The One Above You... (She Is Not The Lord And Do Not Look Up, She Does Not Like It)

 

1.The ideal romance

Once upon a time, in a village, there lived a very beautiful girl. She was called Aoi. In the nearby village lived a very handsome boy, he was named Hano. Aoi met Hano in school. They fell in love at first sight. Time flew too fast and soon, Aoi and Hano were adults. Aoi's family began looking for a husband for her. Several offers came and went, Aoi rejected them all. She loved only Hano. Aoi convinced them, she married him, and the two lived happily ever after.

Too soft was it? Let's add a little twist in it... anyway, hello, I am Hano, and I am telling you my story to pass time...It had always been my dream to write, anyway, let's get on with the second draft...

Aoi's parents were vehemently against the idea of her marrying Hano. They tortured her a lot, but when they saw her steadfast devotion for Hano, they grudgingly allowed her to marry Hano.

Still too mushy...and dear Aoi is getting impatient...I have to make the story more realistic. And yeah, neither of us have ever been inside a school building, so I had just been kidding about "met in school" part.

Aoi ran away with Hano, because her parents did not want her to marry him. The self-appointed elders of the village were amused and amazed. But the Honor Guards of the village caught them, and they beat up Hano for fun. Aoi's parents married her off to a fat idiot. Poor wounded Hano had been stabbed fifteen times, yet with the strength of a true hero, he fled to the nearest town. A couple of months later, Aoi escaped from her husband's house and chanced upon the same tavern where Hano worked. They had a tearful reunion and Aoi ran her hands along Hano's scars and said that it made him look even more stunning. They married and lived happily ever after.

To the heck with an ideal romantic story! I must tell you the truth before Aoi and I can get to work.

"Shh...Aoi, we waited years for this, be patient for a couple of minutes more my dear...see he is walking down the road, shivering with fright; patience loved one, a little patience..."

After the Honor guards found Aoi and Hano, they separated the two. Hano was beaten, stabbed and finally strangled to death. Police found his body with fifteen stab wounds. Actual time of death was unknown, and the culprits never identified though the villagers personally knew the murderers. Aoi was married to a rich landlord who had three other wives; and the land lord and his associates abused and raped her several times. Poor Aoi could not bear it and found relief in the form of some pesticide. The police were informed after her body was hurriedly cremated. No suicide note was ever found.

Dearest reader, in the end, all love stories are either boring or just gruesome. So it is okay to hate love stories, otherwise you may end up like us...

"No Aoi, we are not alone, we have got each other, remember? Don't cry, my love... look we are getting some revenge today okay? Here, wipe your tears...And get ready, the prey is nearing the bend now..."

"Yes, I understand dear, you can have that bastard's heart and liver. I like the brains anyway."

 

2.   MOTHS

I am a naturalist. An entomologist, to be exact. Or was, because I don't exactly remember now. I think I loved my job. "Gross! Why such an odd profession for a girl?" you may scream and run up a table.  

Okay, you stereotypical bastards. I was never scared of them "creepy crawlies." And they are so fascinating. So beautiful. So revoltingly fascinating. So terribly beautiful. My main purpose was to find a cure. Or better yet, get revenge. Because this guy I once loved was carried off in high-school by a goddamned mutated strain of Lyme disease. Which in turn was carried by a mutant tick. And no, I am not kidding. That is the dumb reason for dedicating the entirety of my previous life to studying insects. Maybe there was some other reason, but I don't exactly remember much of anything that had happened before a couple of months ago. My brain is a bit foggy, and the memory has developed some fine cracks, but I somehow remember some stuff.

Anyway, I studied a lot and started researching various subspecies of dragonfly... once I threw myself in my work whole-heartedly, I had little time for leisure. However, in the midst of my demanding profession, I had this one interesting hobby: collecting butterflies and moths. I practiced it as a true science; not like those self-styled witches who papered their walls with naturally dead butterflies. I always poisoned mine with gas, and then carefully preserved, catalogued and strung them up in my research books.  Butterflies are so pretty, aren't they? Especially when neatly sketched, labeled and displayed?

