Sick One With a Smile
Stupid Girl
“Damned heathen! Ye are a disgrace tae God!”
She’d just smiled at him, her face swelled and bloody from his hands. She loved him despite it all and he’d done nothing to deserve it.
She lay, crumpled on the wooden floor, a glaring blade through her arm. Beneath her was a puddle of blood, its color an inhuman blue. Her eyes reflected the same dark color, glazed and tear-filled as they were. A whimper of pain passed through her lips as she stayed there unmoving, welcoming the punishment she felt she deserved. The priest stepped over her, another matching bayonet held tightly in his hand. Under his breath he recited passages from the bible, muttering an animalistic “Amen,” before plunging the blade into the girl’s throat and into the floor. She let a mangled scream escape her lips as the skin around the wound burned and singed.
He could remember coming back to the room, seeing her still pierced to the ground. She’d left the blades in her skin, allowed the wounds around them to heal; meaning new ones would be created as the blades were removed. It’d been more than a day, and she hadn’t moved an inch, but when she saw him her face lit up, a soft smile gracing her lips as she spoke, “I’m sorry Father, please allow me to pray.”
He ached thinking of it all. He’d abused her, both physically and mentally, and yet she only cared about redeeming herself in his eyes and his god’s. She’d followed him, believed him, only to have him turn around and degrade her.
“Stupid girl!” He yelled, shoving her to the ground. Bright blue tears streamed down her cheeks, her hands covered in red blood and the flesh burned by the blessed weapon she had gripped. “I-I’m sorry Father, I only wished to help.” She’d taken one of his blades, and sliced down some of the enemies they had faced; they had been ghouls, the very creatures she could possibly create.
He knew he should have been thankful, he could have worried about her, the injuries on her hands, as trivial as they were. But instead he had scolded her, ignoring her once again. He’d driven her away.
And now he was being forced to see her sent away. He watched as she climbed into the dark car. She followed a light haired woman now, a protestant; his enemy. Behind her walked a monster, clad in red and black; the priest knew that, from behind his tinted glasses the monster watched her every move. As the car was pulling away, he turned away, ready to return to his home, but stopped. A gun shot rang out, catching his attention.
From the side of the car, a black mist appeared, racing towards him. It slowly solidified as it neared him. She was bleeding, the bullet he’d heard had grazed her temple; her blue blood was staining the ground. She stopped before him, a terrified and hurt expression on her face as she spoke, “Nein, I don’t want to leave. Ich liebe dich, Father Anderson.”
With a soft hand, he cupped her cheek, “Love ye tae, stupid girl.”
She’d just smiled at him, her face swelled and bloody from his hands. She loved him despite it all and he’d done nothing to deserve it.
She lay, crumpled on the wooden floor, a glaring blade through her arm. Beneath her was a puddle of blood, its color an inhuman blue. Her eyes reflected the same dark color, glazed and tear-filled as they were. A whimper of pain passed through her lips as she stayed there unmoving, welcoming the punishment she felt she deserved. The priest stepped over her, another matching bayonet held tightly in his hand. Under his breath he recited passages from the bible, muttering an animalistic “Amen,” before plunging the blade into the girl’s throat and into the floor. She let a mangled scream escape her lips as the skin around the wound burned and singed.
He could remember coming back to the room, seeing her still pierced to the ground. She’d left the blades in her skin, allowed the wounds around them to heal; meaning new ones would be created as the blades were removed. It’d been more than a day, and she hadn’t moved an inch, but when she saw him her face lit up, a soft smile gracing her lips as she spoke, “I’m sorry Father, please allow me to pray.”
He ached thinking of it all. He’d abused her, both physically and mentally, and yet she only cared about redeeming herself in his eyes and his god’s. She’d followed him, believed him, only to have him turn around and degrade her.
“Stupid girl!” He yelled, shoving her to the ground. Bright blue tears streamed down her cheeks, her hands covered in red blood and the flesh burned by the blessed weapon she had gripped. “I-I’m sorry Father, I only wished to help.” She’d taken one of his blades, and sliced down some of the enemies they had faced; they had been ghouls, the very creatures she could possibly create.
He knew he should have been thankful, he could have worried about her, the injuries on her hands, as trivial as they were. But instead he had scolded her, ignoring her once again. He’d driven her away.
And now he was being forced to see her sent away. He watched as she climbed into the dark car. She followed a light haired woman now, a protestant; his enemy. Behind her walked a monster, clad in red and black; the priest knew that, from behind his tinted glasses the monster watched her every move. As the car was pulling away, he turned away, ready to return to his home, but stopped. A gun shot rang out, catching his attention.
From the side of the car, a black mist appeared, racing towards him. It slowly solidified as it neared him. She was bleeding, the bullet he’d heard had grazed her temple; her blue blood was staining the ground. She stopped before him, a terrified and hurt expression on her face as she spoke, “Nein, I don’t want to leave. Ich liebe dich, Father Anderson.”
With a soft hand, he cupped her cheek, “Love ye tae, stupid girl.”
♠ ♠ ♠
If you don't know the characters, Anderson's speech might have been confusing. He has an Irish/Scottish accent and I attempted to show that. Also the girl in the story is german and at the end she is saying, "No, I don't want to leave. I love you, Father Anderson."