Forever: An Eternity

~~~Hello everyone, my name is Vixen, and I'm a writer here in ff.net. It's been about four months since I stopped writing, and now I've decided that I miss it too much. This is the first thing I've written in a while, so please be gentle. Also, please be mindful of the rating of this fic, it's IMPORTANT to me. Moon/Yui. Please enjoy! –Vixen~~~

~RATED: R- For violence, disturbing scenes, lime, language, and adult themes

~DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT BELIEVE IN DISCLAIMERS

Chapter One: Not a Ghost

*Deftly and quickly his bare feet waded through the dark bog that covered the ground. Sickly green mists covered the dead, brown grass as the cracking and breaking ground rose and fell with the rolling hills of the landscape. The night was dark; no stars graced the quiet and empty skies. The heavy fog that had settled upon the Earth was thick with humidity and the stench of death. The only specks of color his eyes could make out within the bleakness of the world were the slowly fading and wilting flowers that were sporadically placed at the tombstones of the long since dead.

This graveyard was a haven for those who wished to escape life, wished to escape the ravages of war and unrest of a world without peace. They had come here to rest far away from the massacres that the humans of Earth did not understand was tearing the planet apart. Yet war torn families that had once been ripped apart by these deaths were now beginning to rebuild in a world that had finally settled on a peace. A rocky, easily shakable peace that threatened to crumble at the slightest touch.

Was war necessary? Or was that a question that no man or woman was fit to answer? His comrades had believed the war had been part of a grandiose scheme of some higher cosmic power. They believed that this war had been one that, though all wars are unwelcome, was necessary to be fought. In his own opinion, the war had not been part of any design. There was no such cosmic power; there was no God. God was a figment of imagination that humans had created to believe in something when times became too rough for them to continue to hope for a better future. Having an entity such as God allowed them to place the blame somewhere other than in their own flaws, it allowed them to place their fears, dreams, prayers, hopes, and wishes in the hands of someone whom they believed would take care of what they could not.

His quickened pace slowed, and soon he came to a silent halt. His feet itched with the brown grass cutting into their bottoms and rubbing against his ankles, and this chest barely rose and fell as small breaths now came quickly. He was not out of breath form his jog, yet his heart pumped at a rate that demanded more oxygen. The night sky and the chilled air settled as a veil around him, not quite reaching his sallow white skin. A deep rumble echoed in the distance as the blackened clouds above him screamed in their anger and pain.

He was not quite as disillusioned. This God theory, while tempting, was not something he would fall for. He would not place the blame for humanity's actions within the hands of a non-existent and vague being. Everything he had done, the fighting, destroying, killing… everything was upon his shoulders. And everything was his fault. This choices he had made and the actions he had taken within life he understood, some of the fault lay within the way he had been trained and raised, but the truth behind the matter was that ultimately it was his choice and his choice alone to take the courses of actions he had. His life was his creation, his guilt was of his own making, and his demons were of his own fears and self-hatred personified. And of this, he took full knowledge and accepted it.

This world, this world of newly won peace, it did not suit him. He did not belong here. He strongly believed that while there was no God or grand design for the war to have meant something to future generations when they died and went to some 'heaven', that there was a reason for the war. Humanity, on their own, needed a way to reaffirm what made them better than animals. It was not enough to know that they were able to think, the adapt and dream of complex and intricate ideals such as a God, but they needed to feel the emotion physically. Fighting helped to curb the primal instinct of needing to know they were at the top of the food chain, and achieving peace was just the natural end to the means of war. It was a vicious cycle, but it was humanity's only way of living.

Once again, he glanced to the vacant sky. A loud clap of thunder and the sizzling smell of burning electricity baking the heavy-set fog. Splitting thunderbolts lit the sky with a blinding crack, and the zigzagging lines reminded him of battles and the blaring lights of the stars as he used to fly past them in blinding speeds, stretching the light out so they looked as if they were beams instead of specs millions of parsecs away from their portion of the Milky Way. He knew then, just as he had known as he had fired his final shot at a twelve year old girl-child, that once the fighting and wars of this world and time had ended, that he had nothing more to live for here.

In this world that had finally reaffirmed their humanity, that had finally rediscovered why peace was important to their race, he was not needed. He was a mere relic of the past, a relic who no one needed to remind them of a time of pain, discomfort, and fear. He was a nightmare and a demon, the opposite of their dreams and hopes for the future. There was nothing left for him here in this world, nothing left for him to accomplish. For so long he had been not a human, but a tool. The tool humans had used to fix their problems. In a way, he had played their God, solving their problems and taking the blame for their mistakes. But now they felt as though they had made no mistakes, save creating a monster such as himself. He was useless here, useless in a world that did not want to remember their one mistake: him. It was time to move on.

From his waist he drew the cold metal single barrel. The small handheld was light and black, the perfect object for the tool to use for his dirtiest work. As the clouds opened above him, pouring not rain, but a bitter hailstorm down upon his solitary form, he took aim. Within seconds everything that humanity hated would be gone. His finger twitched, and without remorse, conscience, or happiness, the muscle in his finger grew taught and clamped down on the small trigger.

The impact wound was small, a small, rounded hole straight through his right temple. The exit wound, however, went somewhat out the back of his head, and was much larger. The bullet lodged itself in a tree some yards away from where his prone body crumpled and landed on the dead grass, and his hand fell limp allowing the gun to escape his grasp. He had finally joined those whom he had envied for so long, those who rested in peace buried six feet below soil that was still untouched by the blood of war and untainted with the hate of greed, deceit, and jealousy.

Blinking suddenly, Hiiro's hand twitched. He grasped the cold metal that lay beside it, and felt the familiar rivulets that decorated his gun. Drawing in a deep breath, he could smell the sweetness of the dried and dead grass, and the dampness that the hail had brought upon the lifeless landscape. Pushing himself up took little effort, and Hiiro sat motionless on the ground for an instant. Then he reached up and felt the side of his head, where he could still feel the cold, crawling touch of where the gun had rested upon his warm skin.

He had missed? Quickly, as if to verify that he had indeed missed, he ran his hands through his hair and down over his face, brushing away disbelief. He must have. A small smirk haunted his dry, thin lips. He had never, not once in seven years, purposely missed a target. And now he missed a completely stationary, point blank range shot? Above him a break in the clouds and hail allowed a full moon to shine down upon him as he rose to his feet. Well, maybe tonight was not the night. Tomorrow night. He would try again tomorrow night. His bare feet once again began scraping at the dead grass and dry, cracked ground as he began to take a few steps in the direction of the cemetery gates.

"Hello?" A quiet, soft voice called out. "Hello? Is someone there?" He could hear fear, and smell the soft fragrance of vanilla. Turning to his right, he stared directly into the trees. Through the bushes came a soft rattling, and soon a petite figure stepped into the small courtyard of tombstones he stood in the center of.

"I did hear someone!" The stranger cried in relief. "I thought I was chasing a ghost for a moment; you scared me!"

"I am not a ghost."

"I can see that, but why are in the graveyard so late at night?" He could tell that in the dark and wet air she was shaking cold, and her thin silk pajamas were not helping to keep her warm.

"Why are you?"

"I asked you first."

"Why does that have anything to do with your answer?" He countered frowning slightly. He would not be out done by a simple child. At least, that was what her form betrayed to him through the dark and light rain that was now falling.

"I guess it doesn't really." She muttered. "I thought I heard a gunshot and came to see if someone was hurt. Was that you?"

"Target practice." He nodded.

"You didn't… hurt anyone, did you?" She queried, fear wavering in her soft voice.

"No."

"Oh, well that's a relief!" She smiled, and suddenly he felt as though he should not be holding a gun. In fact, he felt as though this child should never be in the presence of any weapon of any sort, that she was too innocent and young to be exposed to such dangers of the world.

"Go home." He warned her.

"Why don't I walk you home first?" She asked shyly. "You must not live too far away?" He frowned.

"Far enough." He hesitated, then stopped. "I'll walk you." She smiled brightly and yawned.

"Alright, I only live down the street and around the corner, not too far. My name is Serena. And you are?"

"A friend." He nodded as he approached her and could now make out her form. She looked as though she were a young girl, with long blonde hair wrapped into two strange buns atop her head. Her bangs framed her heart-shaped face angelically, and her blue eyes looked at him expectedly. He could not hold her gaze for long; he dared not to look into those eyes. She looked at him questioningly, and he felt as though she was searching his soul with her big, blue eyes.

"Well, friend, let's get out of the storm." *

