The journey of our own cute little psycho-kid, Wrath, who likes violence, 'playing' with mice, and milk. Post-series.
Listen. There's this joke.
Man walks into a sweetshop. Asks for a chocolate bar that'll tell him why he's alive.
"What about this one, Sir?" Says he shopkeeper "Got the meaning of life written in every third wrapper."
"Just the thing. I'll have three JAWS bars...how much did you say they cost?"
"An arm and a leg. Each."
When I drank milk the first time, I felt full, I felt safe, and I don't know what I thought. A hundred caring fingers touched my mouth, as I poured it in. I remembered every warm thing that had happened to me, and maybe a dozen that never had.
The next morning, a blonde kid chucked a stone at my head as I sprinted from a milkcart, through the fields. I ran back, jumping over the cart with the milkchurn still under my arm. The boy spun round-one of his arm was in a sling-but kept a grip on his next rock. I was very still, and looked through his eyes.
"Twas tha yesterday, an' all. Thee's a thief."
Sharp lad. But then, I had a Sinner's body-all the way through, excepting the Automail.
I said he'd had the fun of hitting my head-equivalency? He said he hadn't enjoyed it, showing that two of us were dishonest, and one was thick.
I felt a grin coming, but then the Carter came puffing back with a churn under each arm. He joked with his son about 'Highwaymen', told him he should be in bed, and studied my expensive, dirty Automail, coolly.
"How about tha help me with t' rest of t' day? If tha goes back home, I'll give thee a glass of milk an' say no more about this."
Five minutes later, I burst into a copse, fell down in the leaf-litter and wrenched the lid off the churn between my knees.
When I drank milk the second time, the taste was the same. I really could've worked every day, for one glass, nothing else.
But the blonde kid. He couldn't work; he got milk, food and a home. His dad wouldn't have him work twice as hard next week. His mummy had cried over his arm, as much as she would over anything that might perhaps have happened to him five minutes ago. Because he was a human-their kid. No equivalency. Gets me pretty angry, people breaking universal laws for their own comfort.
After my first drink of milk, I lay in the musky-smelling darkness, knees on my chin. I could remember kindness, and forget what I was. I've had better times, but only a few.
After my second drink of milk, I thought about going home, wherever it was. Then I walked out, rubbing my eyes.
It was morning. Before the end-I still had some things to try.