A/N: Warning! Short, crappy psuedo-angsty slash may damage retinas. Please consult your physician before reading.
…See profile for disclaimer.
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Rain On Me
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It's dark in here, and I feel like I'm suffocating.
Hell. Oh, boy, back here again.
I forgot to say, there's a war going on up there. Apparently the Canadians decided that one was not enough, and proceeded to send an assassin over to kill the president. And I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Stillness. Hey, how come I've never had this before? The other times I've been down here, it had been noisy, stuffy and generally chaotic, not unlike the situation at hand for those who were still up there. There had been other souls wandering in through the door to the receptionist's office, freshly dead, with bewildered and frightened looks about them. Today, there is none. Only I, and the black stillness that seems to stretch on forever.
I'd never been one to be afraid of the dark, but this was different.
Something. I hear something. Far off, ambiguous sounds, but sounds nonetheless. The sound of footsteps. One, two, one, two, turn, back again. Someone—something—is walking towards me. The receptionist? I still can't see a thing…
Heat. Sweltering, blazing heat. Even without my parka on, it's already becoming unbearable. Why is that?
The footsteps continue, louder this time, distinct. I can hear breathing.
"Who's there?" I yell out, startling even myself in the near-silence. The sounds cease, and I feel the formidable pressure of the silent dark again, and something more. The heat continues to grow. "Hello? Anyone out there?"
A flash. Burning, high and raging. I see the flames now, bursting flowers of orange, red and gold. I see him now, standing there in front of me, in front of time and space.
He looked at me, and although I cannot read those crimson eyes amidst the blur of flames, I can still feel. And I felt disappointment.
I realized, then, why I am here instead of the usual Hell I was supposed to be in. I haven't been down here in years, literally. The frequency of my dying had worn down as I grew and matured, until I only had accidents about every two or three years. And in the wake of all that had been happening up there, I'd completely mastered the art of forgetting the most important things I needed to remember.
"…I'm sorry…"
No, it can never be enough. This much I know; nothing is ever enough.
Stay, please stay, this time. It gets so lonely down here, and you're the only one I can see…
I want, I worry, I linger in the past. It is universal, the disease of thought. I am only human after all, with animalistic tendencies every now and then, and needs that only eternity can satisfy. What does he want, what does he need? What does he feel, if he cannot feel as humans do?
Can he really love?
Sometimes, there will be surprises. You'd be amazed at what really is here. Give it a try. Please.
I can feel his eyes on me even as I look away; I am at a loss for words, of action too perhaps. Then I remember the entropy, the faces of friends long gone, and the ones present in the fray. Sometimes, no, always, humans are cowards in face of danger, and even those strong enough to withstand them are no different.
It all seems so distant now—I have been here forever and a day. If I must belong in the cycle, I will stay.
Somewhere, anywhere. Take me away. Far away, to a place of our own. I can't run, I can't hide. So why should I keep up this pretense?
There are no more options.
I found myself talking softly, "I'm clear."
If you want it to be, you will.
Have you ever read those stories before, where in the end the main character always does something symbolic, like walking towards the sunset or the light at the end of the tunnel? Have you ever wondered what it would be like for the antagonist at the end of the story? Where do they go, even if they are dead?
I don't know the answer, but I walked towards the darkness all the same.
End.
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Interpret as you wish. I confused myself with the plot twist too.
Actually, I don't see a plot at all...