25-Sep-2003

Title: Stigmata 1/??
Author: CleverYoungThief (duffsbrandy@yahoo.com)
Rating: R
Warnings: Duo POV (from early childhood on), death, gore, psychological squick, language, soldier brutality, skewed religious themes, slow updates? *heh*
Genre: Angst (how surprising, right?)
Pairings: None so far. That may change as the story goes on.
Spoilers: None.
Feedback: Please?
Disclaimers: Don't own 'em. Don't sue. I'm a college student. I have nothing.
Author's Note: Yeah, I'm starting another multichapter fic. Don't kill me. ^_^;;

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... He maketh me down to lie... Through pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by... With bright knives He releaseth my soul He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places... He converteth me to lamb cutlets For lo, He hath great power and great hunger..."
     - Pink Floyd

Stigmata by CleverYoungThief

Part One: Genesis

I killed my daddy.

And my Mama, too.

Because I couldn't scream. I was too scared to scream. I was hiding from the lion soldiers. I was hiding in the cellar. Mason jars full of canned jams and vegetables were on the back wall. It smelled like dead wet things down there. I could see them walking back and forth over the floorboards. They were going through our stuff. They made a shadow in the cracks. Their boots were really loud on the floor.

They shot me. They shot me. I could hear my breathing hard, like a doggy breathing, and I tried to be more quiet. In and out. In and out. I was shot. I could feel the blood soaking into my shirt. I wanted to move, it hurt so much. I wanted to cry, even though boys don't cry. Daddy told me that. I wriggled a little on the cement. But the sight of the soldiers held me still. So still. So quiet.

Mama... Mama and Daddy were at the corner store. They weren't home yet. But they would be.

I heard, when they came back in. Mama dropped her bag of groceries when she saw the soldiers. I heard the glass break on the floor. I heard the guns go off. They shot Daddy. I heard him hit the floor. Then they shot her. But they didn't kill her. They killed Daddy right off. But they didn't kill her.

I know what dead is. Dead is when they shoot you and you don't move any more.

I think dead is lucky.

After a few minutes, they were laughing.

But she was on the floor. She was still screaming. My Mama was screaming. She was dead though. She just didn't know it yet.

I couldn't run away. If I did, they'd see me. They'd shoot me again. And then I'd be dead, too.

It hurt... it hurt so much, so much. I had to cry. I was quiet. But I had to cry. The tears were running down my face. My arm was on fire. I don't think I could run. The monsters would get me. Monsters...

I rocked back and forth, crying, back and forth. Please don't let the monsters get me. Please don't let the monsters get me.

The monsters, the monsters in my closet. They're out. They're going to get me.

I laid still, real still, closed my eyes tight, real tight. It hurt so much. I was crying, I couldn't help it then. I couldn't hear them now. The shadows were gone. Something dark and wet was dripping between the floorboards.

"Don't hurt me," I whispered. My sound was the only sound, except I could hear sirens outside somewhere, and gunshots. They sounded far away. "Please don't hurt me." I was all shivery. I couldn't stop shivering. I was cold all over, except where they shot me. That was like a fire.

I tried to pray. It had always been easy to say my prayers at night before going to sleep. But I didn't want to think about that. That made me think of cookies and milk and the smell of shampoo. I didn't want to think about Mama brushing my hair back from my face and kissing me on the forehead before I went to sleep.

I couldn't hear her anymore.

I tried hard to remember a prayer.

"Our Father..." I shook my head. That one was no good. I tried again. Nothing would come. It was all gone. I shook my head, crying. That's all I could do now.

I crawled a little towards the cellar door, feeling that wet drip down between the floorboards. It felt like something was clawing me from the inside.

Some little animal was crying in the darkness, I thought, but then I realized it was me.

"Hail Mary," I gasped, touching my side. The barest touch of my fingers there made me make that low animal sound again, and I closed my eyes tight, feeling the tears on my cheeks. "Hail Mary, full of grace..."

I crawled some more, even though it hurt.

"...the Lord is with thee..."

I stopped praying there. The Lord wasn't with Mary any more than he was with me. Nobody was listening. Nobody ever listens. Not on L2. I pushed the door of the cellar open.

The house was still lit. I wished it wasn't. Blood is black in the dark. It's red in the light.

No. Oh no.

I couldn't look. I didn't look. I closed my eyes and tried to go to the door, tried to remember what my house looked like without looking. I shuffled to the front door, hands outstretched to touch the walls, and I hit something in the floor with my foot. I didn't look. I couldn't, because I knew what it was.

I opened the door and ran into the street.

I don't remember running. All I remember is the sound of my feet on the pavement. I remember the way my lungs were burning, the way my breath was rushing in and out, in and out, like before, when I was trapped beneath the cellar, trapped in the ground while they killed my Mama and Daddy.

"Help me!"

Nobody helped. Some of the people on the street looked and turned away. They couldn't help it. There was too many of us to do anything about. We couldn't even tug the heartstrings anymore. One more war orphan. That's all.

I grabbed one man by the jacket. Somebody had to help me. For the love of God...

"Please help me!! PleasehelpmetheyshotmyMamamyDaddypleasehelpme!"

My hand left a bloody handprint there in the streetlight. He pulled away from me. I saw a look on his face.

"Oh, Jesus..." he whispered. Pulling away. Running away.

He was scared, so scared, too. It was starting to rain. I could still hear the sirens, and somewhere the lion soldiers were yelling over a bullhorn.

It sounded like God.

His eyes were wide and he walked hard. Almost ran. Ran away from me.

"Don't leave me!!"

He never even slowed down. He walked with his head bowed down and his jacket pulled around him, like he was walking into a hard wind.

