Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ A Bleeding Mind ❯ Interview Schu ( Chapter 2 )

Thank you for the Venom

Sister, I'm not much of a poet but a criminal

And you never had a chance

Love it or leave it you can't understand

A pretty face but you do so carry on.

I wouldn't front the scene if you paid me

I'm just the way the doctor made me

On and on.

Love is the red the rose on your coffin door

What's life like bleeding on the floor?

You'll never make me leave

I wear this on my sleeve

Give me a reason to believe

So give me all your poison

And give me all your pills

And give me all your hopeless hearts and make me Ill

You're running after something that you'll never kill

If this is what you want

Then fire at will.

Preach all you want but who's going to save me?

I keep a gun in the book you gave me

Hallelujah lock and load.

Black is the kiss the touch of a serpent son

It ain't the mark or the scar that makes you one.

Fire at will.

 

Have you ever walked into a room full… no, it doesn't even have to be full of them… just a handful then. Have you ever walked into a room full of pretentious, cowardly… what do Farf call them? Oh yes, pretentious cowardly gerbils. A room of a handful of them- have you ever walked into a room of that? Well, of course, you have. You are one of them after all. So, you walk into it. And what do you do? Turn them off, not even at will. You can't hear them. You don't understand. When I walk into a room, I live through every life-form, cowardly gerbil or not, in it. You can never understand that, can you? Not in a million years- I do so find it questionable that you gerbils even ever survived the first few years on this planet. Now you see Farfello- skinny albino Irishman with an eye patch and scars all over, licking a tiny, sharp dagger- and what do you think? Crazy, immediately. And I follow, me- tall, skinny hair-dyed gaijin in a dinner jacket in the blaring sun- and you think? Eccentric, right? Predictable. You can never comprehend. Living through the mind of every single person in a room can make one crazy. That's why Farf is so much saner than I can ever hope to be.

 

What's that? When I say `I live through their minds' what do I mean? Typical. For the purpose of the conversation I shall patronize you. What? I'm just being honest. Now, you. I know you. I know your shitty life, and I know your every desire and every heartbreak and every single secret you thought would destroy you if ever one came out in the light… how? I don't read minds. I enter minds. I experience them, every neuron, every memory, synapse, thought… I don't just know, I become. The first years I experienced this, it was pure hell. In the orphanage, every single child had the same recurring thought… I couldn't sleep, couldn't shut my eyes, I kept hearing them, being them, feeling their pains and seeing their phantoms. I jumped out the second floor window you know. They said I was a schizophrenic. This doctor, who could never get over the fact that he performed abortion for his own daughter (I was young, I did not even know what abortion was before the doctor came through the door, after that the image of that young girl would stick to me for the longest time), he comes in and asks me questions and I kept answering the thoughts in his head, and kept pointing on the desk and saying, “That girl is crying… crying… saying stop.” Suddenly, I was a schizophrenic. You don't want to be a schizophrenic orphan at such a young age, trust me. Or not, not like I care.

 

Schwarz is Schwarz. We all have our own versions of hell. I like Farf's best. You've met him? Up close, without restraints? No? Tsk, how sad. He has the flame for rhetoric, if anyone would stop to listen. I stop to listen to him once a day. Call him my personal priest. Isn't that funny? Shut up, because it's not. What else is there in Schwarz? The kid? Another orphan picked off the streets by the same persons who did to the rest of us. Such a young boy… I'd like to break his neck one of these days, end his misery and all that. I hate kids. There was this kid, kept on thinking how sad his life is, how nothing can compare to his misery… oh, wait, I'm talking about Prodigy still. Where were we? Breaking Prodigy's neck, ah yes. If not for Farf that kid would've been dead a long time ago, levi-fucking-tate or not. So smug, keeps sneering behind my back. Do you want to know what I'll do after I break his scrawny little neck? No? Hn, your loss.

 

Crawford. Ugly name. Ugly soul. He wears white all the time, like a mental case. Every one of us has been in a mental institution; he just can't get past it like me and Farf. He keeps holding on to it and denying it the same time. So he's a fucking American. Crazy in Europe, crazy in Japan still the same with crazy in America. What makes him think he's a step above the rest of us? But I won't kill him. He'll kill himself. Like he fucks himself most nights. The saddest, most pathetic of us, more so than the kid, him and his gun and precognitive shit. But don't take my word at face value, I'm a schizophrenic remember? Ha ha. No really. He really does fuck himself most nights.

 

What time is it? Shit. Time to visit Farf. Give him his medicine? Hell no. He doesn't need medicine. What's that, because he has a straight jacket? No. He's not crazy. He has my meds. I visit him for my meds.