Untitled... Part Two

Abel watched Cain disappear into the crowd unhappily. He hadn't expected such resistance from his little brother. But then, Cain had changed a lot since the last time he had seen him. Abel sighed, and reached out to Astel, the demon his father had lent him for the journey. He hadn't expected there to be any trouble, but like his father said, with Cain you could never be to sure. Bastard was unpredictable, powerful and too damn nice for his own good. That was what frustrated Abel the most about him - he could never understand why Cain did anything. it was why he had to be banished in the first place.
-Astel, you there?-
-Yo. Wudup?-
Abel resisted the urge to strangle Astel for that. Ever since they'd come here, he'd been trying to 'blend,' which he was failing miserably at, and which also meant he used some form of almost incomprehensible syntax and dressed appallingly, with jeans that somehow only came to his knees and shirts he drowned in. Abel had, he felt with remarkable restraint, refrained from making too many disparaging remarks.
- I need you to find out where Cain is staying-
-Sure thing bossman. Done deal. There a prob?-
-Cain just needs a little more persuading...-
-Ayt. Hey, while you're busy persuading, can I hook up with that piece you had earlier? She was a sweet looking thing-
-Focus on what you need to do Aster. There will be time for entertainment after-
-You seem pretty able to multitask. I saw you trying to play tonsil hockey with her-
-Aster. I'm asking nicely. Besides,  have a plan for that particular sweet little thing-
Aster felt a shiver of fear at Abel's tone. But he was annoyed that Abel wouldn't let him play, so he pushed perhaps to far. Abel was his boss after all, and you did not wanna mess with his daddy. Hell, when it came down to it, you didn't wanna mess with Abel either. He was a mean bastard. And he held a grudge like nobody's business. Aster had actually been surprised when Abel had agreed to his father's request to bring Cain back. Abel hated the poor sod with a passion that was almost holy. He also felt a little sorry for the poor girl Abel had kissed. She was a pretty little thing after all. Aster shrugged philosophically and went back to watching Cain in his mind from the house he and Abel had rented. Crowds made Aster uncomfortable, and he generally preferred solitude, which is why he had stayed behind when Abel had left that morning to go find Cain. But he hadn't missed anything. One of his more minor talents was that he could see anywhere in the world, and view any scene, if he cast his mind out, which was, in his eyes, a decidedly useful little talent to have. Made spying a breeze. He didn't particularly approve of what Abel was doing, but you really really didn't want to annoy him. So he shut his mouth and made himself useful, watching as Cain went to class after class, wandered around and kept to himself. He didn't talk to anybody or even make eye contact with anybody. Astel thought this was rather odd, as far as he could tell, everybody else there was with at least one person at all times. Except for a few people, of whom Cain was one, everybody seemed to have friends. Out of curiosity, he idly watched Abel, to see what he was doing. To his surprise, he found him talking to the girl from earlier. He was seducing for all he was worth - being charming and sophisticated and mysterious and oozing that combination of intelligence, humor, power and danger that the women of Court had found utterly irresistible. It seemed to work exactly the same on mortal girls. Aster rolled hos eyes and sighed, missing the warmth of the home he left behind when Abel's father had assigned him this position. He didn't particularly like the human world, but what could you do? You didn't just ignore the king of hell. he had ways of making life unpleasant in ways even the religious nuts populating this plane could imagine.
Bored, Aster went back to looking for Cain. he disliked the word 'spying,' and preferred to think f it as 'information gathering,' but even so, he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty about what he was doing. He had always liked Cain, had respected him, even after the banishment, for facing his betrayal and exile with such strength. He should have had the throne, by right of birth and arms, but his father and Abel had always hated him. So he was doomed from the day his mark had appeared. The Eron Aisark, the Mark of the Beast appeared on the body of the one next marked for kingship. But Abel hadn't liked that at all, and had made it his mission to destroy his brother. he had fund the way to do it as well, with the Trials. Cain had been set up to fail, because he wouldn't kill Abel, and Abel knew it, exploited it, and gotten Cain banished for the last thousand years because of it. But now they needed him. It was unbelievable, the depths to which that family would sink to get what they wanted. And now they wanted Cain. And god help that poor child... Aster swallowed his guilt and went back to gathering intelligence for the Prince of Hell.

