Originally Posted: 6 June 2002

Warnings: Graphic gore, Torture, Adult language, Shounen Ai (later chapters), and Religious prejudice.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Weiss Kreuz.

Time. There's entirely too much of it, in my opinion. It's everywhere, and seems to stalk us where ever we go. Worse yet, it brings with us things we wish to rid ourselves of, past and future pleasures that distract us, and unwelcomed moods. I loathe time... Almost to the extent of which I loathe God, himself. I hate time.

I can't remember a time when I didn't hate something. I don't wish to, but when I think about it, it pulls at me inside. Shouldn't I remember a time like that? Have I ever had one? I could most seriously doubt it. I'm hardly able to bare all of the things I hate... Like God.

If it weren't for Him, I wouldn't have to deal with such unpleasantries as time brings, bordem, my entire past, etc... If it weren't for Him, I would be resting peacefully in non-existance. Though, now that I'm alive, and miserable, I really don't mind life too much. I wouldn't kill myself or anything as dramatic, no. I may be sunken deep beyond insanity, but I'm not stupid.

Err! I have I mentioned how I hate time? There's entirely too much of it! What--

A stoic figure graced the staircase, his silhouette is illuminated by the bright light seeping in through the doorway behind him. It's blinding to my eye, and I close it immediately to block out the light. I can already feel who's coming down the stairs. It's kind of like reading auras, but I can identify who people are by their very presence. I'm not as gifted as to see things before they happen, read minds, or even move objects with will power, no. I'm just the crazy one.

Though, I do I find it satisfactory that I should so easily identify others. Without looking at my guest, I knew who it was. The bloody Oracle, himself. How kind of good Mr. Crawford to pay me a visit during my boring wasted hours, restrained down here in this basement. I suppose it is my fault, though. If I had known the small one... whatever his name is... was so fond of cats, I might have kept the bloody mess in the back yard.

I had been out earlier today, around eleven in the morning, and was enjoying my examination of the new cutlery the Almighty Oracle had purchased a few days before, in the kitchen. Yes, he had some very nice, smooth, new blades sitting in that drawer. Sharp to the touch, and I couldn't resist running it across my fingers a few times. Very nice, indeed. Though, something caught my eye through the kitchen window, so I ambled over for further investigation.

A cat. I love cats! I opened the door almost immediately, with a quick pry of the lock, and stepped out into the yard. The cat was a fine specimen of the feline species, if not a bit obese around the stomach-- the signs of pregnancy. Yes, this cat was going to deliver her litter soon, but I could tell from her size, she would probably die in the process. And she would leave the kittens to die, unable to defend themselves, or survive.

Since I had never seem the insides of a cat, I was intrigued. The cat was going to die anyway, being a stray, and as small as it was; why put the litter through such a thing? Besides, starving to death is such a boring way to die, don't you think? One should never hesitate, no matter what species or gender, to follow the motto of life:

O! This cat's inside could make such a lovely stain! I could barely contain my giddiness. This was going to be positively delightful, and maybe even a bit educational, on my behalf. Crawford would never be as impressed with my will to learn as he would with that little one, though-- Godamnit! What is his name?!

I closed the door, behind me, carrying the small animal inside, and stroked it's slightly rough and matted fur with the hand that occupied my knife. I set the cat down upon the den floor, and strangely, didn't have to restrain it, as it just laid there and purred. It really was a sweet cat, but maybe a bit too trusting for it's own good. That would probably explain her present condition.

I pet the cat for a while, as it lay there on the white carpet of our den. Her eyes were heavily lidded and soon she fell asleep. I continued to watch her for a while, just laying there and purring, another one of God's filthy creations. I hate God.

Slowly, I lightly pressed the tip of the blade at midoint of the cat's stomach. I drew the knife downwards at a light angle across the thin fur of her underside, making an expert incision to the occupied area of the cat's lower structure. My golden eye glanced quickly to the cat's face. As I thought, she hadn't felt a thing.

Looking back to her stomach, the cut was beginning to bulge in restrained blood, trying to escape, and with a small prod of one of the new knives recently installed in our kitchen-- remind me to thank Crawford for that later-- the blood began to ooze from the cut quickly. I frowned, lightly; I had prodded too hard. Now, she was going to wake up. Seeing how pain was inevitable for the creature, anyway, I went ahead and lifted the top flesh of the cut to see inside.

The cat growled, low and deep, and flattened her ears against the back of her head, her green eyes shooting a glare into my own golden orb. I ignored her growling, by then it had morphed into helpless cries of pain, and continued to clear out the blood with the knife. Smoothing it fluidly upon the white, now crimson, soaked carpet. I couldn't help but smirk, as I looked down upon it. Red is such a pretty colour.

"Mrow... mrow... mrow..." The cat just keeps calling, again and again. Why isn't it dead yet? Just, die already, cat.

I continue to ignore her moans of pain, and open the flesh up for a full view of the stomach. Seeing the large size of the feline's sack, I see that within it's nearly translucent barriers-- thin from stretching to hold so many kittens-- are several lumps. Those must be the awaiting litter. I probed the sack with the tip of the knife and watched the contents stream out of the gash, as the hold for the litter quickly deflated, leaving only a mound of what was left of the baby cats.

