia. She was next in line to be the head of the family; and when she reached the age of 18 (the age of when one is finally considered an adult), she killed her father (my grandfather) and took his place. As did the predecessors of the title. All heads of the family were killed by their successors. It was simply the way things were and are done. Note this is all in past tense. As in, no more.
No. My mother is not dead. She’s just not the head anymore. And no, I did not kill her. I’m a child; more unfortunately, a teenager. Of all damned creatures to be and of all stages of life to be stuck in, I’m a teenager. It’s just great, you know? But what did happen to cause her to lose her title, her rank? She married my lovesick and naive father. I would say that was a mistake, because of them, I was conceived and I will forever hold resentment towards them for that; but if I didn’t exist, I would have applauded them for doing something that was completely not unheard of for centuries. Two star-crossed lovers climb mountains and whatever to be together, so thought-provoking.
The title went to my aunt, but since she had no offspring, I was raised to be the next assassin. Too bad they weren’t able to discipline all this sass. Of course, this is just a monologue in my head, so no one can applaud me for all the amazing things that I say. But at least they don't have to hear the venom in my words, like my father, I do not mince words. But yeah, raised as a child to kill. To slay without mercy, to murder without a second thought, without question and to be swift, among things that I have long ceased caring about or have bothered to put into account when going in for the so-called ‘victim’.
What’s worse was the training. It was gruelling, demanding, and it was...unreal. My mother would take me to see snippets of the wars beyond our planet using the teleporter (which was all the rage back then) and made me watch as people killed each other. I would be splattered in blood, shaken by what people could be, monsters. She took me to her kills, despite her losing her rank amongst the family, but then again, to this day, she never lost her bloodlust. But she made me watch and made me help her take down her victim. My cousin would teach me to be resilient, to be patient, but I can’t approve of his way. Standing me up on a playdate is not the best way to teach me a lesson, and I will not accept the fact that you didn’t forget that we had a playdate, to begin with. Sometimes I would help my aunt concoct poisons when she needed ingredients, I would gather the herbs and elements and watch her as she did her ‘magic’. All members of the family had to kill, but not all chose the path of blood like my aunt. I learned how to kill with anything, and everything, to a sword made of steel to a measly dollar-store pen from my grandmother.Even today, she can still wreck me when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, but the same can be said for everybody. Taught in both new techniques and old, I could best people trained from the most ancient ways to the most recent self-defense-fad-practicing teenager who couldn’t keep to his own business. When I think of it, my mother and my maternal family were some of the biggest influences and my greatest aides. But they're still jerks, killing people and all.
I’d say I’m the best at my craft, but it’s not to say that there are those whose skills remain unparalleled. My mother rolls her eyes when she sees that my scars are not from scuffles, but from me tripping over my own two bloody feet. It’s depressing, really. And even today, I’m still training, but thankfully, it isn’t as unbearable as it once was before.
But enough about my mother. Enough about my annoying backstory.
I did mention a prince, did I not?
Well, that prince was my father. Charming one at that. Still clumsy and shy, though. I wonder how he even survives as the Emperor of Athia. (Yes, titles must be capitalised, I do indeed have some grammar skills). You’d think he’d be broody and always with a frown on his face. That he’d be heartless and be a promiscuous and pompous twat who didn’t give much of a damn to anyone. He’s anything but. Of course, he’s no perfect Emperor. I don’t see much of him. It’s not that he’s neglectful, it’s more that he keeps bending his will for the pinnacle of democracy, the so-called superpower of Riethea. It’s more that he’s too preoccupied with reviewing bills and legislations, and planning and negotiating, and working and working and working...He looks so much older than he actually is. There’s a streak of white hair that stands out gaudily against his black hair that he always meant to dye, but I personally like it. Makes him look more mature if that’s the word to describe a grown man.
Nevertheless, despite his morose silence that he has some days (probably from when he was in the military, against my grandparents’ wishes of course) and the sad smile that he wears in the morning, I’d say he’s a pretty jolly man. At least when he has a little over 10 hours of sleep and a jug of tarave (equivalent to coffee). Besides, he makes the best hortovas (something similar to hotcakes) for breakfast.
But yeah, weird life. Being a normal(ish) and an assassin. Actually, that was an understatement. It is hell. Oh. Speaking of hell, there is probably one other person, or rather-sin, that I should introduce before I really get this story going. I promise things'll be short. I promise.
