Rare and Sweet Like Cherrywine

There had never been a long list of things that could make Absinth’s fuse begin to burn. Most of her life she had been pitted against other souls who weren’t black, or white- but simply gray. Everyone was gray. They did what they needed to to survive, and many went above and beyond that. Atrocities, corruption, all souls could turn pitch black. That wasn’t the issue. What was the problem was when someone started spewing bullshit about how her choices  were crazy. Crazy in the face of what? What alternative lifestyle could she have led, growing up the way she did? Around the things she did? Clawing for survival, still clinging to the  games  that kept her alive. Yeah. Unsound mind. Absinth was not the first to throw stones about choices - she’d tried to offer a new perspective; a helping hand. “Yes. He would. But I am here  because I like playing the game.  It’s all I’ve ever known, and It’ll remain that way. That’s my belief. Better here in the company of devils I know than cursed by the angels whose intentions I can’t understand. You sin, you go to hell. You live your life good , and still end up in hell because you  weren’t good enough.  Not enough prayer,  not enough benevolence.  Not enough reverence  in a higher power. You know what I believe? It doesn’t matter  what you believe, you’re still worm food in the end- or one of many many  souls whose existence didn’t mean a goddamn thing .” And this girl was making sure she wouldn’t mean a thing. It was difficult for Absinth to reign in her aggravated tone, her eyes flashing with disbelief and more so disdain.

“So. You, up there on your altar of worship, looking down on the rest of us for not understanding your Goddess or your beliefs. From my perspective, you’re a dead ringer of a crazy fanatical bitch- and oh. You already have a match! A maniacal murderous bastard. What a pair! That death pact was a fucking stroke of luck.” She was seething now, her limbs planted firmly to remind herself that this girl was untouchable. And why attack such a weak battered thing anyways? Absinth was not the type to have toys, and she wouldn’t start now.

With a snort she turned her entire body away, letting out a barking laugh that shook her ribcage fiercely.  “I won’t waste mine, or your time with this pointless conversation any longer. But little miss sanity, you should either be more effective about meeting that Goddess of yours or stop shitting out of your mouth. If you really wanted to die you’d have bitten your own tongue off, bled out, and been done with it. So, figure out a way you can live with yourself after you acknowledge that.” Absinth spat, tail lashing as she began to leave. It was impossible to speak at the moment- especially with a girl so dead set on giving up her one and only life. Ridiculous. How many struggles of others did that invalidate? Absinth hated it. She acted like she was the first ever to endure a madman. But perhaps, Absinth hadn’t given much thought as to just how strong she herself was in the mental department that way. There were some things others couldn’t, wouldn’t endure.

As she departed Absinth left the girl- whose name she never bothered to ask- with a final sentence spoken over an ivory shoulder. “If you get over yourself, let’s chat again- if you die, send me a sign or whatever dead fuckers do.”

[Exit Absinth]

wormwood