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My head hurts.

It hurts in so many ways at once. All at once, it is a dull ache, an odd, itching irritated pain, a stinging pain, a raw bleeding pain, a numb pain, a sharp pain pounding with the erratic beat of my heart. My forehead, my ears, my jaw, my eyes, they all hurt.

For a moment, I am afraid that I am blind. Then I realize that my eyes are closed. For now, at least, I refrain from opening them, fearing what I might see.

I start to get up from the ground with painstaking lethargy, panting. The air, dry and cold, scrapes against my throat. I propped myself up with my arms, and then, finally, I rest for a moment. I am nearly overcome by vertigo.

Where am I?

The thought echoes in my head and spirals in my head, disquieting in both it’s intensity and it’s utter futility.

Where was I last?

I don’t remember. Wait, I do. Sort of. I was at the orphanage. It was night. Wednesday. 10:00 PM. I was awake, plagued by insomnia, and I was thinking about my mother. I was trying to remember her, remember how beautiful she was. I know she was beautiful, but I can’t remember what she looked like. I remember that she had… strange eyes, and dark hair… I can’t recall the color of those eyes, but her hair was black… no, deep red. Auburn. Her lips were a soft, matte pink, her skin was white. No… it was only white after…

Her clothes were… casual, in some sense. Obviously, she wore all the ceremonial Romanji marks: the crystal dagger necklace, the seven silver bangles on the left hand, the seven copper bangles on the right, the diamond gem under her right eye, the blood red gem under her left, and, of course, the black leather gloves on her hands. But her shirts were always loose and comfortable, and her pants (usually denim jeans) were often stained with paint. I never remember seeing her wear shoes in my life.

Yes, yes, her eyes… how could I have forgotten?

Her eyes were the deep black of the ocean at night, dark and haunting. But around the pupil of her left eye is a crimson aura, and around her right pupil is a ring of silvery white. It has been this way with the Romanji for centuries, and it is so with me, and with Aeraruchotsu, if he should still live.

I had lay in my cot, barely noticing my own discomfort, and then, suddenly, I was blinded with rage. What had happened?

Ah, yes. The alarm.

The fire alarm went off, and instead of shock and fear, I was filled with furor. In the moment that the alarm began to ring, I felt as if I could kill someone without regret or remorse. I was consumed by a murderous rage at something I couldn’t understand.

I just wanted to be left alone.

It passed quickly, and I, swearing bitterly, rolled out of bed, adrenaline rushing suddenly. Some others were giggling nervously, having been shocked out of slumber, other were groggily falling out of their beds and practically crawling towards the door. I feel like killing them all, though they have done nothing to me. Some are my friends, even, but still, I want to strangle them. I hate them with a passion I have not felt in years, and I can’t understand why. What the hell is wrong with me?

I glare at them, and they are terrified. I feel as if I am boasting as I say this, but I know I am not. They have become used to my looks by now, but secretly, they know that people should not be like me. I know how disturbing my eyes look, and I use it, cruel as it is.

I walk out the door, my feet silently pressing against the carpet. One of the younger Sisters gives me a concerned look. My expression softens as she frowns slightly at my glare; she's a kind girl, and she's good to me, even if she doesn't really understand me.

She smiles briefly, and turns on her heel, escorting us down the stairs. The other nuns look distracted and agitated. This worries me somewhat, because it causes me to realize that even though I am not tired, this cannot possibly be a drill.

From that point on, things get blurry. Moments in the sequence of events are cut out, and the story, as I replay it, skips around. From here I can remember being on the second floor, and then in the kitchen (our rooms are on the fourth floor. The orphanage is large enough to hold more children than it ever actually will.), and then walking around the third floor, in that order. But yes, the kitchen. Dully, I remember blood and flesh and meat, and bodies. Then I remeber the second floor again (this time, though, I was wandering in a shocked daze, covered in blood), and then the third floor, and probably the fourth (yes, the fourth, I remeber walking like a dead man, slow and stiff), and then down the stairs again, and finally, finally, outside, in the moonlight.

