Work Text
All by my hand; I'm fleshing out the pieces, the many pieces, to this great puzzle. I, its creator, its master, can control everything from behind the scenes. I write the lines, I type the script, I pull the strings from behind the curtain. Only I have all the answers. Only I can make this happen.But not alone. I need others. I need supporters, and I need a face. A face, and a persona to represent this greater plan of mine.I need a face.. and as Nashton stands in the cramped bathroom, I stare at the hazy reflection in the dirtied glass. I wince. It almost hurts to look at. This face - my face - it won't be sufficient. I pinch and claw at the skin, pulling and moulding it in a futile attempt to reform its shape. The cheeks are too soft and rosy, the eyes far too glossy, the reflection staring back through those same thick-rimmed prescription glasses. The image wears the same look of terror, its curled lips sitting oddly among the other features as we examined each other through the glass barrier.It was wrong, all wrong - This face certainly wouldn't suffice. Too rounded, too out of place, almost uncanny. I needed another if this was to work. A face with rough, sharp edges; something that will instil true fear in all that looked upon it. And that face needed a voice, one that was lower and could be raised louder than my vocal cords could ever dream of. A voice that made others shrink back in fear upon hearing it, but never cease to listen. They must never look away. They must hear us, they must listen to our voices and they must hear the truth! The truth behind all of this corruption, this crime and this city as a whole. Someone has to show them. Someone has to expose it to the world, show them the real truth. That someone is not Edward Nashton.Certainly not.Most definitely not. So I lift something out of its paper bag, carefully but certainly wrapping my fingers around its mass and lifting it towards the light. And I stare, it sits in my hands and I rub my pads of my fingers across the leather of its surface, against every stitch and seam. They glide across it effortlessly, and I can't help but smile to myself in the darkness. It was perfect, almost too good to be true. I eagerly wrap the cling film over my head and slip the mask over my face. I begin to do up the straps across its side and it's like it was meant to be. Like all of that planning.. all of that drawing.. was something more than mere fantasy. I'm overpowered with an instantaneous feeling of authority. My hands shake, but not with fear. As I once again stare at the reflection in the dirtied glass. But this time, I'm not filled with shame, or disgust, or useless dysphoria. I can feel something stir in the pit of my stomach, it bubbles up and I choke out strained laughter. I laugh until I 'm wheezing and my throat burns raw. My eyelids were outstretched, wide open, glossy eyes staring.Staring at the man in the mirror, who looked back through those same thick-rimmed prescription glasses. I can't help but smile through the material at my reflection,The plan, it's finally coming to fruition.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Shhh,
Just breathe.
Breathe, Edward.
And focus.
Focus on the numbers.
Breathe in,
Breathe out.
Breathe in..
And breathe out.
You're almost there.
I find myself frequenting this mindset more and more as time passes, I can barely stand it here anymore.The fluorescent blue lights are unbearable; their buzz burns holes into my skull as I feel the sound burrow into the depths of my mind, unravelling me.The sterile space is just too much, the smell of newly pressed papers and office carpet is not as comforting as it once was.I count and I count and I work my way through the load piled upon my desk. There is no end; I hadn't gotten a break since I started in this godforsaken place and I'm convinced it'll never stop.
Just breathe, Edward.
Only a little while longer.
My body heaps uncomfortably in the office chair, its tall frame hunched awkwardly over the workspace.My head meekly hangs over my shoulders, its face scrunched into an expression of sheer disdain.
It's okay, Edward.
It'll all be over soon.
My eyes burn, I won't be able to stand this much longer. I'm surrounded by people I despise, my hatred burns deep in my skin, beneath the tissue the boiling never ceases. My face feels to fleshy and I'm starting to sweat, it mustn't be long before I join the hogs as they bathe in filth, all around me. They chatter and they squeal and I can't escape them, I've been trapped here for so long already.
Just focus on the numbers, Edward.
Breathe in..
I have to get out of here, I can't stand this anymore. I can feel how my clothes limply hang off of my frame, how every woven stitch and seam brushes against my skin with each subtle movement. The slightest touch burns like hot iron, I recoil into myself and seemingly shrivel up like scorched meat. The hands that are my own now feel red and raw, I can't bring myself to grasp the pen any longer. I feel ugly, disgusting, insufferable.
..Breathe out.
The grandfather clock chimes out 6 o'clock and I feel my body go limp in my seat. I quickly scramble to gather all of my belongings and make a start for the door, eagerly dashing towards the escape I'd been long awaiting: out through the front office and into the pouring rain.
You made it, Edward.
You're free.
Sweet release, may the water take me tonight. Let it wash away the searing pain that plagues my being, let it soak into my body and extinguish the flames that simmer deep within. The rain cleansed me from every waking ache and ill -- The sound of the pattering droplets on the street brings a new sense of comfort I'd never felt before.
Thank God for the rain which has helped wash away all the horrors of this city.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I step through the tin cartridge doors, still soaking wet from the downpour, still grinning. A man at the other end of the cart chuckles to himself at the sight of me, another woman simply stares in confusion, another in anguish. I stare back as the smile fades from my face. There they sit, there they laugh, and they stare : they do not understand me, I am not the mouth for these ears. They are undeserving of my words, they are the scum of this city. They all preach and they pray and they tell all those filthy little lies, they look to people like me and they laugh, but I know : there is ice in their laughter. All these people, they do not understand me. They will never hope to understand me.