~~~ I AM SO MAD with ff.net right now!!! Seriously, if they kick one more of my fics off, I'm pulling them all off and they will only be found on my website. Let me explain. Once again, one of my fics has been kicked off of ff.net. It was actually this exact fic, but I've changed it since they pulled it off. I don't know if they have a grudge against me or what, but it was once again kicked off for explicit content.

Okay, so Hiiro shot himself in this fic. It was rated accordingly, and still people refused to leave me alone. What will it take? I'm an author expressing myself, not trying to hurt other people, and it hurts ME to see my work thrown to the side like this. Who is reporting me? Do you think it's funny? I cried my eyes out when I found out that ff.net had done this to me AGAIN. This is not funny; it's not a joke. This is my work, my art, my life, and you're ruining it for me.

I was trying to make an honest comeback from being away, and two days after I post my newest fic, it's kicked off? I cannot explain how upset I am. Now, my ban from uploading on ff.net is up, and my fic is back up. If anyone reports me again, I'm pulling everything from this site. This is not a joke, and I shouldn't have to deal with this. It's called freedom of speech folks. You don't like it? Look at the rating and don't read it.

I really hate offending people, especially those who have been loyal. The last time something of mine got kicked off tons of people emailed and reviewed in favor of me, and some even offered to start petitions to ff.net to have them review my situation. Well, I've written so many letters to ff.net that it's made me dizzy looking at them, but none have ever been answered or even taken seriously, I'm sure. So I've given up trying to fight the system. All I can do is go on as I have been, and take action if it happens again. Thank you for listening to my rant, and for being so understanding. Much love –Vixen~~~