Author: Nidhog2r PM
Idealize for its assumed rewards perfection is persued but rarely reached. But one did one reached their zenith, and one fell the hardest and...yes perfection is deadly, so are people. It possibly has nothing to do with ccs but I did base it off of the chRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Sakura K. - Words: 2,005 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 12-11-04 - id: 2168716
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Disclaimer: I don't own anything, seriously.
This story is an offshoot of card captor Sakura in my own conception of course. Master: is a man with great influence of Sakura. Sister: is a friend or great companion of Sakura. Lover: would be a person that is a recipient of Sakura's love. This off shoot is completely ambiguous to anybody, characters can change images and perceptions it is just a skeleton.
I would never have predicted that a person of my stature could become anything more then a slut, murderer, or a heathen. I was bred this way. There was nothing I could alter about my lineage. My veins were not only functioning as a transportation network to supply oxygen and remove carbon dioxide waste from my body. No, my circulation system was entirely dedicated to transport drugs, the household Tylenol couldn't compare to this beautiful killer.
The majestic killer, that ran through my veins, where my blood once flowed. My master, a brilliant man with a promised future, if only he were to enroll himself in studies. He didn't want a life of success or wealth. He wanted the one thing he couldn't have: me, perfection.
From the moment I met Master, his eyes would evaluate my being and like a mathematical formula judge my worth for any blemishes, not once did I contradict any formula he used upon me. But my sister, my own flesh and blood, did. She failed where I succeeded, which was practically everything. I never wanted to be an assassin, but the dominance that I acquired through my ability to murder, was sufficient in its addicting nature to surpass my moral humane principals. Master was wise for not aspiring to be perfect as well. Anybody that can achieve perfection must be dead for the weight of perfection is always too grand and always a burden.
It is natural for nature to evolve into something new, more enhanced to live and adapt in a constantly changing environment. It is impossible to evolve when perfect, since there is no state of perfection better then perfection. To be perfect you have to sacrifice the ability to be dominant and accept the submission which evolution insures when you are an ideal specimen. The same submission that drove me to push harder, to get back in the race to once again be dominant which evolution promised. Perhaps this is the part in my tale in which my sister began to hate me, and finally despise.
This abomination originated from the same pressure that burdened me: subjugation. She could not exceed me, and I couldn't exceed perfection. Master watched us as we killed ourselves; he watched knowingly, he watched amusingly. He loved us in pain. Torture, which he inflicted on us when he forced two sisters to compete against each other for approval. The pain he set on us when he cut our skin and made us beautiful. And the humiliation he covered us with. I loved it all.
I loved Master. My guilty soul couldn't forget his kindness, his love, and his cruelty. But all the same I indeed loved him. My sister loved him as much and perhaps more then I did. This was an imperfection for her. Sister's love was genuine and complete, the true love that takes a century to find and a minute to ruin. But that in turn made her weak and utterly useless, even though I proclaim my love and affinity to Master now, it was complemented by undying hate and anger.
Eternal in my hate, immortal in my love Master's plague attacked and immersed its way into my heart endlessly. There was not one thing that I would not do for him or my sister. Maybe when this revelation occurred, myself doubt set in. And too like a disease, destroyed all fixations about my worth.
Perfection's beauty was entirely superficial and ugliness was converted to a tainted but adequate supply of strength. At some point strength that is imported and exported throughout the psyche in full force attacks. I did not need a person to lean on…I had my blade but I needed a constant supply of vitality. This is where perfection is undesirable but unfortunately perfection is needed to fail and start your demise.
Death; the only way to preserve perfection, preservation can only be perfectly achieved at perfection's zenith. The turning point before your body's systems reverse and descend to their nadir. Ambitions like this are needed to prove how stupid our societies are. This ambition insures death at an immature age. Living a long time in this reservoir would engulf your being and death is the only way to ease the burden of its tainted ness. Lovely isn't it?
Love, I would do anything regardless of my limitations for Master but I would not marry him for he was not perfect thus marriage will start my deterioration prematurely. His sad cold eyes singed mine, rejection was plain on his face and desire; the only lust you get from foreign wonders: look but do not touch.
Touch; Master was ideal in receiving his own wants, efficient too. Marriage would bring a veil of have possession of upon me. However a bond of this perfection would result in less then adequate offspring, would it not? Yes, raise the bar higher for acceptance and eligibility starts from birth. My children; spawns from touch. Intimate hatred, dominance, subjugated screams, tears run. When Master proposed the merging and carrying of my blood, my answer was simple: no. He took me regardless, rape is inflicted because the rapist wants some sense of dominance or to submit his victim, but this was not my downfall, far from it. My perfection forced submission on him in equal force; it wasn't rape after that was incorporated. Dominance vs. dominances can only produce dominance.