Untitled... Part One

He stared at her from out the shadows as she sat there, across the room, oblivious to everything and everyone around her. She couldn't see him, but he saw her, every day he waited for the glorious moment when she walked through the door and he could watch her again, for just a few more minutes, while she sat there, oblivious to the world around her, oblivious to him... Strangely though he didn't mind that she didn't know he existed. that was part of her charm - her innocence as she curled up in one of the chairs in the library with her headphones on, one delicate leg hanging down, swaying in time to the music only she could hear, from the earphones she kept hidden under the mass of dark hair that curled around her. The sight of that little rebellion, that hidden disobedience of the rules that said "no cellphones", for some reason that sight enchanted him and drove him wild for her... Not that he would ever touch her of course - she was pure and beautiful and desirable, and he was a killer. A freakish anomaly with far too much blood on his hands and horrible memories hidden behind icy eyes... those eyes only ever softened when he saw her, when he watched her for that brief time while she lay there, entranced by the worlds in the worn out pages of her old books. Every day it was a new one - with dusty, faded covers full of magic and dragons and wonders and love and sorrow. She had read so much that he had, but then, he had been around for a long, long time... But she merely loved to read. He could see it in the way she caressed the pages softly, as though each book was like a lover she longed for. He dreamed that she would touch him like that, sometimes at night when the nightmares became to much and all he wanted to do was weep from the pain and hide from the choking fear of his memories... She was the safe haven in his mind, the anchor that kept him alive... and she didn't even know he was alive... He wanted to curse at the gods for the frustration of it, that this beautiful creature would never know him, and never know that she had saved his life...

Where is she? he wondered, glancing at the time. She was late. She had never been late before. He could feel himself getting antsy, impatient. He glanced at the time again then then quickly back at the door, just in case she had come in and he had missed her. But the doorway was empty, and so was her chair. He looked at the clock again, and saw that her time was up... By now if she hadn't come in, she wouldn't. this was the time she usually left. frowning angrily, he leaped up and slammed his books into his bag, glaring at them as though they had mortally offended him. Where the hell could she be? She was always here. Always. He strode out of the library, muttering darkly to himself, before freezing, mid-step, as a terrifying thought struck him. What if something had happened to her...? His heart clenched at the idea... She was just busy, he thought frantically, as his feet started to move again. Or she had to do something with a lecturer, or she had an assignment due... Yes, that was it. She was fine.

Looking for her was going to be a nightmare though, because try as he might, he could not reassure himself that she was okay. He wasn't terrified yet but he could feel it growing, at the edge of his mind... A premonition born of a sense honed over thousands of years told him that much, that something was coming...

He stormed out of the library, scanning the crowds of teenagers and twenty-somethings milling around alone or in their groups, listening to the murmurs of inconsequential conversation, hoping for a mention, a whisper, a stray thought that would help him locate her in this seething mass of humanity. There was nothing though, nothing to tell him that she was safe, to warn him of any dangers, though each of his senses was screaming it at him. He felt sick, dizzy, his head was throbbing and his heart pounding. He lurched through the crowd, shoving blindly at those who got in his way, as a cold sweat started over his entire body. Then several things happened at once. His eyes fell on the girl he had watched and adored from hidden shadows for so many months, wrapped in the arms of another man, with laughing eyes and affection in the smile he had worshiped, and then met the eyes of the man who held her... Bright green eyes met their mirror and he stumbled back, shocked, confused. The man with his hands on her looked at him, a vague smile playing on his lips. "No..." He spoke the words, a frantic denial of what his eyes could see but his mind rejected.

Before him, holding the woman he adored was a man he had thought to never ever see again, had not seen since his banishment for defying their father and refusing the throne that was his by birth, but not blood. Abel smiled at him and ran his fingers down her arm, daring him to protest as he watched mutely, locked in place by shock, confusion, horror... Why the fuck is he here? What could have happened that would bring the heir apparent here, of all places, here... Why now, why her? What is my family playing at?

