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fictionalized2011-12-29 04:18 pm
acperience) wrote in fictionalized2011-12-29 04:18 pm
fanfic; filth
Title: Filth
Series: The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Character(s): Tiir
Warnings: Violence, death
Summary: It’s always someone's life or his own—a snippet of the life of a monster who learned not to care.
Note: The bit about his father is heavily inspired by this. Original post here.
—
Filth
—
She’s nice, Tiir decides, because when you’re seven years old, you don’t have very complex categories of people. And to be honest, he really only has two: nice and not nice.
Granted, the line between them, for him, is very, very fine.
He doesn’t know her name, but that’s fine with him. He doesn’t need to know, when in the end, she’ll disappear like everyone else. Whether because it’s a large town (larger than the village he was born, in at least) and they simply never cross paths again or because of something else, he’s not sure of. It doesn’t matter, either way.
(It hurts when it’s ‘something else’, but it’s okay anyway. He’s mostly used to it by now—)
“Here, I brought you some food,” she says with a smile, handing some bread to him. He doesn’t think that she, as a commoner, can honestly afford to give him something like this, but at least she can afford it more than him.
‘Street rat’, they call him sometimes. Not very often, but every now and then he gets a disdainful look from someone passing by.
He’s been called worse.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. He’s not comfortable with raising his voice; talking normally. Because he isn’t normal, wasn’t ever and never will be—
(Sometimes he forgets what his voice even sounds like, since he doesn’t use it much. There aren’t many people who even talk to him, after all. He’d say that he’s lonely, except he was never really anything but alone to begin with, so he doesn’t entirely understand what it means to be ‘lonely’.)
She still smiles at him though, apparently unperturbed by his quietness. After handing him the bread, she bends down a bit to be closer to eye level with him, as he’s sitting on the alley ground. His clothes have been dirty for a long time, caked with dust and blood, so it hardly bothers him that he’s getting them even dirtier.
She’s never asked about the blood. Either she miraculously hasn’t noticed or she’s made the wrong assumptions. That he’s a victim. That someone attacked him and that’s his own blood on his clothes.
It’s not completely wrong, but he knows that it’s not right either. People have hurt him, but he’s not afraid to hurt them back—and he has. That’s why he’s still alive and they’re not.
If she hurts him, just like everyone else, then he’ll kill her too.
“Hey, are you okay?” Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks, realizing that he’s been staring at the ground since he accepted the bread. He looks away.
“Yes,” he says. No, not really, and not ever. There’s no point in telling her that though, when she can’t do a single thing about it.
———
He used to think that he was happy at times. When his father stopped yelling at him, making him wonder who was really the monster here, and when he smiled at Tiir, then things were okay. Truth be told, he’s never believed that he could get along with others—not with the way they acted around him—but when his father is kind to him like this, then he wonders if maybe he’s wrong.
Ultimately, though, there’s a reason why he doesn’t think that anymore.
Because ultimately, he realizes, the only kind of love they had was the most false kind there is.
———
Tiir finds it easy to blank out, lost in his thoughts and overwhelming feeling of something. Despair, maybe. Whatever it is, it isn’t happiness.
And it’s times like these, when a voice that’s not quite his own echoes through his head, overloading his mind with a haze.
(Devourconsumeneedto—)
But shouting always alerts him, in case it’s directed towards him. When that happens, he’s not usually in danger—most people are too afraid to approach him, and instead insult him from a distance. Even then, he’s on guard, because he knows that one wrong move will cost him his life.
He’s not the one being yelled at, though. When he focuses on reality again, he realizes that there’s a man, shouting at the girl. He resembles her—her father, he understands. However, even though he’s not the recipient of those words, loud and harsh, a wary sort of fear rises in Tiir.
He’s telling her not to associate with him. He’s a dirty street kid, he might be carrying an illness—
He’s wrong, though. Tiir’s never been sick for as long as he can remember. Still, he doesn’t bother to correct the man, as there isn’t a point. Even aside from that, he’s someone to be avoided. That much, he knows.
People can come up with as many reasons as they like, but it all comes down to one fact: he’s not meant to belong with others.
The girl places her hand on Tiir’s shoulder, causing him to look up at her in surprise. She’s staring at her father, though, her expression defiant.
She wants to stay with him, he realizes—and then he thinks of how foolish that is.
And almost immediately, he proves it.
He doesn’t really know exactly what happened, but suddenly, the girl’s father is shoving him away. He’s still sitting, so he doesn’t fall, instead throwing out his arm to keep himself up.
However, regardless of whether or not he’s hurt from it, there’s only one thing that he’s aware of right now: he’s being threatened.
Without hesitating, he grabs the man’s arm. His hand is too small to fully wrap his fingers around the wrist, so his grip isn’t as strong as it could be—but that would only be a problem if he were normal.
But he isn’t normal.
He’s a monster.
And so, with strength far greater than a child should ever have, he rips the man’s arm off.
———
The first person he truly and consciously kills is his father.
