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Cure For The Itch
0 reviewsA collection of drabbles from the LJ community FMA500. Rating is to be safe as each story is unique.
2Insightful
Title: Cure for the Itch
Author: evilkat
Rating: R
Parings: Kimbley-centric
Warnings: Some disturbing thoughts
Challenge: "Heretic"
I love the smell of charred flesh in the morning, or the evening...mid-afternoon's good too. Hell, I love it any time of the day. It is an acquired taste, mind you, one that slowly develops over time, like a fine wine. I can't quite explain properly the almost orgasmic glee that comes from watching a human body explode as though they swallowed a grenade. Or doing it slowly, one limb at a time until the person is begging for the end. In fact, I'm getting hard right now just from thinking about it.
It's funny; mother always said I had the Devil in me. The first time she looked into my yellow eyes she said she knew that I wasn't natural, that I was evil through and through...a heretic. I guess she was right, but evil is just a matter of opinion, isn't it? I kill for the greater good of the military and of the people we protect. Does that not justify my actions? I'm ordered to kill, to destroy, and so I do. That doesn't mean that I have to hate it.
Of course, this was coming from a woman who used to try and beat the Devil out of me with the wooden handle of a broom. With every strike on my back she would curse the man who fathered me, a man she spread her legs for once those many years ago. Thinking back on all those wasted novenas for her child to see the error of his ways makes me laugh. Like she ever gave a damn about her "Devil spawn" child. If she did she sure had a funny way of showing it. That is, unless the back of a hand or the number of lashes striped upon an unprotected back can measure love. If that were the case, then I guess you could say she loved me very much. I'll never forget the look on her face when I was finally strong enough to turn it back on her. The authorities were picking her bone fragments out of the ceiling afterwards.
The jeep I'm currently lounging in shifts with the weight of another. I look up into unreadable, ink-black eyes.
"We've just received new orders. We're heading to Ishbal," he tells me, monotone.
A smile twists the corner of my mouth. Ishbal, eh? Now, this should be fun. The arrays tattooed into the palms of my hands begin to itch with anticipation.
-End-
Author: evilkat
Rating: R
Parings: Kimbley-centric
Warnings: Some disturbing thoughts
Challenge: "Heretic"
I love the smell of charred flesh in the morning, or the evening...mid-afternoon's good too. Hell, I love it any time of the day. It is an acquired taste, mind you, one that slowly develops over time, like a fine wine. I can't quite explain properly the almost orgasmic glee that comes from watching a human body explode as though they swallowed a grenade. Or doing it slowly, one limb at a time until the person is begging for the end. In fact, I'm getting hard right now just from thinking about it.
It's funny; mother always said I had the Devil in me. The first time she looked into my yellow eyes she said she knew that I wasn't natural, that I was evil through and through...a heretic. I guess she was right, but evil is just a matter of opinion, isn't it? I kill for the greater good of the military and of the people we protect. Does that not justify my actions? I'm ordered to kill, to destroy, and so I do. That doesn't mean that I have to hate it.
Of course, this was coming from a woman who used to try and beat the Devil out of me with the wooden handle of a broom. With every strike on my back she would curse the man who fathered me, a man she spread her legs for once those many years ago. Thinking back on all those wasted novenas for her child to see the error of his ways makes me laugh. Like she ever gave a damn about her "Devil spawn" child. If she did she sure had a funny way of showing it. That is, unless the back of a hand or the number of lashes striped upon an unprotected back can measure love. If that were the case, then I guess you could say she loved me very much. I'll never forget the look on her face when I was finally strong enough to turn it back on her. The authorities were picking her bone fragments out of the ceiling afterwards.
The jeep I'm currently lounging in shifts with the weight of another. I look up into unreadable, ink-black eyes.
"We've just received new orders. We're heading to Ishbal," he tells me, monotone.
A smile twists the corner of my mouth. Ishbal, eh? Now, this should be fun. The arrays tattooed into the palms of my hands begin to itch with anticipation.
-End-
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