Eternity Served Cold

I know everyone is waiting for me to write my next chapter of whatever story I have going on, and I'm sorry that I haven't been more active about writing them. I want everyone to know that I've been going through a bit of writer's block lately, and quite frankly, I am stuck on some of the chapters of some of my stories. If anyone is even reading this, please forgive me. I honestly think that, while a bit morbid and a little out of my comfort zone, this one chapter story is one of the better ones that I have written in a while. Maybe listening to instrumentals like the one this story is based off of will help coax me out of this writer's block I'm in? Hopefully.

Humanstuck, character death, maybe OOCness?.

I don't own Homestuck, Andrew Hussie-sama does!

[xXx]

Why did she have to be the one who was loved? Why did she have to be the one who was adored? Why did she have to be the one whose mind wasn't broken? Why was she the one who I was born to hate, despite how kindly she tried to treat me, despite how we were siblings and we were meant to love one another? I wondered all of this as I sneaked into her room late at night one warm, summer night, Father not stirring from his slumber in his room down the hall. Why did I hate my own sister the way I did? Why did I envy her the way I did? If my mind weren't broken, would I still be as determined to do what I wanted to do? If my mind weren't broken, would I still hate my sister with the fiery passion that I do?

My stomach lurched in disgust as I looked over at her sleeping figure.

She slept so quietly, so peacefully. She looked as though she was asleep inside of a coffin already, laying straight along her bed with her hands clasped together over her chest. Seeing her filled me with a rage that I could not calm. Her breathing was soft and even as I sneaked over to her bed, crawling on top of it. Did she not sense the danger of which my presence posed to her life? I straddled her waist, keeping her sides pinned with my knees. I hated her. I wanted her to suffer the way that I suffered.

Father favored her, not me.

Mother had died because of me, not her.

Everyone loved her, not me.

Her mind was whole.

My mind was broken.

Her eyes were as green as green apple taffy.

My eyes were as red as cherry red suckers.

I hated her.

I loathed her.

I envied her.

I despised her very existence.

I leaned forward against her small body. She was older than me by a year, and yet we looked almost identical, almost like twins. Her chocolate brown hair framed her delicate, heart shaped face, her flesh tender and pale, never truly exposed to the wretched sun we lived under. Her frame was small, like my own, but it still had it's own special kind of bulkiness to it from where she always helped out around the classrooms at school. My hair was the same as her own, the same length - short and barely touching my ear lobe, and my flesh was just as pale, but I was more bulky than she was.

Licking my lips, my hands reached for her throat. I curled my fingers around them, my breath beginning to shake and waver. Should Father hear her struggling, he would surely wake and come to her rescue. I would have to do this quickly and swiftly. I couldn't afford to hesitate. I was nervous, I knew, but I couldn't back out of this now. I had to follow through with this. My finger tips touched at the base of her neck. My thumbs pressed themselves to her wind pipe. All I had to do now was apply the pressure needed to cut off of her air supply.

Pushing my thumbs in, she whimpered in her sleep. It was soft, gentle even, almost pleading. It angered me, my thumbs pressing harder against her wind pipe.

"C-Caliborn..." my sister's voice whimpered raspily, one of her green eyes opening ever so slightly. Her hands reached up to mine, trying to pry them off. "S-stop..."

I had woken her up, meaning that this would be so much harder. Oh, well. There was no turning back now that I had started. Not even her pleas were enough to make me back off. I was determined to finish her off. Even if it meant that I would lose everything. It wouldn't be much of a loss, in my eyes. Father would have to realize that his only son was better than his only daughter and he would praise me for this, for killing off the weaker of the two of us. He would be so proud, I believed. He only acted like Calliope was his favorite to spite me, I'm sure...!

But somewhere in my broken mind, the small sliver that spoke reason, told me that he would not be proud of me in the slightest.

That small sliver told me that he would be angry, that he would sooner abandon me than praise me for the death of his favorite child.

"C-Caliborn, please," Calliope whispered, slowly beginning to pry off my fingers with her own. It strained her, but hearing her voice enraged me enough to place my fingers back where she had pulled them away. "Wh-why are you doing this...?"

"Shut up," I told her in a firm tone. My voice was deep and gruff in comparison to her own soft, melodic one. "I hate you. I want you to die. Are you too stupid to realize this?" I watched her face, gauging for a reaction.

In her eyes were tears, brimming but not falling. She was scared, and she was slowly dying. She tried to move out from under me, but it wasn't working. I wouldn't let her struggle if I could help it. The most she could manage was moving her calves and feet, trying to cause enough noise to draw our Father from his slumber. I growled at her.

"Will you stop struggling?" I hissed. "Why can't you just accept your death, Calliope?"

"B-because I," she coughed, breathing beginning to be a harder and harder thing to do for her, "I-I don't want to die...!"

I glared, pushing my thumbs in harder. "You're going to die, Calliope. Just accept it and move on, already!"

"D-Daddy...!" pleaded my sister as loud as she could manage. I wanted to laugh, to spit in her face and tell her that Father wouldn't come to her rescue, to just whisper it so cruelly in her ear and, in her dying moments, I would ask her were her precious 'Daddy' was. I didn't, though. If there was one thing that I could allow her to die with after all of the kindness she had ever given me, it was dignity.

I stayed on her for another minute before her eyes faded, my name rasped out one last time out of her dying breath, her hands falling limp at her sides and legs crumbling to the bed. I held her throat in my grip for a few minutes longer before pulling them away. I checked her pulse by laying my head to her chest, right over her heart. There was no sound to be made that I could hear. I pulled away from her, withdrawing myself from her bed. I had fulfilled my purpose for being there, in her room. There was no need for me to stay. So, without so much as a glance back, I slipped out of her room, returning to my own silently.

Laying back in my bed, I curled up on my side and, with a smile dancing its way onto my lips, I fell into a dreamless slumber. My sister Calliope died at my hands, over and over, in my dreams. And each and every time, she shed a single tearm expressing every emotion possible, my broken mind accepting all but one.

My broken mind would never accept her forgiveness of my killing her.

[xXx]

Read and review, please. I love you all, and I would love to hear what you guys think.

~Yuulez