Pwease, mummah. Pwease, Sunset am sowwy. Pwease, nu mowe. Sunset nu wan more. Jus’ wan die. Pwease. PWEASE!
Sunset couldn’t voice the words, voice her plea for an ending. Her vision was blurred, not by tears but by something else she couldn’t understand. Six disparate images, only overlapping in places, replaced her normal sight. The effect was something like looking at the world through layers of film, blurred and indistinct images rather than comprehensible vision.
This wasn’t fair! This wasn’t her fault! She was suffering because someone else did something wrong! She hadn’t done anything to deserve this! But deep down she hated herself for asking for something she knew she shouldn’t, knew she couldn’t. As much as she craved death, she knew it was something that couldn’t be allowed. Not now. Not for her.
A hand gently brushed her blistered flesh, and she would’ve winced if she could move. Instead, her internal monologue reached a fevered pitch. Pwease! Pwease! Pwease! Wan die die die die die die die! PWEASE KIWW SUNSET! Yet, somehow, she was grateful for her tormentors touch, agonizing as it was. It was a connection to the world that made sense.
Her mummah spoke, or at least she thought she had. It was garbled to Sunset’s mangled senses, and any meaning it once had could no longer be parsed. But it was short, so she knew what her mummah was saying. The same thing she’d said before the descent into hell had started. “I’m sorry.”
Sunset closed her eyes, the brief time spent with them open only worsening her misery. Sometimes she wasn’t sure why she opened them, until the loss of what little sensory input they offered drove her to do it again. And again, it would only bring her suffering until she could muster the strength to close them once more.
In a way, Sunset understood that she was responsible for her own suffering. Her intellect, while not anything spectacular by human standards, far exceeded that of a normal fluffy. Which is why she’d made the choice she had. And it was why she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to die yet.
She was special, she’d always known that. But while that’d once brought her happiness in comfort in the days before, now it was the reason she was locked in eternal suffering. She hated that about herself, now. The warm feeling of being one-of-a-kind hadn’t kept her going long.
No, now all she wanted was an ending to this nightmare. Her tortured form, wracked with searing heat and icy cold somehow simultaneously, cried out for the grave. It was the only way out. She knew that. She’d known before this had even started.
“I’m sorry.” The garbled phrase came once again. Mummah said it so much, cried so much. Through all the distortion in her vision Sunset could sometimes see her mummah’s face when she came close. A face twisted and wracked by guilt and sadness. The face of her tormentor. Sunset loved her so much.
One day Sunset would have the sweet release of death. But not yet, not for a long, long time. She’d understood that going in, too. No way out but death, and no way to die. Not until what needed to be done had been done.
Pride. Sunset lived for it now. The only thing that let her shattered mind hold on, let her drag herself back when she lost herself shrieking into the void. Because she was proud of what she’d done. What she was doing. What she’d become.
Because, even if nobody heard of her, even if they didn’t understand her sacrifice, it was worth it. Even if they hated her and her kind, even if they tortured and killed her kin out of raw spite. It was worth it.
The sin wasn’t hers, but she would bear the consequences. Because she was the only one who could.
Pwease, mummah. Sunset nu wan die. Sunset du wut nee’ tu du.
…
“Is that…a fluffy? What did you do to it?”
Sunset’s mummah gritted her teeth, the horror and disgust in her guest’s voice driving her self-loathing deeper into her soul. But this was something that had to be done. It was the only way.
Oh how people lied to themselves. “For the greater good,” “by any means necessary,” “doing what needs to be done.” All glorious excuses to avoid judging themselves for the atrocities they committed. And yet, for all of it, she knew they’d both do it again in a heartbeat.
Soon, Sunset. It’ll be over soon.
Part Two
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