I also remember being nearly run over by a car, and then offered a ride from a woman (the woman who nearly hit me?).

The rest of what I remember was probably a dream, because I don't think the woman really kissed me. Besides, my lips were too bloody, and she probably would have been worried about AIDS, or about the taste, or about whatever people in the real world worry about.

She had beautiful eyes, eyes that I could see myself in. Everytime she looked at me with those eyes, peering inside of me with a mix of boredom and morbid curiosity, I felt as if I was dying. She terrified me more than anything, because somewhere, inside me, I think I knew that she was dead, and she had been dead for a long, long time.

Blindly I check myself for injuries, feeling my skin for deep cuts and scrapes, finding many. As my fingers slide across my skin, pain shoots through my veins as I touch large bruises. Whimpering softly, I kiss the gashes on my arm, suddenly terrified and in need of comfort. I taste the blood on my lips, and feel the grooves of the cuts beneath my lips.

Fingernails.

I shudder. Yeah, they were long, weren't they. Like knives, stabbing into me and dragging along my skin, and I couldn't even fight because I was drowning. The smell of blood, my own and maybe not only my own, makes me ill.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I think I must have been there forever, just crying. Everything is turning to s**t.

* * *

Click. Click. Click.

It was a long time before I woke up again. A very long time, I think. The atmosphere had changed considerably; it was much colder, and the blood had now dried completely, and was coming off in dry clumps and covering the floor with blood-dust. Ugh.

For a moment, I almost thought that I would start crying again, it was so horrible. I thought I might start crying again and, just like before, never, never stop. I thought I might be stuck in an endless cycle of crying, and sleeping, and crying.

Click. Click. Click.

It was a nice thought, but no. In the end, nobody really cares about anybody else. When we realize this, realize how bad we are, that's when the tears start flowing like waterfalls. It's not the death, it's the fact that it has done nothing, and you feel nothing.

I groaned and sat up, leaning against the cold steel wall. Finally, I opened my eyes.

Click. Click. Click.

Yes, yes, of course. Of course, I was back at the orphanage. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Thank you. I'm a little disoriented right now, it looks like somebody turned up the brightness-contrast, the place looks darker and sketchier, and yes, it looks like the walls are streaked with blood. It's fine, though. I'm just a little tired.

Just a little tired.

Click. Click. Click.

Ok, enough. What the ******** is that?

Click.

I turn around, and oh my god, oh my ******** god, that woman is dead, isn't she. Jesus ******** christ. It's a dead woman. Jesus god almighty, she's ********-

God!

God, I didn't even - I didn't even know I could move that fast. Jesus ******** Christ, jesus, I - ********, did my nails grow? ********, god, when did this... when did this happen? Jesus, why the [********] is this happening?

I scream, an unearthly wail escaping me. Groaning I clawed at my own nails, trying to get the flesh out from under them - Oh, that's disgusting. Oh, man, she's - she's bleeding ******** everywhere.

And then...

Fury.

How dare you. How dare you, how dare you. Who the ******** do you think you are, coming after me, as if I'll just sit and take it. Attack me and I'll rip your heart out and eat you alive, how dare you. Bloody thing, How dare you?

I slash at her madly, screaming in rage and despair. How dare you? How dare you try to stop me, stop me, Set Romanji.

After all I've been through tonight, you come after me and try to kill me, or whatever the ******** you wanted, as if I would just let you. ******** you, woman, because I'm not dead yet. Not ******** yet.

I let out a feral roar of rage, seething with anger. You want to play this game with me, I'll play.

Everything around me was swirling into a crescendo of fire and anger and blood, and for one second, I felt good. Really good.

And then...

It was...

Strange.

It's strange, how delicate a human body can be. We are creatures who have dominated the planet and have become more advanced than any creature before us, and in less time. But if you're strong enough, it's an easy matter to draw back your hand and shape it like a knife, aim and fire it towards the heart and crush the ribcage with a wet snap. Like a sapling, snapped off a tree. SNAP.

I frowned, swallowing hard. I...

I...

Click. Click. Click.

Click.

Click.

* * *