As I watch from my Heaven, I'm struck by the cruel beauty that death can bring. Watching, waiting, hoping against hope that some miracle will intervene, I can't help but stare in wonder at the fire hovering over Gaia. Would it be so bad to start again? I wonder. Maybe this is what the planet wants, a beginning. But of course, it's a fleeting selfishness. The planet has already seen her beginning, her middle, and if something isn't done, she will soon witness her end and then...nothing. I'm so tired. I could let it happen just now, but then I think of you and I know I cannot. We never even got to our middle, did we? We barely even began. My story was ended so quickly. And you know what? I'm not even angry with him. And that makes me angry with myself. All the chances I missed, the life I'll never have...Why do I refuse to mourn it? I want to grieve for the existence denied to me when his blade fell, but I find I cannot.
I watch you from my Heaven as well. I cry bitter, lonely tears when I think of what we could have had. I know you think of me. That fact alone brings a smile to my face. I only wish that things could have been different and we could share laughter together rather than spilling tears apart. But our story has no happy ending. I'm dead, you're alive and the world's about to end. Do I let everything perish in my selfishness? Or do I lend a hand and be that miracle I pray for you for? There's no choice really, no hesitation. Meteor's angry red is cooled by the soft, swirling tendrils of the lifestream, their clash a blinding light from which only one can emerge victorious. But which?
Our lives are but drops in the sea of eternity, washed away from Gaia's shores by the tides of time. We are one of many, countless faces to her, but still she knows each one. She knows you, as I know you. She loves you, as I love you. All her children, she loves every last one. Even this broken man who now stands by my side, watching with me from my Heaven at what he wrought upon she that loved him. He weeps for his indiscretions; indiscretions that were not fully of his own making and I comfort him. The victim comforts the slayer. Poetic, ironic, but always tragically beautiful. Isn't that the way of things? The most heart-breaking act, the most devastating attack, will always be the most exquisite to behold. This one winged angel fell from Heaven and has returned, full of remorse for something he could not have prevented. And I pity him. God, how I pity him. It's as if every feeling; every emotion I ever had that was positive is being loosed on this silver haired God in your absence. But its form is not love. It is pity. And now, for him, it knows no bounds. I pity my murderer.
From my death all those long months ago I watched you falter on your path and I willed you onward, praying that you would feel my belief in you and cradle it lovingly to your breast to spur you on. I don't know if you did, or if it was sheer bloody-mindedness, but you went on. You overcame every adversary, motivated our friends and became a hero, one I am proud to say I love. But then, even in your failure, your inability to break free of the shackles that bound your mind, I was still proud. Even this man by my side is proud of what you have achieved. As he said, there is no shame in defeat at the hands of such a noble and true warrior, there is only pride.
In a perfect world, I'd be your side just now. But this is not a perfect world. In fact, I doubt a perfect world even exists.
How did you do it, puppet? How did you earn the respect, the love of her? You are nothing but a shadow of me; you are but a mere mindless marionette for my entertainment. Worthless, not even worth a number. How did that feel, I wonder, to be thrown aside as nothing? To be disregarded by those you ached to call your own? How you must have bled. The pain must have been bittersweet, somewhat…exquisite in its dull ache. Nagging at your broken mind, reminding you that you will never be good enough. You will never attain perfection. But, perhaps in that knowledge, if you have it, there is freedom.
The flower girl irks me. Yes, I feel remorse. Yes, I feel pain. I do not, however, need her pious pity. I need…time. To think. To reflect on what could have been, had I not been denied all my life that most basic of human needs. Love. I never loved, you know. Never was loved. Perhaps that is why when it was offered, I latched onto it so devoutly. Perhaps, if I had known my origins, I would not have become the man I was.
To think that I, a murderer, madman, genius, once had a mother…It hurts. All this knowledge; to know that my mother was never given a chance to love her son, that her son was never given a chance to be a child. To reflect on that fact, and then apply it to the children I orphaned…my mind is troubled. I doubt even here, in this Heaven, my Heaven, that I will find peace. It is most elusive.
I don't know why I stand here at her side. Comprehension eludes me as to why I share this part of Heaven with this gentle soul. What can we possibly have in common, how can our souls possibly have a common desire? All I see when I look at her is death, a needless death I caused. There is no logic to her presence in my Heaven, or my presence in hers. But still we stand here, side by side, watching each other warily. Watching you. She cheers your victories, mourns the ache you feel that is so familiar to her. I cannot help. I don't even know if I want to. My weakness caused this pain, but still it's so hard to break free of routine and habit. Hating you was just that; habit. An instinct when I learned what I thought then to be the truth, know now to be mere fabrication.
So much of my life has been lived based on lies, pain and deceit. I refuse now to let my death play out that old, familiar beat. I'll march to a new tune, one fully of my own making, and it will be glorious. I'll be happier in death than I was in life. The irony is not lost on me. I never lived while my heart beat. I will live now that all is quiet and still.
A/n: No. I'm not dead. Quite. Just incredibly snowed under with uni work and other personal stuff. Anyway, I'm starting to get through it, the exams are looming, so hopefully "Unintentional" and "The Bitter Dawn" will be finished soon. Look out for more one shots in the future, 'cause I think that's more where I'm heading, and I'll probably have an account up on Fictionpress.net at some point. Yes, fan fiction has been much ignored in favour of original fiction.
In the meantime, anyone who has a livejournal can see some original work over there. It's friends only, so give me a shout either via e mail or MSN and I'll give you the link. MSN and e mail both freakboutiquehotmail.com.