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Shun the Heaven

When Jasper accidentally attacks Bella in New Moon, we know well what the effects are. But how does it feel to be the one who set all this in motion? Jasper's POV One shot

The sonnet is Shakespeare's. The characters are Stephenie's. The line about the reciept of reason is Lady Macbeth's. The words are the English Language's. I own nothing.

1. Chapter 1

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1975   Review this Chapter

Th'expense of spirit in a waste of shame,

Your sister.

Your sister.

Your brother's lover, your lover's friend, your sister.

Your own damn sister.

No waste, this shame. Oh, it may not be the darkest of your many sins. You did not kill this time… but you would have. You would have.

And it will wear forever at your spirit. You must bear this, for all eternity, know that you are the weakest…

The one who would kill.

Is lust in action, and till action lust,

Wanting it will destroy you.

Every instant she is near, that blood calls to you… it attempts to attack your so carefully firm resolve.

Your mind is drowned. The part that knows love and joy is consumed by lust…

You want, you want, you want…

You could dream forever of the blood. The sweet rich warm blood, flowing over your parched tongue and down your dry throat, filling you, blocking the pain of thirst for the first time in so many, in too many years…

And you cannot do it. You will not.

The moment you leapt… it was that desire fulfilled. The physical embodiment of your bloodied desires.

You dream of it as you consign it to the strictest fires of your displeasure.

Is perjur'd, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame,

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

You can see her face, almost as though you borrow her gift. You can see it already. You know what she will say.

"Jazz… you promised."

She will not rage or curse at you. She will not articulate aloud her disappointment.

She will only tell you… you promised.

And you did. You swore, in a moment of thoughtless joy, "Alice, I love you. Anything, anything for you. I will never take another life. I swear it to you."

And you didn't… but it was a close thing.

This close, Jasper. This close, you fool. This close to breaking an oath sworn at the high temple of the universe's fairest goddess.


And she loves Bella. She had friendship stolen from her. Alice never played with schoolmates, never ran laughing through the yards. She spent those would-be grand days imprisoned.

You cannot erase it.

But you might, Jasper, might try not to kill the person who has given her a second chance at it.

You would have killed her. You would have killed her. You would be a murderer another time over.

Bloody-handed and bloody-hearted.


After “Alice,” it is the most significant word in your world.

You love it and you hate it.

You want it and you loathe it.

You would do anything to free yourself of this desire or to fulfill it.

Sometimes, like today, the entire world is the color of dripping, dying blood.

And it is all your fault. All of them can do it. Why can’t you? No, the fault is yours, heavy on your breakng shoulders.

Alice makes excuses for you. “You’re new at this, Jazz. Give it time. You’ll get the hang of it.”

You know it is impossible.

She’s been trying little longer than you have. And she is never tempted.

You should be stronger. Instead…

You are guiltier. Stained forever. You hate yourself, and with ample reason.

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust

Civilized, that’s the word for it. What she has, what you lack… civilization. She- they- are kind, polite, good. Civilized.

You, however, have not changed in all those years. You are still the same bloodthirsty savage Maria made you.

Extreme in desire, in this passion, not the acceptable ones.A fervor too strong. Unreasonable.

Crude, rude, uncivilized.

In her world, you are the center… and as much as you love her you cannot return that honor. The most important thing in your universe is not the love you have so precious… it’s the blood.

Cruel to disdain that love. Monstrous.But it’s the truth. You cannot love her so much as you desire the blood.

She knows your cruelty, your failings. You have told her again and again not to love you. Not to trust you as she does, because although you can’t imagine the bleak sorrow of life without her. You are not worthy, and she knows it, yet she chooses to love you anyway.

You bless her for her sweet generosity.

Enjoy’d no sooner than despised straight,

You loathe the temptation, but you can hate it no more than you hate yourself.

You wish more than anything that you’d been given one drop- one small drop- of that delicious, tempting, sweet blood. And yet you are incredibly grateful you have been spared the shame and sorrow. You are so glad you, though weak, though pitiful, are not a killer.

Selfishly, the reasonng is solely that you know how much more painful that would be. You could not take loathing yourself any more. There isn’t room in your form for any more disgust.

You are certain everyone in an eighty-mile radius can feel it.

Past reason hunted, and no sooner had,

Yes, you remember those days. The days before limits, before love, before Alice.

Lonely. Dark, useless, nothing to live for…

And yet drenched in endless and sweet blood. There was nothing to hold you back. You could have whatever you wanted, the instant you wanted it.

You did not need to hate yourself then.

