"What do you believe in; what is real, what is fake?"
"Your own mind is against you. Ah…insanity at its finest."
"I was such a victim then…who would have thought?"
I hate to Remember...it's like acid on my brain
Cloud had awareness at a very early stage of existence . Seated deeply within the womb, he remembered spending his days kicking out at the mother from inside. In his seventh month he recalled being crapped and uncomfortable -- slowly being strangled by his umbilical cord. The woman he resided in was violently ill all the time. He heard voices; calm and cold that considered aborting him. "It would be too much of a loss if the mother was killed during child birth," There would be a long silence, then, "We should at least wait a couple more weeks before making a definite decision. She's close enough to her due date that the fetus could survive a premature birth. Two more weeks past and he was barely getting oxygen. Cloud's mother still suffered. She kept falling deeper and deeper into illness until She was completely bedridden. He could still hear her singing voice, weak and raspy -- seeking desperately to fill the endless days. What was going to become of this life living inside? She'd wonder, often crying. It was around that time that Cloud started having these visions. Tiny glimpses of a war torn world. All he knew was pain. He'd be in pain. So much so that his eyes would burn enough so that he'd nearly cry. He would fall in love too: once, twice, three times over. The world would end in a spectacular show of death, hatred, and regrets. It would be hell. And he wanted out soon.
And distantly he still knew then -- The voice wanted him aborted. When it happened; it happened all so fast. It was like being vomited into world of bright swirling green colors. Ridiculously still alive with a natural noose of severed placenta coiled loosely about the neck. Cloud's first real glimpse of this strange reality was of narrow black eyes glinting from behind silver specks, distorted by glass and odd fluid. Mr. Hojo. He knew, even then, how he was regarded -- a premature, engineered freak of nature, a hasty operation. Hojo, no longer just a voice, but a body; a body with frightening facial features raised one finger, tapping the nail against the tube he was contained in, "How grotesque." Said the doctor, his lips lifting in a humorous smile, "To think this parasite nearly killed my specimen." The man straightened his glasses, "So small. So deceptively innocent. It takes to Mako like water."
The first emotion Cloud ever felt was hate. And he welcomed it as it were love -- it was so passionate. It must have been love he felt for Mr. Hojo. He loved this man since he first focused his eyes on him. The doctor emitted an aura that just screamed abuse and a world of pain. The man was not evil, nor was he heartless, Hojo had his own views that conflicted with all the laws of social morality. He just didn't understand. To him, Cloud was an animal close to a fish, really. Hojo couldn't sympathize with his suffering simply because he believed it not to be real, a mere side effect of playing with genetics.
So it begins…
Production Notes: This started with an AIM conversation with my cousin. We were discussing Advent Children, the movie sequel to the popular Playstation game Final Fantasy 7. I'm not quite sure how this particular draft came from her ideas but it just flowed from me and I'm not quite sure what to think of it.