Venetia : Valentine

When you stare into the abyss, what stares back at you?

It was a question that had been on her mind a little too much, even when she’d stared the abyss in the face.

The ugly truth was that she stared back.

Resting within the darkness, she cracked open her eyes. Well, she tried, but found she had no eyes to open. It wouldn’t have helped anyways, it was pitch black.

Memories stared back, resting within her head, heavy as they brought her with them, sinking towards the bottom of whatever she now found herself in. They dragged her down, even as she clawed at invisible walls and pounded her arms against the thick liquid of the end. Even as she drowned, they dragged her further down, bloodying missing limbs.

Her nose still hurt.

She knew by now there was no more nose to be broken, but it still smarted.

She remembered dying.

Well, more accurately, she remembered passing out, and she assumed dying must’ve come soon after.

And then it hit her like an oncoming train.

She was dead.

Still, memories dragged her down, filled her lungs with cement and crushed her chest beneath it.

Her heart started crumbling in on itself as things came back to her. Her hands hurt. Her feet hurt.

The first thing that occurred to her was not Roach. It was not what he’d done. It was not the injuries that had carried over. Her first real coherent thought?

"Goddamnit. I just got Nils back."

Now, left with only her thoughts, it set in. She'd lost him. Again.

Well, more accurately, he'd lost her.

So this was the afterlife, huh. Really fucking boring if you asked her.

Her thoughts stirred again, snapping at her ankles, memories boiling, some of the bubbles rising to the surface before popping, sending shattering pain through her forehead. She was never going to see him again. At least she'd gotten in one last kiss. She curled inwards, hugging herself with arms that went through her incorporeal body, biting back a silent sob. There were no drugs, no alcohol, here. She was left to grapple with her thoughts and her splitting headache, completely and utterly alone.

She thought for a moment, messily imagining Nils. Fluffy dark hair splayed across his forehead and hair, that dumb smile and those shining eyes, sparkling when they stared back into her own, chocolate brown mixing well. His lips, lightly calloused hands, his ever-present shitty humor. What a fuckin' thief. He'd gone and snatched her heart, and never gave the damn thing back. Valentine clutched at herself, broken and bruised as she felt tears escape her tightly shut eyes. Like poison under a door, there was nothing she could do to keep out the thoughts.

Her throat tightened, eyes burning, yet a gentle smile fought the tears. She imagined that somewhere out there, Nils was still kicking. Maybe he'd come lay her some roses here and there.

Maybe, someday, he'd beguile his daughter and grandkids with tales of a depressed therapist with an odd affinity for alcohol. If the idiot lived that long.

With a brittle sigh, she imagined his arms around her, letting herself dream of such pleasant sensations she knew she no longer deserved, and tried to force herself back into death's odd embrace, dreams she knew she didn’t deserve.

The blood of the world pooled inwards, spilling across the ground ahead.

It pulled, ground and sky bending inwards, caving like a ceiling too heavily burdened. And then the sky snapped, the moody grays and black splitting like curtains. Behind them rested a dark blue, speckled with eyes and hands that all waited, hung like stars in the void. Out they reached with crooked fingers and gazes that brushed the bodies littered among the glittering blues, corpses strewn among melted rivers of sapphire, just as bright and blue as the sky on a deep and clear day. Each one dug a shallow canal as they ran, heading towards the edge. The air around them seemed to shred, singing as it rose, doing it's best to weave away from the ropes of gemstone.

“Watch.”

Watch she did, watched the world crumble in on itself as the ground began to shatter, ropes pulled taught as the liquid strands began to grow thin. The edge grew wider as it’s circumference broke, splitting like dry lips among the thick fog and smoke billowing from it’s depths. She let her gaze stray from the center, drifting along one of the liquid chains that bound the world together. They extended far, curving slightly. She watched one in particular, a strand that quit stretching and instead began to lose slack, digging in deeper along the ground as it fought against the constriction. The center pulled the sapphire river inwards, and the world found itself caught between the thumb and forefinger of its demise.

The hands brushed further, fingertips venturing past bodies and through souls, dragging the unlucky ones up as the rest sank inwards, visible now in the blazing blue light. They were painted a morbid purple, like a legion of bruises, floating in various directions as though stirred by a wind she couldn’t feel. She wanted to shut her eyes, but they felt propped open, she couldn’t peel them away. Blood soaked the uneven ground as another rather loud crack echoed through the empty landscape, structured only with pockmarks, growing ravines and distant mountains crumbling beneath their own weight.

“Tell me what you see.”

She paused, the non-existent wind howling past, until she realized it was only the ringing in her ears and the blood pounding through her head.

“The end.”

They say the world weeps for the lost.

Probably why it’s always raining.

The British must’ve lost a lot of people, it was always moody outside, the glass frosted heavily with the dew of the eve.

“You recognize this place?”

“The cafe?”

“The world.”

She scoffed, “I’d hazard a guess this is hell.” She responded, the vaguest hint of a bitter bite hiding among her words, just below the water.

He laughed, shaking his head, “No, no it’s not hell.” The lady sat back in her seat, the poor cushioning rather abrasive towards her poor posture. She lifted her cup of tea, taking a cautious sip, as she watched the man across from her. He was rather grizzled, though dressed nicely. Grizzled beard, not particularly a well exercised figure and slightly shiny hair, probably grease. Aside from that, the suit he wore was freshly pressed, a rather stylish black pinstripe, the collar folded neatly so his dress shirt could spill over, hugging his neck.

“So? Spill.” The woman spat before taking another sip of her tea, setting the porcelain back down on it’s plate.

“We’re in Britain. More specifically, sometime in September, I believe the year is 2015.” He said, eyes bright with a strange conviction and fire. He searched her face, waiting for the shock or the indifference. The snobbery, the disbelief, anything.

“Bullshit.” She said in response, face straighter than an arrow. “But alright, I’ve heard weirder. So? What’s the punchline?”

The man across from her raised an eyebrow, “That’s it?” He chuckled quietly, he had picked her after all, he should’ve known. “The punchline is that I’m hiring you to keep the world like this.” He responded, glancing out the window towards the smog-painted sky. He paused for a moment, “Well... All the worlds.”

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me get this straight. I shot myself, Nils is in a different universe, and you want me to go around playing god, saving the rest of them?"

He shook his head, "I want you to play the devil's advocate to the person playing god. Follow them. Fix what they do. Find them."

She sighed heavily, before the slightest smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "God.. Couldn't end when it did, could it?"

Valentine looked up, taking up the cup again. She threw back it's contents like a shot before setting it back down. "Alright. Where do we start?"

A cigarette hung from cold lips, still orange and freshly burning, bleeding reds into the surrounding air.

Eyes flung red back, long fingers pinching the stalk of paper and teasing it from the mouth, flicking a thick film of ash from the tip, paying the embers no heed as they scurried from her. She would’ve felt cold, the chilled air frigid and still, the sky like a page with ink spilled over it. The cold didn’t quite permeate her coat, however.

The cigarette was brought back to her lip for one last pull, the tip burning bright for a short moment before she flung it with a flick of the wrist, watching idly as it sunk through the air, headed towards the inferno below. She looked back up, nigh black eyes glittering with the reflection of the horizon, leagues of buildings burning with a desire, the flames climbing upwards with oxygen-greedy fingers that pulled and clawed at the sky, throwing a thick film of smoke and amber light outwards and up.

She had to admit, however cheesy it sounded, it really was fun to watch the world burn.

~~