The killing itself is quick. Tiir barely even registers what’s going on by the time it’s done, as he stands covered in blood, tears running down his face.
He remembers his father’s hand around his throat.
He remembers a voice that existed and yet didn’t, commanding him to devour him. To live—
It was his father’s life or his own, and he chose the latter.
(In the end, he figures that his father never really loved him, if he tried to kill him, and that he never really loved his father, if he did kill him.)
———
And he keeps on killing after that, until he doesn’t even notice anymore that he was soaked in blood.
He cries, when he slaughters his village. He keeps on crying, but he doesn’t stop. He thought that the pain—of being hated, of being called a monster—had dulled over time, but it’s returned, sharper than it ever was before.
(But this time, he’s not going to sit and wait for it to dull again, because he’s allowed to fight back.)
———
It’s gotten easier now.
That’s why he doesn’t even cry anymore, even as he’s covered in blood again. That’s why he feels nothing, even as he begins to devour the arm. The man merely stares in shock and horror, before he starts to cry out in pain.
People have gathered by now, staring either at the man or at Tiir. He doesn’t pay attention to them, as he can already guess the expressions on their faces, the words spilling from their mouths.
(Abomination. Demon. And of course—)
Instead, the only person he looks at is the girl, whose eyes are wide as she backs away.
“M-Monster…” This time, it’s her turn to speak softly, fear clouding her voice.
(—that.)
She hates him.
Of course she does. She’s human, after all.
That means that she’s an enemy.
He finishes feeding. With his hand free again, he pierces through the man’s chest. More blood splatters onto him, but he barely notices. He withdraws his hand, allowing the man to fall back, the life leaving his eyes.
The girl screams.
Tiir wonders if he should feel bad.
Ah, well.
If she’s an enemy, then that means that she’s a threat too.
In one, fluid motion, he turns to face her. She’s too busy sobbing, crying for her father over and over again to look at him. For a moment, he pauses, wondering how he should end her life.
But even though she’s an enemy now, she was kind to him, even if not to him, as the ‘monster’ that he is. So, he decides, he’ll give her a quick death.
It only takes a second, before her head is on the ground. Even then, though, it won’t be as dirty as his clothes. It won’t be as filthy as he is.
People are screaming now, as they flee the scene. As they flee from him, the monster—but he doesn’t care. Instead, he looks up at the sky, his expression hollow.
He killed again.
Maybe he does feel bad. He’s not sure.
But there’s one thing he knows, and it’s a rule he’ll carry to his death.
(It was his father’s life or his own. It’s their lives or his own. It’s always someone’s life or his own. That’s what it means to survive.)
Series: The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Character(s): Tiir
Warnings: Violence, death
Summary: It’s always someone's life or his own—a snippet of the life of a monster who learned not to care.
Note: The bit about his father is heavily inspired by this. Original post here.
She’s nice, Tiir decides, because when you’re seven years old, you don’t have very complex categories of people. And to be honest, he really only has two: nice and not nice.
Granted, the line between them, for him, is very, very fine.
He doesn’t know her name, but that’s fine with him. He doesn’t need to know, when in the end, she’ll disappear like everyone else. Whether because it’s a large town (larger than the village he was born, in at least) and they simply never cross paths again or because of something else, he’s not sure of. It doesn’t matter, either way.
(It hurts when it’s ‘something else’, but it’s okay anyway. He’s mostly used to it by now—)
“Here, I brought you some food,” she says with a smile, handing some bread to him. He doesn’t think that she, as a commoner, can honestly afford to give him something like this, but at least she can afford it more than him.
‘Street rat’, they call him sometimes. Not very often, but every now and then he gets a disdainful look from someone passing by.
He’s been called worse.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. He’s not comfortable with raising his voice; talking normally. Because he isn’t normal, wasn’t ever and never will be—
(Sometimes he forgets what his voice even sounds like, since he doesn’t use it much. There aren’t many people who even talk to him, after all. He’d say that he’s lonely, except he was never really anything but alone to begin with, so he doesn’t entirely understand what it means to be ‘lonely’.)
She still smiles at him though, apparently unperturbed by his quietness. After handing him the bread, she bends down a bit to be closer to eye level with him, as he’s sitting on the alley ground. His clothes have been dirty for a long time, caked with dust and blood, so it hardly bothers him that he’s getting them even dirtier.
She’s never asked about the blood. Either she miraculously hasn’t noticed or she’s made the wrong assumptions. That he’s a victim. That someone attacked him and that’s his own blood on his clothes.
It’s not completely wrong, but he knows that it’s not right either. People have hurt him, but he’s not afraid to hurt them back—and he has. That’s why he’s still alive and they’re not.
If she hurts him, just like everyone else, then he’ll kill her too.
“Hey, are you okay?” Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks, realizing that he’s been staring at the ground since he accepted the bread. He looks away.
“Yes,” he says. No, not really, and not ever. There’s no point in telling her that though, when she can’t do a single thing about it.
