Story [Twilight] A Character Soliloquy

A/N: Well, I have been bitten and here is what it did to me. *meep*

Disclaimer: Twilight and its characters are original creations of Stephenie Meyer. I just got enchanted by them.


Edward Speaks


You who have never thirsted, do not judge me.

Ah, but I judge myself. And this girl, this child, she will be my death. How I wish that it were true in a literal sense, as well as the figurative.

I was born one year too late for the Great War. ?The war to end all wars?, it was called. How farcical, how naïve, we of that time were, to think there could be any such thing. But I was seventeen when it ended, too young to have gone to the Front. I suppose I might have stolen away. There were others, my age, who slipped into the ranks at sixteen. My parents were too vigilant. They wanted me to live. If they had known, how I would live, I wonder, might they not have let me go to the bombs and the trenches?

Carlisle loved me too. He sought and pursued me through the years, at great risk to himself and his family, until finally he brought me home.

My first kill was madness. You who have never thirsted, you cannot know the burning cold, the desperation of the newly born. How that word is defiled by what we are! I walked the deserted streets. I thought I still lay upon the hospital bed in a fever dream. But it was no dream. The derelict old man lay in the alley in the stain of his own urine, his breath -- and his blood as well -- reeking of alcohol. I should have recoiled in disgust from such smells. But the thirst gnawed and burned and froze and drove me onward, until I slaked myself with his life. At seventeen.

I have no idea how I eluded Carlisle in those first days, or for that matter, mere capture by the authorities. I was a beast. A shade. I am a beast, and a shade. Soon enough I came to understand what I had become. The Furies of my thirst and my horror and my shame drove me from city to city, continent to continent. For I hear the thoughts of those around me. In moments of sanity and self-possession, I tried every means I could think of to end my wretched life. At seventeen.

But what I am does not die easily.

Soon enough, another war raged. I threw myself into it. I had hopes, that with the advances in weaponry, I might yet accomplish my goal. I fought for both sides. For any side. Recklessly putting myself in the way of every conceivable harm, shielding those behind me with my flesh. No use. I died a thousand hero?s deaths by day -- under cloud and smoke, in the mud and in the rain. And rose again at night, to feed upon the dying; on the battlefields, and in the hospital tents.

Do not ask me what I saw, and heard, and smelled, and gathered into my arms in those places. At seventeen.

Some embraced me, blessed me, others fought to the last against the cessation of their suffering. Their eyes haunt me, and I think they cannot truly be dead, for do I not carry their souls, in guilt and sorrow, through this eternal damnation of mine? Forever seventeen.

It was there, at Tripoli, that Carlisle finally overtook me. He is strong. And he had his bear of a son, Emmett -- my brother ever since -- to help him. They bound me, imprisoned me. Esme and Rosalie guarded me, too. Esme was kindest to me. She is mother to us all, but most especially to me. Later I learned that it was in ministering to her, who crossed the same night that I did, that Carlisle had lost me at my birth.

They taught me their ways. To feed upon the blood of animals, rather than of humans. Perhaps I was tired. Perhaps I had finally despaired of self-annihilation. In the end I accepted this endless night that I share with them, and others of our kind. I allowed it to be made more bearable by our conscious choice, affirmed each time we hunt, that we will not kill wantonly, and we will not prey upon any human being.

It is a hard life, for the blood of animals does not fill us. But it allows us life

 

You who have never thirsted, do not judge me.

Wow, that's really moving. The whole story is intense and really beautiful.

 

Wow - this just blew me away. So intense...All I can say is wow. You get 4 claps for this!

WOW.

 

Oh, my.

Such passion, so beautifully expressed.

It is achingly sad to be seventeen forever without hope or prospects of growth or change ....

 

Beautiful job. Very powerful and chilling.

 

Wow, thanks, guys!!

NYCitygurl: intense and really beautiful ...That pretty much sums up how Edward?s character came across to me -- in my imagination from the premise posed by the author?s sketch of his history, and also in Pattinson?s portrayal on screen.

GuNgAnFaN3090: I wrote this in a bit of a spontaneous fit, and really wasn?t sure if I?d be getting rotten tomatoes, so, thanks!!

Geo3: It is achingly sad to be seventeen forever without hope or prospects of growth or change .... Maybe that?s where Bella comes in ? (And stop egging me on! )

Miana Kenobi: chilling ...Oh thank you! I wanted that element. In the story and movie, the danger to Bella of consorting with vampires was mostly carried by the 'bad' vampire, James. But I wanted to bring that danger home to Edward's soul and his relationship with Bella. After all, if he's not truly a Beast, then he's just another mortal boy, and not Beauty's eternal lover.

 

Hello, what have we here. So this is where you have been hiding out.

Great character sketch, very intense and cold. I like how you made time feel heavy, the horrors he experiences are even more horrific because he must carry them with him forever through his ?eternal damnation? and ?this endless night.? And then a touch of hope at the end, but not really because there is no hope for him.

Beautiful.

 

azizah Hey you!! Not hiding, just terribly blocked. Maybe this will loosen me up a bit, I hope. As for whether there is any hope for our dear Edward .... He doesn't think so, but some fanfic authors may beg to differ.

 

Your tale is gripping and emotional. You have taken a side of Edward, which I reserved only for my imagination, into the open and warped it into a face truer than his own. You answered questions in a fashion more canon than Stephanie Meyer could have ever accomplished. The only lament that I have is that this cannot, truly, be the fictional reality.

This is brilliant, brilliant writing. I applaud your effort.

 

NickLitYouAFlame Such generous praise, thank you! I think the fictional reality is for each person to shape anew. The story as written by Stephenie Meyer is what she saw when she looked into the welll, but it is not the only vision there. If you should choose to write yours, please pm me.