Cain glared at him, frustrated, angry, but with a deep sense of growing trepidation, this won't be good, he thought as he watched Abel kiss her lightly on her cheek, in goodbye, and walk towards him. Through the flames that had sprung up in his mind, he could see the self-satisfied smirk his brother had always worn when he had beat him, the same smirk he wore when Cain was stripped of his titles and banished from the lands, upon pain of death should he ever again make contact with the rest of his family... he had not seen his mother or his baby sister in so many years...

She stared at them curiously for a few moments, before turning, distracted by the call of friends she quickly joined, on the way to the grounds - the large, grassy series of hills that edged the campus. Cain watched her leave, his mind blank as Abel watched him, smiling serenely all the while. "Hey bro. Long time," he said, the first words any of his blood had spoken to him in almost a thousand years. Cain wanted to laugh at the ignominy of it, that his flesh could treat him so indifferently, so callously, and that he could still be hurt by it. A thousand years of rejection clearly hadn't taught him a single thing, he thought bitterly, saying nothing. Abel smiled at him, "So what you been up to?" Cain glared at him stonily and Abel sighed. "You know, I'd have thought you put all that business behind you, but it seems you still haven't learned a single thing." He ran his fingers through the ink dark hair that fell into his eyes, the only difference between him  and his younger brother, his mirror image. Light and dark, he thought ruefully, glancing at the messy shock of snow white that veiled Cain's burning green eyes, the gold in them turned icy and dark. "Look Cain, father wants you to come back to Court - there's been some... developments... that need taking care off, with and old friend of yours. And mother misses you... We all miss you..."
"Then you shouldn't have banished me." The words slipped out before Cain could stop them, childish angry words, filled with pain and sorrow and loneliness. "Besides, you wouldn't give a fuck about me anymore if you didn't need my help. So go back to Court and tell our father he can go fuck himself. I'm not interested in helping him." He ground the words out, staring straight at Abel as he uttered a complete lie. He longed to return home, home, to see his mother again... to feel her arms around him once more, telling him it would be okay, comforting him, as though he were again a child... But he crushed the childish dream as he stared into his brother's green gold eyes.

Abel looked at him steadily, unmoved by his outburst. "Fine," he said coolly, "but I hope you realise I'm not leaving without you. And I'm a lot stronger than you Cain."
"If that's true, then why are you here, in this place, begging me for help?"
Abel ran his hands through his hair, frustrated, and glanced around, "This isn't exactly the safest of places to be discussing this Cain."
Cain laughed. "It's university. There is nowhere in the universe where you can be more anonymous that at a  university. This place is a thing of beauty, even more indifferent to you that the Lords of Court." He was right he knew, but he and Abel were attracting a far amount of interest, particularly from the female population that surrounded them. It was undeniable, Abel was attracting a lot of attention, but then he always did. Cain looked at his brother critically. Bastard still looked like a fallen angel, all raven hair and green eyes, with the face of a poet's dream and the body of a warrior, tall and lean, he drew every eye in a room - had since he had come of age more than a thousand years ago, and time had only streamlined him, hardened his fine boned features and giving him an aura of power he wore like a mantle. And he used it - he used his looks and charm to worm his way into the favor of the Court, and conspired to get his brother banished. Abel looked at Cain strangely, "You've changed brother. You were not so cold the last time we spoke."
Cain laughed, a short, ugly sound, "The last time we spoke, brother, you arranged with our father to have me fail the Trials, so I would be banished, as the one who failed. All because our dear father wanted you to inherit, and not me. And the richest of these ironies? I didn't even want the fucking throne. I had no intention of ever taking it. Now if you don't mind, I've got classes to go to. And if you do mind, I don't give a damn, because I'm leaving. I want you gone by nightfall. Run back to our father and tell him Cain said he can go to hell." He meant it figuratively of course. Technically speaking, his father was already in hell. He was the goddamned King of hell. And Cain... well Cain was the fallen prince... Brother to the Prince of Hell and banished forever from his fiery home.

                                                                         
--- just something I randomly started typing. I think I                                                                                                                                                   might continue it. I don't know. It doesn't seem too terrible.

