Author: Karian
Title: Kingdom of Blind
Summary: Ignoring the signs, closing your eyes, changing your name – you won't run away, Eiri. Those voices are more solid and real then anything you know. And if you want it to stop, embrace it.
Police is content to think Shuichi Shindou dead, Tohma withholds for once, his sister refuses to admit they are related and Tatsuha is no condition to stop staring at their dying father. Follow Eiri through denial, pain and his nightmares, guided only by his stubborn faith and whispers of a madwoman, in conquest to find the nonexistent answers.
Main pairings: Eiri/Shuichi, Eiri/OC, Shuichi/Hiroshi.
Rated: M (R)
Warnings: Homo- bisexuality, OCs, swearing, adult content, disturbing themes.
Status: WIP
Disclaimer: With the exception of the plot and OCs, everything belongs to whoever it belongs to. I merely borrowed characters to have some fun.
Kingdom of Blind. Prologue.
She was the wind, a bud of oriental cherry in her hair and enormous beautiful eyes that reflected her every feeling... Yes, literally everything about her was a big cliché…
In the beginning of their short relationship, he used to buy her a strawberry ice-cream in the local open cafe. It was a cheap and discreet way to judge whether she was worth more risk. And the distance did matter: back then she just hit puberty, sixteen - a mere child.
But he guessed correctly – it was the strawberry ice-cream. How… unsurprising. Tired and sweaty, her faded pink dress sticking to her skin, it was an irresistible offer. She dropped her schoolbag on the dusty terrace and attacked the dessert with such excitement the plastic spoon couldn't possibly stand a chance. Then she lead her short-nailed, dirty fingers round the cool glass and, finally, put them in her mouth and greedily sucked till dry, one by one. The image of it was still vivid in his mind, full of stiff June heat, muddled desires and itching wetness. A week after they moved in together.
She loved music. Full of life, vibrant, loud - like her. She owned a CD player full of that crap and listened to it day and night because he couldn't allow the racket to distract him. She was young, eager to try out anything new but got bored and gave up equally fast. It caused fire in the kitchen twice and disrupted the unhurried, conservative pace of love-making that he preferred.
In other words, it was a miracle they lasted so long. She was too bright, fierce and ephemeral for him. Too much light for a man who was blinded by it. But to make it understandable to her, he simply said that she "cried too easily, was loud and sucked in bed". It was a pleasant surprise when she didn't argue and silently packed her CDs and colourful dresses. Maybe she wasn't as stubborn-headed as he originally believed.
And so he returned to his books, shadows and life in still motion. But it was never the same. Leisurely pace became monotonous, unbearably tedious and the darkness was sometimes as blinding as light. The girl dazzled him, sunburned and left. He tried to forget, only to find that her round face and sticky fingers were the all the memories he had left.
Thus, he tried to twist them. She was only a candle that will eventually destroy itself, a red plastic flower; she's not a long-lasting product and will waste away without any reminiscence. Her superficial, exaggerated emotions were bound to be her downfall.
But she will live, at least. She'll have a purpose, however farfetched and pathetic.
And who was he? The only thing that could be said about him is that he's breathing. Long since had he lost the ability to have hopes, wishes, to make foolish mistakes and laugh about it. But mind you, it didn't make him any more rational or logical. Even common sense couldn't function properly in vacuum inside him and he was left to make decisions under the influence of anti-depressants or misty longing that alone had never abandoned him.
Yes, he was longing. Brainless need of an animal, plant, for some sunlight and attention. Craving was constant but so hopelessly dull that he preferred think of it as a toothache.
Mornings were the least favoured times in his life. Not as if he had any favourites, but waking up from his dreamless slumber always made him frown. After all, it was warm and quiet in his foggy land of dreams and those were the only two pleasures he could enjoy while still alive.
Did I mention the vacuum before? Well, it's not exactly true. The emptiness inside him crystallised long ago and when he was alone, he could hear the low, glass-like ringing of tension. (Jingle. Jingle. Jingle). He knew that one day the noise will reach its forte, so loud he wouldn't be able to hear himself scream and the visible world will slowly drown in the dark waters of madness. And so he wrote. Tearful poetry, dolour-lyrics or love novels, penny dreadful – his opuses had everything that he had never experienced and even wasn't capable of. It brought the toothache back, yes, but the dangerous rumble went down.
…
Yuki Eiri took of his glasses and rubbed his temples gently. The house was exactly the same as he remembered it from his childhood – shadowy, static and starchy ("the three 'S' words", as Eiri himself liked to call it). He felt trapped and suffocating in these walls even then.
It was six in the morning, seventeen hours since he had last slept and without his inspiration, who currently was as far away as Tokyo, the weariness was taking over Eiri. He could feel migraine growing in the back of his head and the Microsoft's default wallpaper was slowly changing colours from "Persian green" to "Cerulean blue". And even though the text was raw and badly needed editing, this was a definite sign that it's time for sleep.
Yuki lazily turned off the monitor and put his head on the keyboard.
The buzz of processor was comfortably familiar and he felt himself slowly drift into sleep when his phone rang.
It was a melody set for his VIP group and, cursing quietly, Eiri picked it up.
It will be some time until Eiri will be able to sleep again.
AN: Please excuse any mistakes that I made. I put this prologue only to find a beta. Two and a half chapters (about 4-5 Word pages bigger then the prologue) are already written but I can't go on without someone editing the text. If anybody enjoyed this piece, has good knowledge of English and some time to spare, please contact me. Thank you for reading!
- Karian
Italic… means that this is either a flashback or Erie's "own" text. Speaking of the latter, if you noticed – yes, it does mimic the style of a certain author. I put a quote in the text even. But if you didn't, that's nothing terrible. It does not influence the plot and has no other role than to provide a better insight.