Disclaimer: I own nothing. The idea, movie and book that this is based off of are credited to Ursula K. LeGuin. All scenes that you may recognize are the property solely of the movie's director and LeGuin.

Authors Notes/Disclaimer: You know, I don't really post here anymore. And I don't know if I will. I'll post this and from there direct people to my LJ writing journal. It's just...I don't know, I feel like I've sort of outgrown this place, maybe? I mean, this place was a good start for me, really. But I've gotten better, and taking a look at some of the reviewers and some of the writing here, I feel...out of place. I've grown as a writer. I want to move forward.

I feel like I'm being horribly arrogant. I'll be quiet now.

There was smoke, and grime, and bits of rock so fine and smooth that you'd think it was sand. But the only waves that rolled over this desecration were heat waves and pulses of radiation.

Vaguely, as the thin man staggered through this wasteland, he thought he heard the distant drum of atomic bombs in other places—the beat of people destroying one another.

The man didn't even know where he was going anymore, didn't care. Would not have recognized that he was staggering in the general direction of the place he'd once called home even if it smacked him upside the head. All he wanted—all he would need—was a place to rest his head.

Which came sooner than expected; the shuffling feet caught, and faltered, and he fell and fell and hit the ground. When he cared enough to open his eyes he saw the thin ribbon of red, felt the beckoning of the great dog with his red eyes and dark fur at the threads of what remained of his conscious.

So this is how it will end.

"Yes," the man breathed, and his eyes fluttered. "Oh God, please, yes."

And then he closed his eyes.

Rush and pound and fill the brain with blood, fling open the shutters and let in the sickly green light on the yellowing white paint in the room.

I'm here. I'm here. What am I doing here?

"Not again," he breathed though his mind screamed it. "Please. Not again. No." He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?

"You must have missed one of your outrageous doses."

Fai D. Flourite froze, only his eyes having the strength to move to the left corner of his small room. Glasses glinted at him from the darkness, one hand shaking a bottle.

"Hmmm."

Fai couldn't move, couldn't speak. Couldn't even move his face muscles to display the shock and fear that was creeping through his veins like stone—all he could do was sit there, passively.

"Hibiya-san called in when you didn't leave your room for work again. Said something…peculiar was going on." Doctor Mihara moved into the sickly light, holding Fai's half-depleted bottle of caffeine pills.

"Allow me to cut to the chase," he said, moving to Fai's bedside, smile and tone congenial and conversational. "You're being given two options here. The first—you refuse help. That may be what you want—it's certainly what others in your boat have wanted. On the other hand…." He stopped, sighed, shook his head. "All of them shared the same fate; all of them are now one big, happy family in the Clover Asylums."

Fai felt himself inhale sharply, fearfully.

"The other…you voluntarily go for the help that the state is so generously offering to you. Maybe you don't want to be helped. Maybe you're just in so deep that you can't help yourself. I don't know. I don't really care. Accept the help, though, and you remain here among your family and friends."

The blond almost laughed, even tried to, look at me, look at this place, does it look like I have anything to live for? But all he managed was a small cough, barely an exhale. Enough to get the doctor's attention, apparently, and he looked down at Fai again, smile a bit tighter and more frustrated as he stood and moved towards the door.

"The medics are on their way right now and I've contacted your manager—took some cajoling and a couple of swears on his part, but you've got a week off of work. I suggest you spend your recovery time thinking about what's best—and personally, I don't think staring at a wall for god-knows how long is very much fun."

Then he turned and was gone from the doorframe; all Fai had was his turmoil, the empty, haphazard room, the faint sound of sirens in the distance.

In hindsight, Fai thought, as he wandered out into the tepid, steady rains, they were equally fucked-up decisions. Both would try to tear the things he was using out of his grasp without knowing why—or what—they were potentially creating.

But this way, at least, he could probably figure out some loophole, some vital, important thing that would keep him clinging to this reality that they took for granted.

He was getting his hair wet, he knew, but right now he was just too tired to summon up the energy to pull the hood over his head—too tired and apathetic like the rains today, not harsh and pelting or light and misting but steady, certain drops that only added to the grey monotony that made up this world.

He thought for a moment that he would like to stop and get a drink, perhaps a cup of coffee, no matter how stale and lukewarm it was in this day and age; he dismissed the thought as soon as it came up. He was already brushing shoulders and bumping into people just by walking; he cringed to imagine what it would be like in a coffee shop, with the seats long taken and the corners breeding their huddled, chilled masses trying to drink their coffee, the line that seemed to stretch on and on like the streets before him.

This was his reality. It was bleak, gray, and tiring.

And he was working with all his might to maintain it. Because what he would do, what he was capable of doing if he just closed his eyes and let sleep kiss them, was far more terrifying, frightening with its uncertainty.

No. Better that these people with their average lives and their dull faces live than be torn asunder.

Fai checked his watch. It was now five minutes to ten—he'd get there with time to spare, he thought, as the bullet train hissed to a stop in the station, sleek and grey and shining. We'll go. We'll see what happens.

He was not a particularly religious person, but Fai said a little prayer that some good would come of this.

End Notes: Yeah, I'm sorry I did that to Icchan but I needed a doctor character and he was the first one that popped into my mind.

It is a short chapter for me, probably because it's the prologue and it just seemed like an appropriate place to end it. Upcoming chapters are longer and more involved.