My sweet progeny, reflecting a daughter and a son. They took after their father and their mother took off, of course, Master married Sister. I often wondered why and how they lived together and how Master fared. It was not my problem anymore, and never again. Except for my honored plague, thank you Master.
Any human should be honored to court with me and Lover was dying because of it. Many women say that they were too much 'woman' for a lonely man. But I truly was, truly. My daughter died, some combination of her genes that proved to be lethal. Remember how I assumed dominance produces only dominance, well it also secrets submission. The same secretion leaked and immersed my son with the same viscosity of my daughter's still blood, imperfect demon. Sorry perfect people aren't meant for mere humans obviously nature did not prepare for that mixture.
My son a hybrid was destined to fail a miserable life. For his sister's death plagued his heart of its own vulnerabilities. The abilities to become perfect lusted him to strive and the same weight that his father bore into him kept him a normal human, thus trapping him in the middle with a terrible nightmare. I love you, my progeny.
The Night, the witching hour, a lovely time for remembrance, and consolation. With nature a perfect back drop of a morbid play, the night could not be any richer. Although rich, it was diluted rancid. In gratitude to Lover, his tenderness and love ruined whatever goals I set for him. He was not adequate, my prey did not please me, and I was grieved. The beauty of the sweet and glorious night was reflected opposing in his orbs. In sick recognition I saw Sister, and Master too. But I could not see me; in his eyes he saw perfection, an object, a perfect object that needed nurturing. I loathe what I have become; I loathe my being, my existence, and my worth.
In the absolute period of my life, I could not stand being touched. Lover's love ran my insides cold, Master's scars burned and ached with impudent resolve, and Sister's hate crashed, and mutated me. A mutation, I could not tell right from wrong, sex from rape, it all went by in a blur. It was too fast for my defenses, too strong to be resisted, too deep to be involved and too there to ignore, the disease overwhelmed me; I was broken.
I may have been injured, mutilated and even tortured, but never have broken. I always had the ambition of perfection to be my guide through chaos. Now when my perfection was reached I had nothing to grasp, nothing to see, I was lost in my own despair, like drowning in my own fluids. Now in the darkest night images run through my head too slow to look at but too disarrayed to comprehend. The conversation with Lover ended weeks ago, after my descent to nadir, living was not so grand anymore. Considered a minor and fed up with life, it is inevitable to ignore the sadness within me.
Sadness is a weak emotion but an indicator of a turning point in which the life can be salvaged. No one could help me, when I had no injuries, no pain, just suffering that manifest in my head. I had my own virus in which there was no panacea. I was alone in this dying world. Once idealize, I shrank to normalcy; it was torture to be once again part of the crowd, I miss the rose tinted glass. Imperfections.
Deficiency… the wind was caressing the northern mountains, and flowed past me with a lover's touch bring with it old spice and sandalwood, it brought Him. The smell filled my lost being with pleasure like nothing I remember. Four pairs of eyes were on me, burning with a rupture of emotion like none other. It was…adequate, a representation of my earlier glory.
Sweet white plums filled my essence it was an oddity for such a smell to be present at such a season where life undergoes revival. Slick clean rain soaked musk wrapped around this phenomenon in such a bonded way. But rich known comfort reminded me of my place, and isolation, I was in a park threatened, rupturing from with in. It fest so right these smells caressing me, hurting me, reminiscing…
It was probably ignorance to why I did not notice the four killers surrounding me; maybe I still believed they loved me. Master loved me but he truly loved that one time when I granted him passage in to nirvana, when I was perfect. Sister loved the fact that I took her true love from her, her husband, and her 'son'. In fact she loved it so much no love could ever be given to me, perhaps I don't need it, her hate was sufficient. I didn't look at my son, I couldn't look at myself, I didn't want to see me. It was painful enough to know my genes were wasted in that pathetic flesh, what a pity.
Natural selection did not have any pity. There was no comfort as my blood emptied slowly, I did not feel any pain it was something else perhaps acceptance. I realized on death's door my existence, my being, my life's ideal. Nature can't handle us, it, perfection, so it kills us off; however if it killed us all off perfection would be achieved globally. No, us selected few were meant to accentuate imperfections on the world; Nature was both benevolent and malign but in such a mixture that is was truly beautiful.
This different kind of hero is a conqueror of evolution, a slave to selection. We evolve with the ideal of perfection constantly but natural selection destroys the results. The idea of perfection seduces the mind while in turn perfection is calamitous. It was a perfect trap, a perfect way to convey perfection's redundancy.