He never looked back.

I cried and all the strength went out of me in a rush. I folded up on the sidewalk and waited for them to come and kill me. I covered my face with my arms, feeling my blood trickle onto the asphalt. Nobody would help.

// Help me... //

It only hit me then. They were dead. My Mama and Daddy were dead.

I was alone.

"No! No! Noooo!!!"

I fainted. I didn't faint like they do in the movies. I fainted like someone had hit me hard from behind. One minute I was there, the next minute-

I woke up when they put their hands on me. Somebody was grabbing me. I screamed, not even words now. I just howled like a gutted animal. The hands that were touching me were gone in a flash, as if I had scalded them.

Somebody kicked me hard in the side of the head, making red lights flicker behind my eyes. There was a panicky voice floating somewhere over me. The rain was hitting me in the face.

"Shut up, kid, for Christ's sake shut up! Shut up!! You're gonna bring the whole damned army down on us!"

I shut up.

One of the first voices again. "Don't kick 'em! Don't kick at 'em! Whaddaya gotta kick 'em for, Jeremiah?! Back the fuck up!"

I opened my eyes a little. Someone was bending over me. He was older than me. There was a bandanna around his head, and he had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. It made me think of a phrase I'd heard the grownups use. Blue-eyed miracle.

"Hey," he said, real quiet, like he was trying not to scare me.

"Fuck, it's another one of Solo's crusades," someone muttered in the darkness.

The boy leaning over me looked up, his head tilting into a cocked, questioning gesture, and whatever passed for anger in those blue eyes was enough to make the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Every movement he made was violence like an unspoken promise.

Whoever had spoken also shut up.

I don't remember a lot about that first night second for second. It was all just a blare of images and sounds and smells.

I remember pain, and how a bolt of manmade lightning flashed behind the circle of older boys around me, casting their silhouettes on the pavement, and lightning and pain because the same for me, one just like the other.

Fear was the ragged shoes stamping around my fingers sprawled against the asphalt, threatening to accidently crush and break them. The orphans paced around me, circling, eyes darting up at either end of the street, listening for guns and the lion soldiers. Their eyes were wild.

Grief was the smell of rain.

The air shuddered with thunder, and this was the sound of death. I was afraid to look at my side. My hand was sticky and red where I had touched it before. I moaned, making that low trapped animal sound again, partly because it just hurt, it hurt so much. But mostly because I was so scared I couldn't breathe.

"It's okay, Kid," the one leaning over me said. "It's all right. I'll take care of you. You got a name?"

I just looked at him. I couldn't do anything else. I couldn't remember. I didn't know.

"They killed them," I whispered.

He looked back into my eyes for a moment. He never looked away. Finally, he smiled a little. It was a sad smile.

"Yeah. I figured that. C'mon."

He picked me up, being careful of my side.

The gang was quiet. I was quiet too, warned by their silence. The air was full of solemnity. My Mama and Daddy were dead. There was no coffin or makeup to hide what had happened to them. Nobody sung hymns. Nobody said anything about it.
It was just over. Done. That part of my life was over. Somewhere deep, I felt a part of myself flicker and die quietly, without a fight.

The gang of orphans moved wordlessly, communicating silently with each other. This was a place of death, they told each other without words. It was time to move on.

As he walked, Solo muttered a little singsong under his breath. He held me so close I could feel the vibrations from his throat, feel his breath tickling along my bloodstained cheek. "I neeeed a fuckin' cigarette..."

He looked at the one who had kicked me. "Jeremiah, gimme a coffin nail."

The gray-eyed boy glared at him. He was bigger, taller.

Solo grinned at him a little. But his smile was scary, now. It reminded me of knives. It reminded me of a wolf. But I didn't know why.

"Either you let me bum a cigarette or I'll slit your throat and take them."

They stared at each other for a minute, then the gray-eyed boy smiled ruefully, rooting out a rumpled pack. I knew then who was in charge. And I wasn't afraid. Not anymore. Solo would protect me.

He'd protect us all.

The whole night rocked in urgent silence.

I was so scared and tired and hurt that I fell asleep in Solo's arms. Not even thunder, guns or God could wake me.

I slept like the dead.

It was almost dawn when I woke up. Solo was carrying me into a large warehouse. Someone spraypainted a huge message across the wall in red graffiti.

HAVEN
sEcoNd sTaR tO THe RigHt
STRaigHt oN TiL MorNing

Solo carried me to a bare, dirty mattress in the corner. He laid me on it, pulled my shirt off and flung it aside, not caring where it landed. He looked at my side where the soldiers shot me. He shook his head a little, then pulled his shirt off, wrapping it around my middle, covering the wound. I couldn't look at it.

There was a sad look on his face. He turned away from me. Just like the man from before.

I was too weak to move.

Some deep sadness washed over me, making every part that was hurting lifted away in a white flock. I knew I couldn't walk, or try to get away, even if I wanted to.

I couldn't help it.

I cried myself into unconsciousness again.

I woke up again later. It was dark again. Blood had stuck Solo's shirt to my side. Someone had wrapped me in a blanket, but it was full of holes and smelled terrible. I couldn't see Solo in the darkness...but I knew now he would never leave me.

"It'd be better just to kill you now, Kid," he whispered, brushing my hair back from my face. Just like Mama used to do. I felt tears welling again, but I wouldn't let them fall. Not again.

That part was over now.

There was automatic gunfire echoing from a nearby alley. But there had been so much gunfire in the last few hours, the sound was a comfort.

I fell back asleep.

He didn't kill me.

End Part 1

(:./cyt/stigmata1)