This fic is somewhat hard to figure out on your own so I'll explain. But first let me warn you I portrayed God as a male figure in this fic and my apologies to anyone this might offend. This can be from the point of view of any of the Weiss boys or even the Schwartz boys but basically the narrator is captured and scentenced to life in an insane asylum because of the lives he's taken. I know it would probably never happen in the Weiss universe so I will cover my ass with two little letter proceeding a warning...here we go...

WARNING: AU

Okay so now that you get it, I hope enjoy. ~Kai White Haven

White. White like the smooth bleached tiles beneath my feet, shining with a gorey, exposed luster against the bright lights which were ironically just as white as the floor and even the walls. I felt sandwiched in such an open color, pressed to punch my way out of a paper bag that was trapped within a steel lockbox and the cold metal key dissolved in my stomach. Such easy access yet impossible to find.

I shouldn't have looked at the whites of his eyes.

The guard, the leader, the soldier, the officer, the enemy, I looked into all of their eyes, just before I took their souls, wrenching their very existence off of this planet and out of politically correct record books and databases with one gut-wrenching twist of my merely human hand. I didn't know, the others didn't know that unlike me these men and women were also friends, daddies, mommies, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and citizens. I felt tainted and branded as a horrible person.

But I wasn't a person anymore.

Could dead people go to hell? Surely if you don't exist then your existence can't be judged at the gates of heaven, at the altar of God. I tried to imagine the lord standing before me. He would be much taller and older with long piles of silver hair and there would be nothing wrong with him. He would be beautiful, the most beautiful sight I have ever seen and every part of him would be perfect, perfect for me. All except his eyes. I could see them set in his human formed head staring at me knowingly with a wise, aged, concentrated look that would be set only on me. I wouldn't have to say anything and he would judge me as a person with one look into my eyes.

Even the lord shows me the whites of his eyes.

When would they come to get me? Would they come in white uniforms with gloves and masks protecting themselves from me like a virus, not paying attention to my persona. Like a child I had learned to fear through repetitiveness, learned to fear the ones that took me away from what I was clinging onto, from the desolate white room where my thoughts could float freely among the ceiling. The hands were covered in white, a dull white from the flesh that showed through the transparent latex. I would watch as they'd disappear into the white haven I created for myself and then lash out blindly onto my robes, dragging me into submission and then…nothing.

They didn't have whites in their eyes.

They wouldn't let me see their eyes. They were always hidden behind black masks, opaque slivers of titanium and plastic that the white bounced off defiantly. The black didn't belong, it didn't belong with the sterile color surrounding the halls and corridors and room I've walked through for a year. It was like an annoying dot of uninvited ink atop of a calligrapher's envelope, an alien being beside the elegant, intricate lines and textures expressing a message of happy news. I never got married, I couldn't now, not while my mind was constantly buzzing. If I did, it would be white. A white wedding.

White like the surging pillar of energy.

It was a wretched thing. A great flash of blinding light that jumped testily from one conductor to another scaring you with it's walk like a snake high on it's belly warding you off with appearance. The hands would drag me down and voices around me would speak and ask me questions as though I was just one of their friends. They'd strap me to a chair and animal noises would escape my mouth, noises even I am unfamiliar with. I'd sit like a vunerable mouse that kept returning to the mousetrap and the light would strike and rise around me sending a hot pain in waves through every pore in my body, every nerve ending jumping with adrenaline surfacing as torture in my mind and I'd scream and I'd thrash but the surge would take over my body like a bodysnatcher and hold me as stiff as a board with my mouth wide open and yelling. I got no cheese in this mousetrap.

And then it would all be white again.

I'd open my eyes and the black would disappear. I could almost feel my pupils retracting in fear from the sudden brightness when they would send a message back to my exhausted brain that I was back in my little white corner, my haven and I'd see all of my dreadfully boring musings scrolling above me. They were white too and I could only read them by the shadow they left on the white ceiling above. I squinted my eyes. It was getting hard for me to continue reading my thoughts without much effort and the damn electricity had taken more and more out of me in the past year so I knew I wouldn't be able to read my thoughts, my musings, my ideas, my existence. I couldn't let that happen.

It wouldn't be white anymore.

I had come to the conclusion that white meant dread, pain, most of all torture. It wanted something back from me, it begged me for something and if I didn't give anything I would be forced to retract into a corner and close by eyes, entering the blackness. There was no escaping the white, so I would simply hide it. Along with the white, I knew, I was hiding my past, the whites of their eyes, of God's eyes, of the gloves and the solemn smiles they gave me, trying to inject me with a sense of comfort, the white saw everything, I saw everything. That's why, like the Tell-Tale Heart insanity is only an extreme acuteness of the senses. I grew to hate the smell of white, the sight of white, the feel, the sound, the taste, everything about white I could possibly ever conceive as being spiteful towards me. White destroyed my life so I would destroy it they way I destroyed so many of the lives and their white eyes. Soon enough, I'd rip it apart, tear it to pieces and drown it in it's own blood, choke it on it's own flesh. White was only a soul like me that bled and I would be the one to make that soul bleed.

I imagined the scene with a smile as I painted.

When they pushed open the door, pulling it open with their gloved hands they'd slide across the floor, exposing a little white but pushing back the red as their narrow black concealed eyes stared upon my white haven in shocked horror and disbelief. Red, it would all be red and the smell of red was much fouler than the smell of white. Like old copper coins and a metallic rotting the scent would engulf their noses. The sight would send their minds back into every horror movie they've ever remembered and into their own imaginations. The feel would send their stomachs into a bitter churning of acid and rise up and out of their lips. The splatter would be everywhere among my thoughts, my private thoughts across the ceiling that I knew only I could see and I could read them once again and never be plagued by the dreadful white light once again. In the middle, lying one with the red, the white of my robes eaten away and no longer existing my body would lay painted that of the color that I have caused so much of. And while they gawked in horror I would stand in the doorway watching, smiling a white smile, in my white robes, and by flesh would be white, completely drained of blood. Everything would be white.

White once again.

Fin.