Now, you have just enough of mind to hate what you are… and not enough to hold yourself back from becoming it.

Your will is fluid and weak.

You would hunt until the end of time for the blood. You cannot contain it with reason, as the others can.

Why must you be so damnably weak?

And yet you must try to buy, from the depths of an empty soul, some way to keep yourself sane in the face of blood. You do not believe you can do it.

Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait

In time, you come to loathe the blood as the reason you loathe yourself. In fact, you pass through a brief period in which you wish Isabella Swan was dead, had never been born.

It makes no sense. It is not her fault you are so accursed, so useless, so worthless. But it burns from your soul, the way you despise her for overcoming your will.

For smelling so good.

And you know it is not fair.

But it is fated. The smell of the blood, its dear flavor, disguises the hideous temptation that lies within it. And it is in the end the blood, not the girl or even yourself, you hate the most.

On purpose laid to make the taker mad,

After all, it is the blood that drives you into unworthiness. It is not your fault. You did not ask to be so despicable. You did not ask to be changed into a monster that has no choice but to live the life of blood.

Yes, it is a fault in the temptation, the tempter and not the tempted. There is nothing you can do. You know it is not fair. You know it is not true, but you have little choice. It is what you must believe, or your self-loathing will so consume you that you will no longer be able to live.

And you must live. You have something to live for- Alice. She wants you to love her, and though you are not worthy of the gift, you accept it- to please her.

You think.

As that idea crosses your mind, doubt sets in. Alice is generous, and forgiving, and loving. But can she forgive even this crime?

You tried to kill your sister- her sister. Will that destroy your love?

Mad in pursuit, and in possesion so,

The only reason you can love is because of her. The only reason you care about your failures is for her. The only failure is in angering her, as you clearly have.

Before you loved her, the whole of your life was the mad quest.

Everything existed for the hunt and the kill.

Ah, you loved to kill. You were good at it, very good. It was what you were made for.

The dark madness, the quiet stealth of fury, everything leading up to a single bloody moment.

Now you have been elevated to a higher purpose. It makes no sense to be bitter over this honor. You are no longer a shade, haunting the world. Instead, you are chosen to dwell happy in it.

Happiness. You remember that emotion.

It exists only here. Before, the only feelings you knew were hate, and fear, and madness.

Even in memories, the strength blows you away.

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme,

That world was one in which you would do anything. Anything.

Now you would do anything for Alice.

Then, you would do anything to slake the thirst.

It is almost painful. You wonder if Bella, with her desire to join you, knows. It hurts every minute you are not directly feeding.

The sweet temptation is indescribable. If you can relieve pain and replace it with pleasure, could any man resist?

Perhatps, if you were truly a man, but you are only a monster.

You need to hunt. Animals, no sweetness, no pleasure. But at least it can salve the pain.

A bliss in proof and prov’d, a very woe

In theory, there is nothing beyond the pleasure of it. There are two sensible courses. First, laid out, the path most follow, the hunting and catching, and killing.

Unrestrained blood. Nothing but blood.

Nothing but bliss.

The second, the one you allegedly follow, is the better, morally. To avoid the carnal joys of blood in favor of something higher, to find love rather than drowning in simple life.

And in proof, they are both so fine, both good, both without flaw.

In practice, however, they are riddled with cracks.

You know the dreary weeping pain of those years, before, when you lived without restraint. It was empty. Hollow. Painful.

You now know a different pain. The effort it takes to restrain yourself is incredible. You do it, you do it, but it is not easy.

Before, a joy propos’d, behind a dream

You are caught in the litany of this world. It is not right. You are not even sure, sitting here.

You know you leapt. You are just not certain at what point you were pulled away.

Memory, the reciept of reason… And your remembrances cease at the same point as your rationality.

You know you did not drink her. You know you were stopped before the bliss. You just aren’t sure whether or not your teeth went through her throat.

Perhaps you are the vehicle for Alice’s vision. Perhaps it is meant to be, that her happiness is come from your feeling.

You want to know.

Because you cannot remember. The only thing you know is the smell, the sweet temptation of it, the desire fervent and pushing, pulling, twisting your will into yet another tool in its service.

And the guilt. That is all that exists right now.

You pray for relief from this deserved punishment.

This all the world well knows, but none knows well,

The whole family knows your shame. That they all saw you fail makes it more painful. They witnessed you fall, those you love, those you admire.

They are never tempted.

So unfair! And so they cannot know this pain.

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell…

You will never fail again.

You swear it.

And so you hope you may someday find forgiveness.