Reflections of Beauty

Dark... Brooding... It’s chaotic, the slate grey majesty of her destructive power... The sliding temptress, beneath a sky of blinding white light, forming a barrier as impassable as the death that bound this place, crashes against the rocky pinnacle of a deserted, sandy shore littered with those footfalls of they who had imprinted their meaning, their work onto the earth... There is an atmosphere of memories, of a time long passed, of watchers who saw too much and felt too little of what had come to pass... secrets, desires, fleeting emotions that all left a little bit of themselves behind when they moved on or were forgotten. Discarded. Abandoned... This place was old... as old as time and full of deep, ancient thoughts... death and pain and hope and the remnants of life...

The girl stood on the dark rocks just above the waterline, staring sorrowfully out at the turbulent mass of writhing souls, the currents of the dead... her eyes glowed green as the storm tossed waves and her tattered shift billowed in the shrieking winds, oblivious to the biting cold of the torrential spray, kicked up by the furious waves that raged against the crags, seemingly determined to crumble them to dust beneath her bare feet. Amidst the tempestuous fury that encompassed, her the girl sank to her knees, her movements as fluid, as graceful as the waters beneath her, undisturbed, unperturbed by the violence around her, locked as she was in her own mind, amid the savage beauty of the place she dwelt in... Captivated by the desolate wasteland, the empty, haunted earth upon which the ocean beat, pulsing with life, with death, with power, with throbbing, poignant emotion, she stared out at the terrible beauty displayed before her. Casting her mind back, her dead heart pulsing with the crashing ocean waves, she sought solace this cold night, in this empty place, solace and inspiration, guidance from the only living thing left to her...

She stared down at the ocean, thinking of that fateful night... the night her heart shattered, the night her world ended, the night... she died. Every fatal second of that hellish night was burned into her memory, every second she was tormented by those final moments... No misery even this place could create could mangle her soul, tear her apart, keep her in weeping agony...  for the hell in which she stood could not hurt her... The anguish in her mind, the demons in her past, her tortured memories... these consumed her, kept her suffering, a sorrow unsurpassed by any that this place could ever inflict upon her... 

It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life... it had been perfect. The man she had loved for most of her life had proposed to her. She was engaged to be married! The jubilance she felt that night, she couldn’t remember ever being that happy! It was like a high, like bubbling champagne, like pure contentment, like bliss. They drove home that night soaring on the ecstasy, the pure wonderment of the love they had for each other, the fact that they had found each other in this brutal world, the life they shared and the one they were going to build. It had been the most amazing feeling, that joy, that happiness... and then... it ended.

Some drunken idiot had swerved into their lane, and on the wet, slick road that ribboned its way down a precipitous cliff, their fate was sealed. He had veered to the side to avoid a collision with the other driver and slammed into the side of the cliff face. There was a screeching of twisted, tortured metal and the flash of blazing sparks on the road. Then all she knew was pain... every part of her body screamed with it, as she, dazed and confused, her body battered, broken and bloody lay there... then she heard, through the fog hazing her mind, her name called in tones of desperation and fear... She groaned and shifted as the fog cleared. Blinking, she looked around and screamed as she saw the tiny outcropping she lay upon, just out of reach of the top of the cliff. She heard the rocks beneath her shift and screamed again, a sound choked with fear and tears... She peered down over the edge of the outcropping and saw far below her the stormy ocean waves swirling against the jagged rocks reaching hungrily up far below her... She let out a faint whimpering noise and scrambled back, feeling, in her growing panic the shift in the ground beneath her... terrified, she called out his name, hoping against all odds that he was okay... she looked up and saw him above her, his arms stretched out to try and grab her. She reached up... There was the flash of lightening ripping through the sky... rock crumbling... fingertips meeting... then falling... falling and screaming... staring up at him, his face a mask of terror and shock and pain and fear and a wordless denial... I love you... her last thoughts before... BOOM! Impact.

Now here she stood... on a barren, deserted beach in hell... for she would not allow herself to go to heaven... Her soul was good, but she would not leave hell, her grief, her pain was so great... she glanced down at the rocks behind her, thinking of the past, trapped in it, unable to escape, unable to find solace, to free herself of the pain... and was jolted into awareness of the present when she saw something that should not exist in this dead place...