He used to think that he was happy at times. When his father stopped yelling at him, making him wonder who was really the monster here, and when he smiled at Tiir, then things were okay. Truth be told, he’s never believed that he could get along with others—not with the way they acted around him—but when his father is kind to him like this, then he wonders if maybe he’s wrong.
Ultimately, though, there’s a reason why he doesn’t think that anymore.
Because ultimately, he realizes, the only kind of love they had was the most false kind there is.
Tiir finds it easy to blank out, lost in his thoughts and overwhelming feeling of something. Despair, maybe. Whatever it is, it isn’t happiness.
And it’s times like these, when a voice that’s not quite his own echoes through his head, overloading his mind with a haze.
(Devourconsumeneedto—)
But shouting always alerts him, in case it’s directed towards him. When that happens, he’s not usually in danger—most people are too afraid to approach him, and instead insult him from a distance. Even then, he’s on guard, because he knows that one wrong move will cost him his life.
He’s not the one being yelled at, though. When he focuses on reality again, he realizes that there’s a man, shouting at the girl. He resembles her—her father, he understands. However, even though he’s not the recipient of those words, loud and harsh, a wary sort of fear rises in Tiir.
He’s telling her not to associate with him. He’s a dirty street kid, he might be carrying an illness—
He’s wrong, though. Tiir’s never been sick for as long as he can remember. Still, he doesn’t bother to correct the man, as there isn’t a point. Even aside from that, he’s someone to be avoided. That much, he knows.
People can come up with as many reasons as they like, but it all comes down to one fact: he’s not meant to belong with others.
The girl places her hand on Tiir’s shoulder, causing him to look up at her in surprise. She’s staring at her father, though, her expression defiant.
She wants to stay with him, he realizes—and then he thinks of how foolish that is.
And almost immediately, he proves it.
He doesn’t really know exactly what happened, but suddenly, the girl’s father is shoving him away. He’s still sitting, so he doesn’t fall, instead throwing out his arm to keep himself up.
However, regardless of whether or not he’s hurt from it, there’s only one thing that he’s aware of right now: he’s being threatened.
Without hesitating, he grabs the man’s arm. His hand is too small to fully wrap his fingers around the wrist, so his grip isn’t as strong as it could be—but that would only be a problem if he were normal.
But he isn’t normal.
He’s a monster.
And so, with strength far greater than a child should ever have, he rips the man’s arm off.
The first person he truly and consciously kills is his father.
The killing itself is quick. Tiir barely even registers what’s going on by the time it’s done, as he stands covered in blood, tears running down his face.
He remembers his father’s hand around his throat.
He remembers a voice that existed and yet didn’t, commanding him to devour him. To live—
It was his father’s life or his own, and he chose the latter.
(In the end, he figures that his father never really loved him, if he tried to kill him, and that he never really loved his father, if he did kill him.)
And he keeps on killing after that, until he doesn’t even notice anymore that he was soaked in blood.
He cries, when he slaughters his village. He keeps on crying, but he doesn’t stop. He thought that the pain—of being hated, of being called a monster—had dulled over time, but it’s returned, sharper than it ever was before.
(But this time, he’s not going to sit and wait for it to dull again, because he’s allowed to fight back.)
It’s gotten easier now.
That’s why he doesn’t even cry anymore, even as he’s covered in blood again. That’s why he feels nothing, even as he begins to devour the arm. The man merely stares in shock and horror, before he starts to cry out in pain.
People have gathered by now, staring either at the man or at Tiir. He doesn’t pay attention to them, as he can already guess the expressions on their faces, the words spilling from their mouths.
(Abomination. Demon. And of course—)
Instead, the only person he looks at is the girl, whose eyes are wide as she backs away.
“M-Monster…” This time, it’s her turn to speak softly, fear clouding her voice.
(—that.)
She hates him.
Of course she does. She’s human, after all.
That means that she’s an enemy.
He finishes feeding. With his hand free again, he pierces through the man’s chest. More blood splatters onto him, but he barely notices. He withdraws his hand, allowing the man to fall back, the life leaving his eyes.
The girl screams.
Tiir wonders if he should feel bad.
Ah, well.
If she’s an enemy, then that means that she’s a threat too.
In one, fluid motion, he turns to face her. She’s too busy sobbing, crying for her father over and over again to look at him. For a moment, he pauses, wondering how he should end her life.
But even though she’s an enemy now, she was kind to him, even if not to him, as the ‘monster’ that he is. So, he decides, he’ll give her a quick death.
It only takes a second, before her head is on the ground. Even then, though, it won’t be as dirty as his clothes. It won’t be as filthy as he is.
People are screaming now, as they flee the scene. As they flee from him, the monster—but he doesn’t care. Instead, he looks up at the sky, his expression hollow.
He killed again.
Maybe he does feel bad. He’s not sure.
But there’s one thing he knows, and it’s a rule he’ll carry to his death.
(It was his father’s life or his own. It’s their lives or his own. It’s always someone’s life or his own. That’s what it means to survive.)
(... But if possible, he’d like to survive in a world of more than just himself—)