Enough about my hobby, a bit here of my personal life. As far as I remember, people always said I never even had a personal life. I agree, my world revolved around my occupation. So unintelligent people called me a nerd. Always, and sometimes right in the face. It used to sort of hurt before, but soon, I stopped caring, even when people said I was a psychopathic geek with a cigarette lighter.

Yes, about my lighter, it is very pretty, shaped like a miniature Chinese dragon...but I digress, I never smoked. I just carried it around to remind myself of a great mystery: why did moths have this suicidal attraction for fire? It was really a very 'critical' sort of question, why did moths override their base instincts to shield away from getting burnt, and dauntlessly fly towards the flames? I had attempted to get some direct, concrete proof, but all I ever had during my research were hypothesis, each leading to  another question.

Speaking of questions, why am I myself approaching this raging fire? I had never imagined fire to be so passionate, so... so indescribable. The ignorant locals were slashing through the overgrown weeds on a patch of land near the forest and had just started setting some of the cuttings on fire...these people were battling against the dandelions with such a vengeance, it seemed they wanted a good harvest. Nobody seemed to be able to knock sense in their rustic heads that slash-and-burn agriculture was destroying the environment. Ah! Now I remember, this was the exact same piece of land where the bastards had buried my previous body nearly half a year ago. As far as I can recollect, I had been playing with my lighter...on, off, on, off, on...after a grueling field trip, when those bandits chanced upon me. They robbed and raped my old body then, but what do I care now?

I flutter my beautiful brown wings and join my fellow moths in their ascent towards those pretty, dancing flames playing in the destroyed undergrowth. Oh boy, the farmers are sure to be surprised when they find those bones under the ash.

 

3. Russian Roulette

Goddamn, the gun! She had lost the place where she had loaded the last bullet available. Now she would have spun the barrel six times till she got that unfortunate place with the last bullet. Hopefully the bullet showed up soon, and took away her life. It was almost like playing Russian roulette, only that those senseless bastards who did such stupid things were relieved when they heard a click instead of a bang...

She pulled the trigger once...

Click

She wanted to die, and soon. The moment she stopped, they would catch her. The last surviving scion of the Magna family ought to die proudly, than remain in suspended animation, while the lowest of mages would feed on her power.

She pulled the trigger again.

Click

They would use her powers for all the wrong stuff. She would be used to do the very same thing she rebelled against. Why else had she rebelled? It was in the blood of the Magna's to rebel. But she never had been of Magna blood. The wasted elders adopted her when they found out about her true powers.

She pulled the trigger.

Click

She had always been a pawn. Orphaned, then plagued by spirits and powerful demons, all who wanted her powers.

That bloody trigger again.

Click

To hell with the idiotic Empire, to hell with the War Lords using their precious power like children. To hell with the bull shit about the Magnas and the Rebellion. She was forcing herself to die young just to protect the secrets of the Rebellion.

She pulled the trigger once more.

Click

 

She now realized, it was the sixth barrel that held the bullet. It suddenly seemed as if the Good and Benign Lord was encouraging her to fight back. She must live. Fight back...For now she had to run, she would have to find refuge somewhere...She won't pull the trigger now. She felt, no, she knew that killing herself was futile, because like everything in the Empire, her powers and her life were precious. Too precious to waste.

Her movements had become mechanical. She moved her feet with renewed desperation, because she now wanted to live again. But her movements had become mechanical. She moved mechanically, and the index finger of the hand that held the gun, it squeezed the trigger mechanically...

 

She could not stop herself from pulling the trigger for the sixth time; and the final time.

Bang.

Now she mourns out her story to every person, well not exactly alive, so let's just say to every sentient thing she finds. I was the unfortunate ghost to fall in her grasp yesterday, so I had to listen to her story over again. Anyways, I thought you guys ought to know. Goodbye now, the dawn has finally arrived. Hope you find way to my graveyard again, cause it was rather nice talking with you...visit again, or would you rather stay here, for ever?

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