 A single yellow flower, a simple daisy, grew upon the rock below her... Her eyes teared up as she stared at that single, fragile, beautiful impossibility. They were her favourite flowers, he had bought her a bouquet on their first date... always sunny and cheerful he said, just like her. The storm raged on, unabated but she could not care now. For the first time in a thousand days she smiled, and it was truly a sight to behold, one as beautiful as heaven ever could be. For the first time in so long she felt something other than the restless, painful storm... Laughter... She jumped down to the stone and stared at the daisy, the vivid detail, the bright color and she smiled. She could not believe it was real but she felt it, soft, delicate, alive. There was strength there, strength, power and endurance... the patience to grow through tons of rock, strength to grow so far and courage to grow in such a place as it did... and it possessed all three and more to survive in hell, a place with no life...

She stood again and there was no sadness in her any more. Just calm acceptance of her fate, of the pain she suffered... for like the flower she could survive this. She would be with her love again soon enough... she lifted her eyes to the blinding white sky and felt warmth on her face for the first time in so long... she felt a release, a sense of peace and overwhelming joy before the light consumed her and she vanished from those rocks in hell... there was a rushing sound and more light and then silence... in hell, upon that rocky dead beach, tranquil waters moved upon a silent, serene ocean... peaceful... content... Calm.

My father once told me, “it’s not important to win but it is important to take part.”

When I was little, I skinned my knee when I fell out of a tree. I was trying to get to the top because in my strange, childish little brain, the tree dared me to climb as high as I could and then climb higher. I climbed as high as I could but couldn’t climb any higher. The tree won that day. I was so upset, a child’s pique at being denied. My father held me and told me not to worry. He sat me down on our red, velvet couch, looked me straight in the eye and told me, “It’s not important to win but it is important to take part.” I was too little to understand what he meant, but as I grew older, I began to... As I was shunted from one home to another, one beating after another, I began to understand. I had admired him, had adored him with a child’s devotion - “it was him and me against the world.” How wrong I was... and how much more wrong he was...

People are strange creatures. My mother died bringing me into this world, and my father died trying (in his mind at least) to take me out of it... traumatising for a child, the depth of hatred a man can harbour for something he spawned. So now I spend my time living on streets, avoiding the homes and generally making my social worker’s life miserable. I can’t handle my own mind, being lost in its folding, twisting turns, rushing towards a feeble attempt at trying to find something worth not cutting my throat... my reason: it would make a mess. Isn’t that pathetic?

I’m tired now... so very tired. I find myself consumed more and more with lethargy, even breathing has become an effort. There’s a strange pool of red around me. It’s bright and dark and I’m sitting in it. It’s flowing from somewhere, a rich, red wine... a waterfall of red liquid pooling around me, staining clothes worn and threadbare... I see a girl beside me. She looks so tired, her eyes so heartbreakingly sad... I try to lift my hand to comfort her, to brush her long pale hair (filthy with the grime of the streets) away from her face, only to stop as she mirrors my action, her slow movements in tandem with mine. We stop and turn our heads to smile at each other, sharing in the warmth of human companionship, of simple comforting touch to ease the coldness settled so deeply within us. That same red liquid surrounds her.

I blink, confused, trying to see past the fog blanketing my mind in numb slumber... I’m so tired... but she looks so sad and empty, like someone who’s taken too many knocks in the ring of life and can’t get  up again... How can I leave this poor lonely child...? She looks so lost (like me) someone with no one and nothing to go home too... Does she have a home? I wonder to myself. In my heart I know the answer. It’s etched in every line of her face, every scar on her body, in her tattered, filthy rags and in dead eyes screaming with pain and sorrow and haunted by too many experiences that broke her... I look down slowly, languidly, a part of my mind still puzzling over my lethargy and the two pools of mingling. I found that strangely symbolic in my fog-fuddled mind... I raised my head to tell her and saw her still mirroring my movements.

I felt the bright heat of unbelievable fury then, for the fate of this fragile, broken child left on the street like so much refuse. I raged against the Gods then, hating them. Hating fate, hating the cruel, cruel sick world we all played this game called ‘life’ in. The savage strength of my inferno was enough to burn away the fog clouding my consciousness and I turned to embrace this child the world shunned so callously. I froze when I saw her, here every movement, the wild rage and overwhelming, compassionate sorrow, that driving urge to comfort someone who could not be comforted, identical to mine.

