Darkness Taking Dawn- Lars Ulrich Fanfiction

Goddamn Your Righteous Hand

Goddamn your righteous hand
I eat innocent meat
The housewife I will beat
The prolife I will kill
What you won't do I will
I bash myself to sleep
What you sow I will reap
I scar myself you see
I wish I wasn't me
I am the little stick
You stir me into shit
I hate therefore I am
Goddamn your righteous hand
Goddamn Goddamn
Goddamn Goddamn
Pseudo morals work real well on the talk shows for the week
But your selective judgments and good guy badges don't mean to fuck to me
I am the VHS
Record me with your fist
Want me to save the world
I'm just a little girl
Get your gunn, get your gunn
Get your gunn, get your gunn - Marilyn Manson

I woke up late one night only to find Rita toying around with that old revolver of hers. She sat outside of the house with only a dim newly lit cigarette and the full moon lighting the night. Her hair was pulled back into a lazy ponytail that almost completely covered the sides of her faces, a long Misfits t-shirt that could fit her like a dress. She looked over towards me and wordlessly took out a cigarette and handed it towards me. I took it from her but automatically she went back to being completely and utterly enthralled with the small gun that she held in her hands. 

The night was so quiet aside from a few crickets chirping that broke up the monotony of the atmosphere that surrounded us. I looked towards her then down towards the gun that she treasured so much. 

"It's my father's." She stated aloud. I looked towards Rita silently urging her on to tell me more.

"It was a present he gave me on my twelfth birthday." She continued while twirling the barrel.

"Why do you keep it with you?" I pondered.

"It was the only thing he ever gave me." She cut me off.

Rita went on to point it up at the sky although she was trying to set her sights on something. She pulled the trigger, but yet to my surprise nothing came out. There was absolutely no sound that resonated off of it even after the trigger has been pulled. I guess she could see the confusion in my eyes then she went and pulled out some bullets that had been lying on the ground adjacent to her.

She plopped them in my hand then turned to me. "You don't need to have any bullets in a gun to scare someone." Rita told me sounding rather distant. "You just have to act convincingly enough to show that you have some bullets."

To tell you the truth it did scare me. She was always so fond of that thing; almost as much as that book of her's. She was also a decent shot, but ever since that time I was in her old apartment it became clear to me that she was somewhat suicidal. Along, with that those dead grey eyes of hers held almost no emotion nor sympathy. It reminded me of looking at a feral animal. What would compute for regular people didn't seem to compute for her. It shook me whenever she'd go frigid yet be so talkative like this. It made my blood turn cold.

She sighed and spat out her cigarette onto the ground while stomping it out with her bare foot despite an ashtray being right next to her.

Rita stood up and patted me on my shoulder telling me to follow her back into the house. She invited me back into bed to sleep with her, but despite being so close to the girl of my dreams I couldn't feel any cooler. The dead look in her eyes that always seemed to linger around shook me at that very moment. She slept so peacefully yet her almost passionate rant on her gun ran chills down my spine. It was like first handedly witnessing a person on the brink, yet I never wanted to question her on it. Despite moments like this when we got closer she always terrified me. A part of me has an inkling that she knew this, but if she did she never openly showed me or ever tried stop it to make me feel better.

"To me she was incapable of advancing beyond her violent tendencies." I stated aloud.

"Why do you say that?"

"Any conversation I had with her always bordered on something morbid, even when it didn't there was always this underlining message of something violent."

It was true. While, it was somewhat contained in her public appearances her music always told another story. And I understand that the grotesque themes in black metal are always done on purpose and it is a staple of that genre, yet when around her it didn't just seem like an act or something merely put on for show. 

When I told her about it I was when she was playing with what I thought was a real gun.

When I confronted her on her dark sense of humor she smirked at me and wrapped my arms around her waist. Her hands started to caress me. It felt out of character for her, but who was I to complain? That was until I felt the end of her gun against the temple of my head. She leaned her head against my own as I swear I could feel her pull the trigger on her revolver. I was almost waiting for it to come until I heard the click but felt no head splitting pain.

She leaned down towards my ear and brushed some loose strands of hair out of the sides of my face. "You desire to live, but you are never quite aware how easy it is to die." She whispered softly. "Can you imagine what would've happened if there weren't blanks in here?" She questioned rhetorically as she slide off away from my body.

As she went back to the counter she began to prop herself on the wall adjacent to myself. 

"Lars," Her voice cut through the air like a knife as the deep rasp in her voice reminded me of a menacing hiss or growl that bubbled in the back of a venomous and deadly animal. "You want to know my deal? Any sort of happiness I feel in my life is almost always temporary and is sure to rot away to only prelude to the tiresome descents into levels of hell that I can't wake up from. So I'm sorry if you don't like my attitude, but I don't want to die as I have lived."

She left me alone in that moment completely dumbfounded at her almost poetic yet sickening monologue that left me paralyzed within my own body. At this time I could tell no matter how much she would keep to herself and no matter how much she would refuse to outwardly express her thoughts fractions you could see in her eyes at that very moment that she was silently screaming, "I wish I wasn't me." You were always speaking in tongues. I hate therefore I am. Goddamn your righteous hand.

A/N: Thank you again for all the love so far. I know this chapter was edgy as all hell. I'll try to refrain from going off like this unless it is completely necessary for Rita's character.