They are weak, I am great.
They are pathetic, I am strong.
They are.. Irrelevant.
And I am inevitable. They stand no chance..
What are they compared to me?
Non-existent.. Pathetic..
I will prevail. Even after death, they will shake and they will cry at the very thought of my being. They will weep for generations to come and I will laugh down at them and rejoice in my greatness. My human existence is temporary, but I am so much more than that. I am a vessel, I am the holy vessel that brings down divine retribution upon the evils of this city. As time goes on and their weak minds and weak hearts wither and rot, my heart will stay strong, my mind stays great, and my bond with the light stays unbreakable..
I will purge this city of all it's ills, it must burn to make way for the new. They are nothing compared to me. Them and their filthy.. disgusting leaders and their corrupt system..
I say herdsmen, but they call themselves the good and the just.
I say herdsmen, but they call themselves the faithful of the true faith.
Much about these good people moves me to disgust. Simply thinking of them puts a bad taste in my mouth, I swirl it around and rub my tongue along my teeth: I grimace. Looking again through the carriage, brows furrowed with a distasteful gaze, I can see he's no longer laughing.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I slip through the streets and dip into alleys, cloaked by the incessant downpour as what once was a weakness is now my greatest strength. I am invisible,But a long hiss, masked by the gush of water warns me.. I am not the only one hiding in the dark. I am not alone in my superpower. I look to the mass of flesh and matted fur before me, A mere three pounds of bone, of fur, of tail. I see the fear in their eyes as they growl and they hiss and they bear their teeth,Conditioned to hate the new, the unfamiliar.It's the only way to survive in this city. And as we meet eye to bloodshot eye, I see myself. I see myself as they cede, giving themselves to the cold once more. I see myself as they stifle a gargled cry,Surrendering to the harsh, wet stone. It is all they'll ever know. This is no new sight to me. Yet a part of me urges to help them, To reach out a loving hand, to scoop up the sopping mess into my arms. But I too, shudder. Heave out sharp breaths, scamper through the city.I am no messiah. I am no angel, clad in white and gold. My apartment is no different to the cobble they call home, and I have nothing to offer them. False hope only leads to more misery. He is not quite dead, but if this dog were alive he would be drowning,Thrashing and gasping in the black pool, begging for breath. Begging for another chance. But as it is, the water is simply stroking his fur.There is no escaping the heaviness, the darkness that rose up under him, as though he lay helpless in a great sucking pool.There is only one way to end suffering like this. And so I lift up my boot in an act of love, and let him glimpse the face of God before plunging my heel into his skull. It shatters like porcelain with a terrible, cracking sound as I grind it into the stone. It spasms and twitches under the pressure as I bring my heel down again.And again.And again. Bone is grit and flesh is mince under my heel.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
..And suddenly I'm home, and I'm panting, my hair stuck to my forehead as I heaved out heavy breaths against the door. I could still feel the rain, stirring up a quiver that clawed its way up from my feet to my jaw. I could almost smell it, barely able to grasp my keys as my hands shook, my knuckles bleached white from the cold - numbed and drained of all colour, all life. And so I patter over to the small bathroom, a dark trail drawn by my heels as I switch on a small lamp by the door. it's only enough to illuminate the barest of details as I plunged myself into the blackness. It's cramped, it's dark, it smells of bleach. The mirror is blacked out and hidden. The main light is blown and unusable. I take off my glasses, shifting my remaining vision to haze as I peel off the layers of cloth like an onion; the soaked material hits the ceramic floor with a wet, sloppy sound. Something I'll have to deal with later. I shift my mind as I turn on the tap. This water is scolding, enough to make me bite my tongue as it hammers down onto my back, I gasp for air, heaving in steam as the humidity fills my lungs. I scrub and I scrub until my pale skin flashes red in warning, scratching at my arms, my neck, my torso - the smell of harsh chemicals filling my nose as I rake at the raw skin. I scrub, but I'm never clean. Of course, I never feel clean. Foolish of me to think I could ever get rid of the grime.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
I run my fingers over the top of my hand, a nervous gesture, as I feel over the uneven skin; scars bubbled over the tissue, a mixture of textures for my curious fingers to explore, map out, memorise. I feel over every line, crack and crevice, the memory almost as lucid as that night months ago. I remember it so vividly, the smell of stock and burning meat as I plunged my hand downwards, watching the skin scorch raw as I lifted it from the boiling pot, every nerve ending on fire.I flex my fingers, the skin on the underside pulling tight as I extend them. It's a strange sensation, but one I've grown a liking for. A reminder of the feeble flesh I was constrained to: this is all I am, but it is not all I could be. I am a body, but I am an instrument; I will become a threshold to cleanse this city..And yet, I feel like I could get infected. Like I need to purge. Like I wish I could unsew myself, take out what this city put in me and sew myself back up anew. I wish I could exorcise the poison deep rooted within me, planted many, many years ago from the heart of this city. I wish I could plummet into liquid fire, baptize, capsize my whole being, and arise from the bubbling pool as a whole new being.And I will shine down into the gutters and flush out the filth that has resided for so, so long; I will expose the rats, and watch them drown, slick in their own grime as their little feet flail in the air..