I glanced down and my heart froze when I saw that the pool of red I had thought mingling was just mirrored. I reached out hesitantly and my shaking fingers touched a cool surface, just as the haunted child’s did. The pitiful, hopeless wraith I had longed to comfort, was me,,, and the fingers touching the tormented reflection of a life gone wrong and a game lost left rust red streaks on the glass... it wasn’t paint or died water... it was blood... my blood pooling around me as I sank back into the fog... back down into oblivion.

The last thought I had... my mind had drifted back to when I had a life worth something... “It’s not important to win but it is important to take part.” I felt the last dregs of my broken humanity leave me and felt a mocking, insane, desperate laugh well up in my rasping throat... as I watched the last of my life’s blood drain from the ragged cuts on my scarred arms... winning isn’t everything... if that’s the case, why try to win? In this contest of life, the only alternative to absolute victory is death... to risk the ultimate to gain the ultimate... I risked it all... played the hand I was dealt as best I could, but sometimes your best isn’t enough... winning is everything when you have everything to lose... And I? I lost it all...

I am what I am, I am proud to be me

Andrea reached hesitantly for the lipstick and applied it with shaking hands, her heavily shadowed eyes framed by sooty lashes staring at her in the mirror, full of trepidation and desire. She adjusted her dress straps in an attempt to make the shapeless thing more alluring on her mannish chest and delicate, soft body... Feeling equal parts of excitement and fearful confusion, she stared at herself in the mirror, the hot shameful disgust of the wrongness of what she was doing filling her, helpless to stop herself. She heard the front door shut below and jumped, terrified. Hastily, she pulled of the dress and stuffed it under the bed, before running into the bathroom to wipe the make-up of her fine-boned, feminine features, fear making her clumsy in her desperation. She felt the door slam open behind her and turned to face her father, almost sobbing in terror. He stood in the doorway, filling it with his large frame, an expression of disgusted rage on his face.

“Andrew. What the hell are you doing?”

Andrew’s voice was shaking as he gasped desperately, “Dad, I...”

SMACK!

Andrew screamed and staggered back against the sink, his face on fire and his ears ringing from his father’s heavy blow as sick bile rose in his throat and hot, fresh tears cut a track down his powdered face. His father looked at him curled up against the sink, whimpering in pain and clutching his head, moaning “I’m sorry... I'm sorry...” over and over again, and unmoved by his pleas for mercy, reached slowly for the heavy, leather belt at his waist...

SMACK

SMACK!

SMACK!!

The dull, sickening sound of leather hitting fragile flesh was drowned out by the sounds of torturous agony. Andrew’s voice grew hoarse from the screams till finally; he could take no more, slipping quietly into the comforting, familiar embrace of peaceful, blissful oblivion, on a cold bathroom floor, alone in a pool of his own cooling blood...

She dreamed of fire... of freedom and warmth and safety in the arms of the only being to ever give her surcease from her pains... the hypnotic, dancing laughter of tongues of flame strong and seductive, sensuous and moody, indestructible and uncontainable, the epitome of everything she longed in the depths of her most sacred places to be... Fire had saved her, had protected her, had kept her sane as cruel hands had bruised her tender flesh, grabbing and tearing and hurting, always hurting... Angry at what they had found under her beautiful dress pale and silvery as the moon, they found other ways to punish her for being in the wrong place at the wrong time... but it had been their brutal ministrations that had forged within her the realisation that she was not what she should be...

She had staggered home, her dress filthy and torn, covered in the blood seeping from her bruised, battered, violated body... her eyes, sunken deep into her bloody, swollen, tear-stained face, were the blank orbs of those who had gone away, leaving only a shell in their absence... Andrea had gone away to dance with the fire in her soul, the flames flickering in her mind... Andrew walked through the door and into a new hell... his family could not understand, would not accept... his father tried to beat it out of him, his mother could not bear to touch him, to look at him, unclean abomination that she named him, and his little sister, when he turned blindly to face her, hoping in his crushed soul for compassion, for mercy, for a kind word or gentle hand to soothe the pain that was his world away, barely fifteen laughed at him, scorned him, mocked his desires, tormented his already broken mind and rejected him. “You are not my brother,” she said cruelly, each word piercing him, tearing into the depths of him and shattering the little humanity he had left, “You’re just a freak who likes to dress up like a girl and get raped by men. You are nothing. Pathetic. You aren’t one of us.” She spat it venomously. “You’re not woman enough to be a girl.” She laughed at him and flaunted the female body he so desperately desired to have in front of him, taunting him, adding to the abject misery he lived in...

