Breathing in, I relaxed on the bench. The whistle of the train sounded off in the distance. Exhaling, footsteps behind me caught my attention.
"You motherfucker," I said.
The asshole sat next to me. He crossed his ankles and held his hands in his lap. He stared at the railroad track in front of us as well. I sighed, an uncomfortably comfortable atmosphere dropped on top of us.
"That's kind of rude," he replied.
"You know what else is rude? Killing my parents, Tom," I retort.
"Why, no need to give me all the credits," he bashfully responded.
Rolling my eyes, I continued to keep my gaze straightforward. His presence next to me seemed superficial. Like he wasn't real and technically he isn't. He's an image that he communicates through inside my brain. He's not real but he's a pathway to my uttermost power.
"You're close to death, Cry Phoenix. Ease the struggles and die. Take your last breath and know your power will be put to good use," he urged.
"The evil that accompanies you and the essence of malice that encounters your very being is never associated with 'good use'," I mock.
"Don't worry... when you're writhing on the grass- struggling to catch a glimpse of the sky once more, I will be depleting you of your power...
And all your pain."
My breath caught in my throat and the temptation of the offer clawed to my thoughts. To give up.. To let the misery of my own life be relieved. To have the heavy burden of Crystallia Phoenix lifted from the ones I love.
His fingers tapped on the bench rhythmically. The uneven nail clicking unusually loudly in my mind. The echo sent shivers down my spine and I recoiled at the thought of how much influence he has over me.
"Why do you need it? What has hurt you so badly that you need it? What broke you?" I questioned, almost with sympathy.
"Immortality is the ideal. I strive to live forever as the greatest," he answered, a tinge of sadness dripping from his tone.
I huffed, the sound of the train coming closer. Only a couple minutes now will the vision of my train station and him vanish.
He dropped his finger to the bench and broke the rhythm. He scratched at the white wood and stared blankly ahead of him.
What a pitiful man.
"You will never know love, happiness, nor the hatred that bubbles from heartbreak," I spat.
He chuckled humorlessly, a deep and sadistic laugh. The wind picked up and another minute passed. The clock ticked and my anxiety rose.
"So much rage in your tone.. I don't need it. To have others submit to me and quake in fear at the thought of how I will kill them is the only pleasure I need," he chortled.
"I hope you feel like dying at the amount of pain you take from me. Endure the years of constant self loathing and misery you put me through," I angrily said.
He fuels my anger. My pure emotion of rage that emits and I hope he knows the slightest of my own emotions. He's here... he's been engrained into my mind for almost 16 years. He must be connected and he must have a feel of what inhumanity inflicted upon me.
"Now.. I did not encourage the self loathing. You did. You put yourself in a depressive state that you can never climb out of ever again. You are the one who made you think of yourself like that. Do not blame me," he defended.
I scoffed, completely in disbelief. He believes that my life is like this because of me? Oh to be the one that killed my parents. Oh to mock a little girl for believing that this man had everything to do with how burdensome my life has been.
His finger stopped moving. A puddle of blood grew to the side of my feet. Red droplets trickled from his finger and enormous amounts of blood fell to the ground.
The stark crimson on white sickened me and I cringed at how his blood encircled my feet.
The large puddle grew more and more until it dripped down into the railroad tracks. He snickered and watched as blood covered the white like paint on a canvas.
"You know how I think, how I feel, and how I act. You experienced the same pain I have. You are apart of me," I stated.
"You're mad.. I would never be apart of you," he argued.
"This figment of you in my mind, this train station.. you've been here for almost 16 years. No way would this be a spell. You gave me a piece of you and now- now you have me too," I explained.
"So bloody mad, I tell you," he scolded.
"Don't act like you don't know. I may not know much, but this is something I do know. When my spell breaks- when I die, you're going to suffer physically too," I said.
He remained silent. His stream of blood carried down the train tracks and I grew accustomed to the color. The sick part of me developed a like for the deep red.
A part of me wanted to bask in the river of blood that continued to trickle from his cut finger.
Some disgusting part of me wanted to tread in the blood.. to bathe.
As if I would be reborn. As if my body would regenerate and I would rise from the red, a divine being.
"Somewhere- wherever you are- you're going to scream in pain and it'll hurt. It'll hurt so goddamn bad that you wish you never planted this train station in me," I threatened.
Our polite postures remained as we stared at the train tracks. The overflowing train tracks. Never stirring, never turning our heads to each other.
The train is seconds away.
It'll come by soon and blood will splash.
"And when you die, you'll carry it into your afterlife. Remember the pain I give to you. From there, the devil will judge your sins.
You will never be able to repent."
The train whistle screamed in my ears and the familiar blur came. Blood splashed onto my body and the train roared on its tracks.
-lana
YOU ARE READING
Shut Up, Padfoot!
Fanfiction"Cry! Take that whip cream out of your mouth this instant!" The loud and fake obnoxious voice echoes across the Gryffindor table. The intended girl, Cry, laughs and yells back, "Shut up, Padfoot!" - She frowned. Her dress dampened with water and her...
