Arachnids Don't Cry

Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies. 

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

*.*.*.*

THE END

*.*.*.*

Rap music blared through the towering black speakers situated on either side of the room. The drum of the heavy bass resulted in a tremble that shook the gold framed paintings on the walls and made the glass bottles and cups shiver. 

John gazed at the man who leaned back into the soft bosom of the high seat placed on a slightly raised platform from which he overlooked everything beneath him. It was more symbolic than practical, a reminder of his high and lofty status. 

He looked down at the men in black suits who danced and indulged in their base desires. The high pitched and priced strippers who made shedding their clothes into a sensual and hypnotic art and turned fornication into a business. The scent of alcohol, ecstasy and sex soaked the air.

This was a night of celebration; new territory had been gained, old enemies had been buried and the spoils of their kingdom of crime shared between all who held seats on the council. 

John stood with his arms crossed, hawk like eyes pierced all through the club from behind the clear glasses on his face. He felt for the weapons holstered on either side of his torso, confirming their weight once again as he imagined how a certain scenario would play out. 

"Useless slut!" The chubby man seated atop the high chair roared, sending a stinging slap across the face of the sniveling lady prostrated at his feet. "You can't even give proper head you dumb bitch! Fuck, your pussy better be made of platinum!" He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head away from his exposed member. 

"Eyes on me, on me" He snapped at her face. She was the daughter of an enemy, one who'd been buried tonight and this was just the start of her torture. "Good. Listen, you better do a good job cause you do not want me to throw you to my boy John. This guy's a fucking monster, compared to him I'm a fucking angel." He cackled. The girl cried, she was old enough to still be in high-school. 

John looked at her face, he stared at those eyes that begged for mercy, eyes that sought the hand of a savior to deliver them from this agony. His sisters had the very same eyes, he once did too. 

It had taken years to reach this point. John had done things, terrible, nightmarish things to people, good and bad, and he knew that his soul was destined for eternal damnation. For revenge, he accepted the price. 

He reached into his trouser pocket and traced a finger along the seamless surface of a remote, letting the digit rest on a single raised button. 

Once more he stared down, down where those who celebrated where, those that were convinced he was their friend and comrade, their dependable leader, second only to the boss himself. 

John pushed the button and braced himself.

—BOOOOM!

A loud explosion shattered through the dancefloor below, engulfing the entire area in fire and explosive force. None survived it, not the goons, not the lieutenants, not the strippers, all were reduced to pieces of flesh and bone entwined with burning rubble. 

John picked himself off the floor, the building rumbled and twisted beneath his feet. He approached Marco, the boss, the fat man who was busy groaning on the floor with piss staining his white suit. He gestured for the scared girl to run away, the blood trailing down her ears told him of damage she'd sustained as she dashed for the exit.

He grabbed Marco by the neck and lifted him to a seated position. 

"Cough! Cough! Shit, John, John what the fuck happened, who did this?!"

"Focus." John slapped the disoriented man hard enough to have him spit a tooth out. 

John pulled up his phone and began to play a video. "I'm sure you recognize your father, mother and brothers. Please watch and make sure to stay quiet." He said coldly. 

All protest died within Marco as he saw John's eyes. He knew what happened to those the man spoke to in such a tone. The disobedient died an even more painful death. So Marco kept his mouth shut and watched the video. Five seconds into it, he began to vomit and shout, yet the butcher in the video continued with his slaughter and dismembering. 

Why? Oh, god why! Marco was too shaken to even speak. Those were his family, they were people being cut open and gutted like animals.

"Why?" John answered as if reading his mind. "A lesson that dues always come paid. But for you, I want you to remember, Marco, I want you to remember what you did on January 7th 2013." John retrieved a blade from his belt. "Don't worry if you can't recall it now, I'll make sure to jog your memory." With that, John began his torture. Carving his way through layers of skin, separating each and minimizing the bleeding to prolong the horrendous act for as long as possible. 

Shrieks, howls and wails filled the burning room as though it was a section of hell on earth. Pain and unimaginable agony could be clearly felt in every enduring high pitch that Marco ripped through his raw vocal cords. 

John stopped when the crying died down. He gently placed his blade down, and pulled off his shirt and coat. The skinned, castrated, mutilated and dismembered body of Marco laid motionlessly in a puddle of his own blood.

John stood to his feet and stared at the inferno below. 

"Jenny, I know you didn't want this. But well you're in heaven so I guess what you want doesn't matter." He wanted to smile, to laugh even though he couldn't. Revenge wasn't as cathartic as he assumed it would be, but he felt vindicated and that was enough. "June, I did it for you too."

I'll have to pay as well. John did not leave himself out of his revenge plans, he too would bear the consequences of all he'd done. For all he'd killed on his path. "Sorry." He said for the hookers, the most recent collateral in his vengeance, for their families and friends who are left in loss. 

If there was a different world, perhaps he would've found meaning. Perhaps he would've been the helping hand that he needed while suffering. Perhaps, he left unsaid. Walking off the balcony and into the sea of flames. 

"I love you forever, Jenny. I'll always hold you close, June."

*..*..*..*..*

"Urhgmm." A muted groan slipped past my lips. My right arm was on fire, my left was numb and unresponsive. My chest was filled with lead and my heart was busy pumping raw gasoline into my eyes; the world was red and upside down and clearer than it had ever appeared to my eyes. 

"HeY BRo YoU GoOD?!"

