Fic by Author Era Pairing Rating Title
Fic: Discord and Rhyme
Disclaimer: It's Joss' world, and we're just living in it. Because he's quite weathly.
Improv: Wishverse themed.
Thankyous: Beta- Jess and Kita. Brilliant, as always. I can never say thankyou quite enough.
I spent as much time attempting to find a name for this as I did writing it. Everyone had an opinion.. Jess... Kita... even Vito pitched in, but Sandra's suggestion tipped it right at the end. Thankyou all for trying. I've developed a quite serious psychosis after this.
Summary: Angel (Puppy)'s torture affects him profoundly.
I wonder what it's like outside. I don't have a window. They never let me see the night sky any more. The twinkling stars, like little pinpricks. Like needles, digging, hurting, searing. Puncture skin, muscle, bone. Down, down, deep.
I wonder if the sky knows pain like I do.
Of course it doesn't. I can't put it into mere words to explain. Words, words, words. Just noise, no meaning.
I wish there was noise. I got so tired of my own screams I can't do it any more. It's sad. Sadness stings. It licks at my skin, leaving welts that do not disappear.
Sadness is a three foot long riding crop.
Does it hurt?
No. No, not really, in the big, important sense. It isn't all that bad. Let's you know you're alive, right? Let's you know that, no matter how much it hurts now, there's going to come a time when they stop. A time when they leave, and you're left alone. You lick your wounds (they heal slowly, too slowly) and wait.
Wait for the next time.
Wait for the pain.
A sick cycle of sadism.
Yes, in between torture sessions, I can alliterate with the best of them, whoever 'them' is.
I wonder if there is anyone still alive, or whether I'm the only one left. I don't know any more. I'm not all here. Consequently, I'm not all there either.
Where is there? I used to know... used to.. and then the world fell down. Fell down, no escape.
But where would I go? The scorn here is no different to anywhere else. They take pride in pain here. Not given arbitrarily. It is earnt. I have earnt it. One hundred years of filth and despair accumulate on my body... purpling badges of my god-cursed right.
And my right to be god-cursed.
When did my lips start tasting of ashes?
Home, home is where the heart rests in a bloody puddle on the floor. Sweet, bloody home.
I miss my mother.
Where was I? I don't remember... A mind is a terrible thing to waste. A mind is a terrible thing...
Can't get away, can't get away from the screaming noiselessness. I should know, I've tried. Tried, failed, punished. Tried, failed, punished.
I stopped trying.
I wouldn't mind pain if it didn't hurt so much.
But it does. Fire burns, knives cut, whips lash, teeth bite. I know it all, and it knows me. Loves me.
Loves me when nothing else does.
But that isn't really true, is it? *They* love me. They hurt me because they love me. Always hurt the ones you love... I know I do. They would miss me if I left.
Does that mean it is selfish of me to want to be far, far away?
If this is love, I don't want it.
Someone else.. there was someone else I was supposed to love... but she never came. A moment of pure sunshine. Of liquid gold hair and warmth to be consumed by. Pink skirts smelling of daffodils. Sugary sweet stained lips. Where is she? Gone, gone, gone.
Not here, not there, not any-fucking-where.
The silence hurts. It hurts my ears and my brain. When I'm alone, there is nothing. I don't speak, the sound of my own voice is brittle, chilling. Like shattering glass.
And then she comes. With lips of blood, hair of flame and eyes of fire. She sings to me... and her voice is as sweet as the blade she uses to cleave flesh from bone.
She sings... and I chant.
It's the love I never wanted, but I won't fight it.
It's all I have left.
And the pain is alive within. Sets nerves on fire. Parts that I never remembered existed sizzle with hurt. My skin is awash with colour. Browns, purples, yellows... but mostly the red. She likes the red best. And so does he, watching from the black hole in the corner. Red flows in rivers, torrents, over roughened skin.
She likes it when I cry. Thinks it's because she hurt me. Because she made me feel. That's somehow sweet. They care enough to make me feel. Because left alone to my own devices, I would not.
But no, I don't shed tears for the momentary pain. Momentary meaning prolonged and agonising torture. No, no tears for the pain.
Tears for the void.
Not the hurt, never the hurt.
They like their games, because they're good at them. I know the rules. I just wish I made them. I used to make the rules. Used to, back when faces were less haunting, and the blood tasted sweeter.
Now I play. And I never win.
I want to win again.
It's not fair.
But I never will.
Would not, should not, could not.
Get thee to a ceme'try.
They leave me again, all too soon. Always too soon... but I hold on. They can't leave me alone.
So, I lie in the dark with my purpling marks of affection, and lick the razor's kiss. I tear at their gifts with jagged teeth, and save them for later. I will make the feeling last, and dream of sunshine and daffodils.
And I wait for when they will come back, with eyes like diamonds. Shining like stars.
I wonder what it's like outside. I don't have a window. They never let me see the night sky any more. The twinkling stars, like little pinpricks. Like needles...