(no subject)
Who: Asano Rin cutest_avenger
What: Nightmare time!
When: Late last... early morning-night.
Where: Rin's room!
Rating: M; references to rape (not Rin's! and vague).
ºIt begins in the dark, closed tight around her body like a sweaty fist. Helpless, enclosing, muffling, crushed against the wall, sight obscured and completely unable to move; the only thing there is is sound. At first it was coherent, words and sentences, pleas uttered and rejected - "no, not in front of my daughter, please!" - that familiar, much-loved voice and the last words she heard it utter. But begging comes to nothing in the long run and only your own strength matters and in the end what you're left with is this, this room reeking of blood and you helpless and the grunts of men and the more muffled noises of a woman (it's hard to really scream when a man has practically half of his hand forced into your mouth).
It's a conundrum, isn't it? One where you want to fight, one where you should fight, but the man who is blocking you from seeing all of this in its entirety, maybe he was actually right. "This transcends your sanity". But not seeing doesn't mean not hearing; it only means that what you're seeing is left for your imagination to make up, red blood spirals painted over your mother's face and the tops of her breasts, and eventually...
Eventually, "someone come and make them stop!" has turned into "please, just let this now be over." Such weakness, there's only so long a little girl can struggle before she stops fighting and clawing and choking on her own snot and just gives up to that encroaching dark a little, and just listens. Grunts and choked whimpers, the hisses of breath, footsteps moving and "I can't do anything. What could I possibly have done?"
There was nothing, was there? Nothing besides trying to attack, dying like a dutiful daughter and following her parents to heaven...
It doesn't seem like there will ever be light in this room again. When that crushing weight lets her drop, as eventually it does, and there's so little to see, or at least so little she wants to see. But there are bloody footprints tracked across the floor, people standing around, men talking while she slumps, head spinning, too shell-shocked to do anything. Useless, useless.
If they tried anything, she wouldn't fight back, would she? She doesn't have the strength for it. She's nearly nothing at all.
Vision is swimming, and it's hard to make out but someone toes her in the side, experimental. "What should we do with her?"
"Weren't you listening to the boss? He said to leave her alone."
"Yeah, but seriously, man? After all this, leaving the brat just for shits and giggles? You actually think he was serious?"
"Well..."
Across the floor from her there's another body and a buzz in her ears she can't get out. Close your eyes, girl, take a deep breath. Shake your head against the floor, lick some of the salt and sweat off your lips. Red patterns and masks swirl and unfurl in the darkness behind her eyes. "As long as these winds stir the waves of my heart..."
Black blurs. Swinging closer to her, knocks her again, harder this time. "Come on, why not."
"I believe he said," someone else cuts in. A big booming rasp of a voice. A big ogre voice, she still hears it sometimes, but only when it's in her nightmares is it like this - over her. "That assaulting children shows no class. Itto-ryu may have no style, but we do have class."
That's where it always leaves her. Where the argument cuts off, where she's left, like a broken sandal or the scattered leaves of a corn husk, in that bloody hell of a room.
What was the completed quote? What was the line in its whole? She does remember, even like this.
"As long as these winds stir the waves of my heart, the wings of hatred will never stop beating."
"And they haven't, right? Right?"
Nothing answers her, in that room.
But then again, nothing has to.
What: Nightmare time!
When: Late last... early morning-night.
Where: Rin's room!
Rating: M; references to rape (not Rin's! and vague).
ºIt begins in the dark, closed tight around her body like a sweaty fist. Helpless, enclosing, muffling, crushed against the wall, sight obscured and completely unable to move; the only thing there is is sound. At first it was coherent, words and sentences, pleas uttered and rejected - "no, not in front of my daughter, please!" - that familiar, much-loved voice and the last words she heard it utter. But begging comes to nothing in the long run and only your own strength matters and in the end what you're left with is this, this room reeking of blood and you helpless and the grunts of men and the more muffled noises of a woman (it's hard to really scream when a man has practically half of his hand forced into your mouth).
It's a conundrum, isn't it? One where you want to fight, one where you should fight, but the man who is blocking you from seeing all of this in its entirety, maybe he was actually right. "This transcends your sanity". But not seeing doesn't mean not hearing; it only means that what you're seeing is left for your imagination to make up, red blood spirals painted over your mother's face and the tops of her breasts, and eventually...
Eventually, "someone come and make them stop!" has turned into "please, just let this now be over." Such weakness, there's only so long a little girl can struggle before she stops fighting and clawing and choking on her own snot and just gives up to that encroaching dark a little, and just listens. Grunts and choked whimpers, the hisses of breath, footsteps moving and "I can't do anything. What could I possibly have done?"
There was nothing, was there? Nothing besides trying to attack, dying like a dutiful daughter and following her parents to heaven...
It doesn't seem like there will ever be light in this room again. When that crushing weight lets her drop, as eventually it does, and there's so little to see, or at least so little she wants to see. But there are bloody footprints tracked across the floor, people standing around, men talking while she slumps, head spinning, too shell-shocked to do anything. Useless, useless.
If they tried anything, she wouldn't fight back, would she? She doesn't have the strength for it. She's nearly nothing at all.
Vision is swimming, and it's hard to make out but someone toes her in the side, experimental. "What should we do with her?"
"Weren't you listening to the boss? He said to leave her alone."
"Yeah, but seriously, man? After all this, leaving the brat just for shits and giggles? You actually think he was serious?"
"Well..."
Across the floor from her there's another body and a buzz in her ears she can't get out. Close your eyes, girl, take a deep breath. Shake your head against the floor, lick some of the salt and sweat off your lips. Red patterns and masks swirl and unfurl in the darkness behind her eyes. "As long as these winds stir the waves of my heart..."
Black blurs. Swinging closer to her, knocks her again, harder this time. "Come on, why not."
"I believe he said," someone else cuts in. A big booming rasp of a voice. A big ogre voice, she still hears it sometimes, but only when it's in her nightmares is it like this - over her. "That assaulting children shows no class. Itto-ryu may have no style, but we do have class."
That's where it always leaves her. Where the argument cuts off, where she's left, like a broken sandal or the scattered leaves of a corn husk, in that bloody hell of a room.
What was the completed quote? What was the line in its whole? She does remember, even like this.
"As long as these winds stir the waves of my heart, the wings of hatred will never stop beating."
"And they haven't, right? Right?"
Nothing answers her, in that room.
But then again, nothing has to.