 "DUdE!"

"HELP!"

I cupped my ears from the amplified voices which burrowed into my ear canal like rusted nails with serrated edges, hammering right through my drums with the brutality of broken glass scraping through flesh. I fell off a platform and caught myself drowning through air.

Why am I alive? 

"Bleargh!" My mouth tore open, plastered into the floor above my head was whatever my stomach held. Gravity left my feet unpinned, my head being the size of the moon dragged my shoulders down and into the ceiling.

What is happening to me? 

I collapsed next to my still warm vomit. The red in my eyes was blotted out by the black ink that spread from the edge of my vision. I convulsed and squirmed, foam bubbled in my mouth. Pain was everything, agony replaced my body. 

Hands coated in razors and jagged glass clamped over me, screams and sirens pierced through my head, I hacked up a lung in a cough, darkness swallowed my sight but not my consciousness. I remained paralyzed and hyperaware. I sat alone in the abyss, a crown of fire rested atop my head as my life played out before my eyes. Electricity took hold of my brain, the shock came before the torture and with it everything; numbers, shapes, sizes, experiences, colors, tastes, light, dark, things I couldn't put to coherent speech drove into my mind at a maddening pace that had me reeling into unconsciousness. 

What is this?

*.*.*.*.* 

They say death is the destination. They also say life is a journey. Perhaps in my case it was the opposite, death was just a journey and life the destination itself. 

Why was I here? 

There wasn't rhyme or reason to my awakening. Once the darkness swallowed you and your soul vacated the confines of your body, one was meant to either transcend into heaven or, in my case, descend to hell, or better yet disperse into nothingness if neither place existed.

If that was the case, what then was the process behind my re-life? What grand and absurd reason was there to my continued existence in the body of another? What was the aim, the big picture? It all boiled down to one question—Why was I here?

Many wisemen and philosophers have pondered that same question. The answers vary. None satisfied me. I ceased pondering it.

"Hun." The brown olive skinned woman planted her soft lips on my forehead. Her bunned back auburn hair had the scent of something motherly and warm. Her eyes were as soft as her embrace. "You're going to be alright okay." I could tell you how healthy each individual strand of hair on her head appeared, I could count the strawberry freckles that dotted her face despite how few they were. I could see the pearly quality of her straight and proportional teeth. I could see the thin wrinkles behind her smile. 

She's beautiful. My improved sight, which made whatever I possessed in a past life seem utterly useless, allowed me to see her in all her glory. She was beautiful and caring.

I judged her to be the body's biological mother based on instinct, rational deduction and common sense.

My lips remained sealed. The answers she needed weren't mine to give. Her son was dead, I was a man in his body, a parasite in a new host. 

"I came as soon as I heard." Said a kind faced man in a pristine police uniform. "How is he?" He asked with worry, cupping my hand in his as he felt my forehead, checking my temperature. I felt the concern in his voice, despite his large and built stature, he was a gentle soul, one that cared deeply for this body, for me.

"He'll be fine. It was just an allergic reaction to a spider bite." The mother said.

"Son, you'll be just right in no time." The father said. A reassuring smile on his face. 

"We should let him rest now and no, Jeff you can't stay with him, you have to go to work."

"I didn't even say anything." He deflated like a lost puppy.

"He'll be better in the morning."

"Okay, okay nurse," Jeff said. He rubbed my hair, told me to be strong, told me that I was loved and all would be fine. She kissed my head again and told me the same but with a believing smile as she reluctantly left to attend to her other patients, dragging him along.

I turned to my body.

I felt more alive than I'd ever been. My heart pumped loud enough for me to hear. The air filling my lungs was fresher than anything I'd ever inhaled. The dull aches and abiding stiffness that accompanied my past life lacked a mark on this body. The scars of blades and bullets and all manners of weapons did not paint my flesh. 

I was unblemished by suffering, my body was untouched by hardship, labor and battle. 

This was too much of a blessing, one I knew I was very undeserving of. 

Where was the child's soul? I hoped it had obtained a peaceful resolution for it was too unfair for me to obtain that which a youth had barely begun to enjoy. Yet, the world was an unfair place. Even in another life, I still killed. 

'..s..a..v..e…t..h..e..m..'

 "Who?" I jolted up, I searched around the room for the voice. The soul biting, teeth gnashing, terror inducing whisper uttered in my ear and rumbled through my core like thunder echoing in the mind. Apart from the other unused beds and devices, I was alone in the room. 

Perhaps the sound had come from the Tv mounted to the wall, except for the obvious fact that it was off. 

I was hallucinating then. This was uncharted territory—death and subsequent re-life, I am unaware of what followed it, the side effects among other things. It was beyond my current capacity to use science in explaining the unscientific and borderline supernatural.

I lay on the bed, closed my eyes and meditated. The silence was littered by the slide of gurneys, the footsteps of nurses and doctors outside the room and the hushed beeps of machines. 

The voice did not return. A long exhale escaped my nostrils, sleep caught my body and held onto me. A scalding bony touch settled on the side of my neck, I could feel eyes on fire stare at me from somewhere beyond my dreams. I sank deeper, unable to rouse myself from the coming slumber. 

I was alive again. in a different body, with a different name. A name that held meaning. In a world that wasn't supposed to be real. 

The dark swallowed me whole.

*.*.*.*

ADC Rewrite cause I've been meaning to. No confirmed update timetable. You know the power tool.