x x |- v i n c e n t x -|- x a l r i k x -|- x y a m a m o t o |- x x
The Earth is longing for a revolution.. a revolution that human beings will not interfere with.
Vincent lay still, plastered to the wet, bloodied and soiled sheets that covered his bed. His skin was a deathly pale and sweat dripped slowly from him. Blood trickled down the sides of his mouth from where the metal gag had cut into the thin layer of skin on his lips and cheeks. It told how hard he had bitten down. His jaw hurt more than anything. He was still blindfolded and he thanked the Gods that he was. He didn’t want to see the result of corruption Sonja had committed upon his sore and broken body. The grunts of the other as he pleasured himself to Vincent’s’ body played over and over in his mind; repeating like a broken record and he couldn’t help but feel like he had betrayed Kyota in some way. Would Master Kuro even care? Vincent thought then bit hard on the metal in his mouth. More blood came from the side of his mouth as pain went through Vincent. He found, then, that he really didn’t care if he was hurt or not. Master Kuro wouldn’t care about him if he had left.
“Get out!!”
Tears slid from the corners of the others blindfolded eyes and rolled down his cheeks, the fold leaving them unchecked. Kyota had said those words with such force that Vincent was actually believing that Kyota didn’t want him anymore. He was a broken toy, he realized then. He was a broken toy, never to be fixed; to be thrown away by the very person he loved. His fate was to be used then replaced by a new, more interesting plaything. Vincent felt like that one toy on the shelf in a toy store that nobody wants. He felt like that one toy that yearns to be touched, to be played with. That one toy nobody even thinks about or bats an eyelash at. Vincent Alrik Yamamoto was tired of spilling tears for a man who only loved his body and blood and nothing more. He didn’t love his heart. He only loved him for the outside. He used him as a sexual release and nothing more. Vincent swung his legs off the side of his four poster bed and stood. Blood ran down his legs from the raw, bleeding skin, but he didn’t seem to notice it as he walked into the bathroom. He didn’t feel much of anything anymore. He removed the bloodied metal piece from his mouth and, untying the leather straps from around his head, placed it gently to one side of the sink. He kept the black cloth around his eyes as he stepped into the shower. He didn’t want to see the world anymore. He didn’t want to feel anything anymore.
It was then, that Vincent knew he had finally been broken. He knew the last of his fight and rebelliousness had been torn away. He felt himself lose that brave front he put on; his usually squared shoulders now dropped in a defeated manner. His eyes had all but lost their life light, losing, instead, the sparkle that was always there when he spoke. He had no more fight in him as he pulled on a flimsy oversized black shirt over his small and broken frame. No resolve to rebel as he picked up the fallen violin and stick once back in his room. Still, he left the fold over his eyes. He didn’t want to see the world anymore as he played the first few notes of a heartbreaking song on his treasured black and gray violin. As he played, he looked out the window, towards the full and sparkling moon. His chair was in front of the window, but he didn’t see the view. He didn’t want to see the cruelty of the world. He didn’t want to see the cruelty that the Mistresses of Fate had placed upon him.
The more he played, the sadder the mood of the notes became. There was a cry from beyond his chamber door as a maid, passing by, burst into tears at the notes. Every night, from his chamber window, he would usually see a house in the middle of the dark forest, a human male happily at work in his yard. He was usually so glad to see the other happy. It usually lifted his heart, but…now….He didn’t want to see other human beings happiness if he can’t feel it himself. He didn’t feel much of anything anymore. He was a broken toy never to be used, a broken doll whose cries of pain and sorrow can’t be heard by the ones who he most desperately wants to be loved by. He wanted to love and be loved in return, but, deep in his broken and torn heart, he knew that his fate was never to be that way.
“The broken doll weeps in his case
For he knows he will never be bought.
His faux heart beats sorrowfully in his plastic chest,
But no one will hear his torturous cries.
Never will he feel the sun upon his false skin.
‘Pick me! Pick me!’ He cries
Yet no one will listen.
He weeps evermore, but they fail to hear
The broken toy’s pleads.
The doll cries in his cardboard case,
For he knows he’ll never be opened.
Never will he feel the sun upon his false skin,
Nor the ran on his faux hair,
Never will he feel the sensuous fingers
Of the children of old upon his false skin…
Never to be played with,
Thrown away like a broken vase
Torn asunder by the forces of the one he loves
Who he loves, but will never be loved in return.
He weeps, for he knows his fate.
He knows he’ll never be free from the confines of his cardboard cell.
He weeps, for he knows his time for freedom…
It will never come forevermore.”
Vincent’s hand trembled with the notes and tears came from his eyes. The fold let them pass unchecked and roll down his cheeks. He continued to play, even as the skin on his fingers became raw and bloody; even as his arm started to burn from being held up for so long. Vincent just pushed the violin harder against his neck and kept playing. Still he played the sorrowful notes, on and on, seemingly forever…never to stop.
“The manly man is weakening the luscious flower.”
*Poem made by Sanguis Innocentium*
» Thεsε øþscεnıtıεs that man has crεatεd,«
» thε cørruptıøn, thε pøllutıøn,«
» all thεsε must þε annıhılatεd, «
» naturε wıll rεclaım ıts dømınıøn, the εarth wıll þrεathε agaın; «
» þut fırst must cømε thε apøcalypsε. «