Then, when she could not take any more humiliation, any more pain, any more rejection and hurt and loneliness... the flames started to whisper to her... Kill... Burn... KILL... BURN... They will burn for this! ALL OF THEM WILL BURN! She began to dream of screams, of fire roaring, crackling, consuming and destroying... Huge pillars of flame, the power of the gods, devouring those who had hurt her... mocked him... beat him... Andrew, Andrea... Andrea, Andrew... ANDREW, ANDREA! THEY WILL BURN!!

Andrea woke suddenly, a scream filling welling from the depths of her soul, torn from her very firmament, as she rose slowly from the cold, hard bathroom floor. She did not see her blood covering her, an ugly rust staining the otherwise pristine floor, did not hear the whimpering, animalistic noises she made as her brutalised body moved slowly, agonisingly through the door. Her mind was burning, her essence consumed by the blazing inferno that burned through her entirety. All she saw through burning eyes was a blazing riot of intense white heat, all she heard through burning ears was the roaring crackle of insatiable destruction demanding that she kill... demanding that she burn... demanding death for her pain...

She staggered up the stairs, clutching a butcher’s knife in her bloodstained hand... Every step she took, she steeled herself, taking courage from it, drawing strength from her determination, from the fire searing through her mind, racing through her soul, taking pride in it, revelling in who she was.

She stood in her room, after covering every inch of the house that had become hell in accelerant and fingered the knife, fascinated by the cold, silvery gleam in her hands, the metallic death she held...

Steeling herself once more, she grasped the last evidence of Andrew’s hated existence in one hand and raised the glittering blade, hungry for blood, high... Her agonised, bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence of the dark night, as the severed flesh fell to the floor and hot, fresh blood splattered against the wall. Shaking with shock and throbbing, torturous pain, she heated the bloody blade on the dancing flames she had created. The white hot metal seared and sizzled against her mangled, ruined body and the sickeningly intoxicating smell of burning flesh filled the room. Andrea could not feel - the shock had made her numb and the pain and blood loss had made her light-headed...

When the blood stopped flowing, Andrea moved slowly, barely conscious, out of the house while her family slumbered on, uncaring of the screams that had rent the silence of the house apart. She was nothing to them, her pain was nothing. They had had the perfect family, had one daughter and one son and now... they had no son. They had only one child. Andrew was no more...

Andrea stood outside, the cold night’s air cooling her throbbing body as she stared at the hell she was now going to leave in ruins. Her blood pounded in her ears and fire roared through her veins. There was no going back now. She lit a match slowly, watching the flare of deadly beauty, of vengeful hunger. She dropped the result of her ruination to the floor and time slowed... then there was a blinding flash of light as the conflagration leapt joyfully to life, hungry, ready to consume and devour anything foolish enough to hurt her... Instantly the house was engulfed in the fiery blaze.

Andrea laughed with reckless, exultant abandon as she watched the house and its now burning occupants turn to ash before her eyes. The flames leapt and danced and ran joyfully through the accelerant covered hell, burning, devouring, and consuming it. There was no home now, only a blazing fireball reaching gloriously into the dark sky, framed by the stars and moving to the music of its own raw, destructive fury. The family that lived there could be heard faintly, their screams and shrieks adding to the perfection of the moment. Andrea laughed as she heard it, relishing the fact that their anguish now matched hers... Riding the mad fury of the flames, she laughed and laughed till she cried, and as the sound of sirens filled the horizon, she turned and staggered away, leaving nothing but the last glowing embers of Andrew’s life.

N.B Andrea and Andrew are derivatives of the word “androgynous” meaning “asexual, of both sexes”