And no. You will not be getting any more extensive backstory on me, because I’m boring and bland, and you’re wasting your time.
Wrath. That’s his name. The damned fourth sin of the seven deadly sins. You could say that I sold my soul to him. But really, my maternal family is cursed for eternity and is bound by this...sorry excuse of a person. Oh wait, he’s not even a person. He’s just a blob of darkness that is the silhouette of a person. Excuse my utter distaste for Wrath, but he is bad news. The way he nonchalant ways, his apathetic and cavalier attitude...is atrocious. He’s existed as a manifestation of, well, wrath since the beginning of time, so I guess that explains itself. But I am bound to him, just like my mother, my grandfather, my great-great-grandfather and my great-great-great grandmother was.
So when the clock strikes 13 (there are 26 hours in a day on our planet), I wear my mask to hide my identity (because obviously prince+assassin=bad combination) and allow Wrath to possess me for about an hour or so, just to get the job done. ‘We’ avenge those who have been wronged. ‘We’ kill the misguided, the wrongdoers, the criminals, the scum. Maybe one day, we’ll have to kill ourselves too, because this is all so hypocritical. But I guess we’re all paradoxes. My mother didn’t do that, she killed anyone and everyone. She’s open-minded like that, she doesn’t like to judge. She didn’t care, as long as the beast, Wrath, was satisfied, she’d resort to killing children if she had to. But that didn’t mean she liked it.
There is a necklace, that Wrath wears. Some would think it’s a cross, but we don’t follow whatever religion that symbol represents. Actually, the only thing people really know about the cross was that it had originally been a symbol on Earth, a planet that has long ceased to have humans exist on its dirt. The necklace is actually a sword, that can be enlarged and can be turned into any weapon. Dark magic can have its perks, you know. But there’s a gem, and inside, there’s my soul. I can’t be far from it, or else I’ll be nothing more than a shell of myself. Literally. As a result, I am stuck with Wrath 26/9 and imagine how that must feel, having a demon, a sin cling onto you like a piece of gum on the sole of your shoe that you can’t get rid of. What’s worse is that we share a blood contract, so this ‘union’ won’t be broken until ‘death does us part’.
But I guess that’s all for unnecessary introductions.
Now the fun begins.
train station
A young woman stood tall and brazen, rays of sunshine tumbling down to her shoulders. There was not a blemish upon her feminine form, nor any such indication of a past of sadness or grief. She was of clumsy manner, but she with ease blushed and hummed to herself a sweet melody, without a care in the world. She did this with an innocence reserved only for the pure of heart.
The favoured daughter of the gods.
A young man, not much older than she, wore an expression of weariness and that of caution. He attempted to mask the apprehension that lingered in his amber eyes. He, with great difficulty, could not hide the years of injustice he had so wrongfully endured engraved on his concerned brow. He seldom moved, his weak heart thumped with perturbation, but when he did, he did it with grace reserved for the broken.
The unfortunate son of fate.
In her eyes, she saw the world as a kaleidoscope of colour, a mosaic of beauty undefined, and believed in the goodness of humanity.
In his eyes, he saw the world framed with ugly truths, too painful to bear on his slumped shoulders, the world was rupturing with deceit, hatred and could only see men, devoured by their bottomless greed.
The young woman looked forward to all that life had to offer, all that was bright and beautiful seemed to sing to her.
The young man reminisced of what never was, believing it to be sweeter than what could have been.
She had been warm to the point where she no longer noticed.
He had been cold for so long that it had left him miserable and decrepit.
The woman waited excitedly for the northbound train.
The man was fumbling with papers, agonising the wait for the southbound train.
A fateful gust of wind blew, blowing the papers out of his hands, out of hs reach. His heart sank in sullen resentment and disappointment. He did not bother to chase it.
The woman caught the papers, but by pure accident; they had blown into her face. She giggled heartily. She walked toward the man and tapped his tense shoulder.
He, startled, gasped; deep in his pessimistic thoughts. He saw the woman with the sheets in hand. He gratefully took the papers and thanked her.
She laughed, nodding, pleased by his reaction by her good deed.
He kept a straight face, but it was not long until he too was laughing. His pale cheeks turned a rosy hue because of her kindness.
A grin curved from his lips, and he uttered again his gratitude.
And from that, sparked a conversation, long long after their trains had arrived.
Little did they know it was love.