Well I Have Faded In The Dark. //Zoë

C'est la vie
I say "I've got so many better things"
I've got nothing
You should see me
I smoke myself to sleep

There's a sweetness on the wind, a ringing in my ears. I let myself believe it's nothing, the wavering in the voice shy and almost distant. Everything seems diluted to me, there is no city at the end of this alley, just stars and the earth. Oh, but wouldn't that be something, eh? To walk out into a field of stars, earth above, sky below. Maybe I could, make it, I think I could. Just have to pull myself up and visit the mouth that connects this street with the next. I run my fingers along the stone work, place my palm among the brick, but no force is exerted through my muscles and I remain seated. I cannot reach the stars. I can't walk among them. I'll always find a reason not to. Right now it's my weakness. It will always be my weakness.

The voice of the girl coming towards me trembles. I doubt it's out of fear. Excitement, maybe. What would a girl with anything other than malicious intent want with me. (I mean other than the obvious.) Why would she be out so late. No, she's probably got a knife in her sleeve, poison on her tongue. I would stand, slip away while I still can, but maybe I can't, maybe we're past that, maybe my weakness lets me see the stars anyway. Maybe the last train is coming down the tracks right now in the shape of this girl, the slightly off melody of her voice, it's announcing whistle. Would I be okay with that? Yes. I shut my eyes again, lean my head against the brick behind me. My throat is there, if she has a knife she could slit it. Could she?

Still, that part of me that will always be weak, that will always cling to life speaks, "Mmmmm, and here I was thinking....I'd just written a new song." I chuckle slightly, and as if in protest, it turns into a cough. I feel a wetness on my lips, and when I run my tongue along my teeth there's blood. It tastes like iron and warmth. Absentmindedly, I brush the back of my hand across my face, carefully pushing myself up with the other. The brick behind me catches painfully on my shirt, yanking at the skin beneath and I wince. I must look a right mess, but then again, I don't often look incredibly put together. I don't even know who stands in front of me right now. I know she's in front of me, the footsteps stopped.

She's still singing, and it's nice. Doesn't sound like she's set on being a music major. She couldn't have a career in music the same way I could. She doesn't even sound trained. But it's soft. Her voice is sweet, slipping into my ears smooth as honey. It does calm me down. The lyrics come back to me as she sings them. I haven't written this. My mother used to sing it as she built her birdhouses for the back yard. That yard was always filled with chirping. She used to obsess over those birds, worrying about them in the winter months. I remember wishing my father had something like birdhouses to keep him busy. I reach up, fingers softly rubbing the tattoo tucked behind my right ear, and I get blood there, I feel it, sticky-sweet on Nix's name. I shudder.

I wait for the feel of ice on my skin, to feel that searing pain and then for it to leave me again. (Something inside me seeks out steel and flying fists just to feel anything.) It doesn't come, but that mean it won't. Careers aren't just careers for brute strength like people think. They're trained since young to kill, and they're tricky bastards, the lot of them. I once knew this girl, seemed completely sane, but had this thing for water. She died. I lost a duet partner but that's all fine, isn't it? Plenty more where she came from. Just as there are tons of careers in this district, there are tons of artists trying to make it big. Me, I'm nothing, but I have a few bars that I play at, usually one of the boys backing me on the strings or the piano. It never really mattered if she liked water a little too much, or if he had a thing for slitting his skin, We're all mad here.

I open my eyes and she holds out a flower to me. "You look like you could use a helping hand." I stare at the flower for a moment, soft confusion wracking my spine. What an odd way to kill a man. Maybe poison in the stem? She holds it out though, right there, so I take it. My fingers tighten around it, and it feels like a regular flower. Lifting it to my nose, I slowly breath in, wondering if I'm inhaling poison as I do. There are no thorns on the stem either. My eyes flicker up to the young girl standing in front of me, over the rim of the petals. I haven't held anything so lovely in years, I've never had time for flowers. In silence, I regard her, searching her, wondering if it's her brother I've maybe just done in. Or maybe she's just here to to see what a lowlife looks like.

Her gaze is strong and steady, and I want to look away, but I don't. I want to tear my eyes away from her's, I can feel her stare almost, like she's judging me without saying a word. I know what I must look like. I'm bloody, bruised, and not all here. I feel absolutely wonderful. She's lovely, in a fragile sort of way. I feel like a rock beside her, she's so pristine, and me....well. Everything about her seems light, and for one silly moment, I wonder if I did finally make it, if this is my death and she is an angel. (I always thought it'd be a phoenix to drag me to hell.) I consider her. She could be an angel. I don't know how she might have found me otherwise. It's not like young ladies go walking through allies for fun, and if they do, they often if not all the time, don't emerge as young ladies.

I place the flower in my lap, and take a drag from the cigarette that has been burning away. I forgot it was there, truth be told. I wasn't expecting a girl to appear, after all. The smoke blows off into the wind, and I wonder if she'll flinch away. When I was little, we used to plug our noses when a man would walk by with a cigarette. I'm not sure what the young lady wants with me. I don't really have much to give her, or say. If she's here to kill me, she could do it easily. I would not lift a finger. Sighing, I tilt my head to the side, eyes searching for some sign of what she wants, and say, "What do you want with me? If it's to kill me, you can," Spreading my arms wide, I smile at her reassuringly, "I won't try and stop you."