God must be in great pain right now; at that thought I light up in almost a delirious sense of giddiness. Worse than before. I was practically giggling, when he walked in. The small one, whatever his name is, entered, walking up to stand beside me, and grew instantly pale. I looked up, seeing the color flush from his cheeks almost instantly, and he covered his mouth with his hand. He looked a bit under the weather, come to think of it. "What's wrong with you?" I smirked at him.

By this time, his skin tone was in a competition for paleness with one of Crawford's really white suits. He looked a bit funny, with his large eyes bulging, and his hand over his mouth. I watched him shudder, and look at me in a rather shocked manner, and run back towards the edge of the hallway. Today's youth are so rude. I ignored his calling for Crawford as I went back to probing the cat with the fine new piece of cutlery.

"Damn it, Nagi! Would you shut the fuck up and give us a minute?" Schuldig's voice reaches my ears, as I am now digging into what appears to be the liver. He sounds irritated. He and Crawford don't appear to get along that well, as they're always bickering-- remind me to investigate their reasons for disagreement further. They were probably in the middle of an argument at the very moment.

"Farfarello is dissecting a cat on the carpet!" Yes, Nagi is his name. I wonder why I can't remember that. I glare at the cat, my fun is about to end in three... two... one...

"Farfarello!" Crawford has me pinned to the floor, and is prying the knife from my hand. Damn, he's strong. He glares at me, but I'm simply staring at the blood. It really does look beautful in a pool upon the white carpet. I like blood.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't just do things like that!" He's handed the knife to Schuldig who is strangely smirking at me. His expression changes, when he sees the cat, to one of disgust, and he takes the knife to be decontaminated in the kitchen sink.

I never answer Crawford unless I have a reason to, and I really don't feel like talking right now. That cat and her litter were too small to cause God any pain, weren't they? Why don't I feel God crying? Why dosen't he hurt? I hate God! Without thinking, I twist violently, and am quickly restrained by the prodigy-- I have forgotten his name again, already. Schuldig has returned from the kitchen and now they all take holds on my arms and legs, dragging me towards that door. I know this fate all too well.

It's been this way for the last three months, in which we've all spent together in this house as a group. When I have a mental outburst, they drag me to the basement and slip a straight jacket over my head. I'm restrained, and now I am strung, upside down, from the basement ceiling. That is where they leave me, alone in the darkness, until they feel I have calmed enough to be let loose.

My eyes were still shut, and I probably appeared asleep to him, and I felt him loosen the restraints around my feet. Without warning, I fell to the ground, hitting my head fiercely against the floor and tumbling into a heap on the floor. This is his idea of a wake up call.

My head pounded a bit, and I opened my eye in time to see him untying the white jacket that bound me, his expression was hard like stone, and impossible to read. I simply watched him, out of my golden eye, without complaint. It's not like the fall hurt, it just wasn't too pleasant either, but it would never do to complain to Crawford. I actually feel a bit sorry for the guy, putting up with Schuldig constantly. He probably gets enough complaints from him.

"What did you think you were doing, Farfarello?" His voice is cold, like it always is when he addresses me.

"I wanted to see what was inside." I responded plainly, as usual. He wanted to know, so I told him.

"Next time you want to know what's inside of something, get a book about it." He was finishing the last strap of the jacket, and shot me a glare out of the corner of his eyes. "We just had that carpet cleaned. We will not continue to clean up after you."

A lazy smirk crossed my face, as the jacket was removed, and I began to stand up. Everything was still spinning from the blow to the back of my head, and I looked past Crawford and up to door. Schuldig was there, watching us.

"Don't let it happen again." His voice was dark, and he turned trailing up the stairs, and pushing past the redheaded German, who was smiling at me, as I followed him up.

- You're a fucking weirdo, Farf. - His voice thrums within my head, and I stare blankly at him. - I knew that the moment I met you, yea. But, I think you're getting just a little bit weirder everyday. -

- God didn't hurt. - My gaze dropped to the floor, and I walked past him, into the kitchen to sulk in one of the chairs.

- It was a fucking cat, Farfie! - He followed me, leaning against the doorframe that lead into the den. - I'm sure it hurt him, at least a little. -

My eye trailed up to his face, glaring right into his own green gaze, and he looked uncomfortable for a moment. - It didn't hurt him enough. - That marked the end of our conversation, and he slowly walked away, my glare following him out of sight.

Now boredem and anger ensues. Anger over what happened, and boredem because now I have nothing to do. This leaves me with time. I really hate time. I try to waste as much as is possible, but it never seems like enough. Just like I try to hurt God. It's never enough. I never seem to be able to control what I'm doing, when it comes to my attempts to hurt the Big Bastard Upstairs. If I could then I wouldn't be this way, would I?

I wish I knew when it was that I apparently lost it. As far as I know, I've never had it, and what I never had just gets a little farther from me everyday. One can't be cured from my kind of insanity. The doctors who declared me "mentally unstable", said I had probably always been this way. I was just made wrong, they said.

Maybe I should try to figure out what's wrong with me? Why I am this way. I don't question my sanity; I already know the answer. Though, I can't help but wonder why... What was it that did this to me?

To Be Continued...

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