Vincent
So this was just something floating around in my mind, and my favourite song fit with it so well. It's a little different than my other work, mind you, so I hope it's good. Please review, your opinions are important to me!
The song is called "Vincent" and is performed by Don Maclean.
Please read the lyrics, they are important to the idea of the story.
XXX
Starry, starry night,
Paint your pallet blue and gray,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colours on the snowy linen land.
The Moon was barely visible through the wall of colorless clouds, but still shone as strongly as it could. Though feeble, the rays managed to provide a weak glow, with an odd determination. Why did the clouds fight so hard against it? Were they trying to protect the Moon from danger or heartache?
They were a barrier, a cage, a safe hold.
They would block heat from escaping and emotions from rising. At times like this, it was hard to tell if they were good or bad. Did she want her insanity to be let loose, or was it better to cope alone, just this once? Answerless questions had haunted her for as long as she could remember. She always liked knowing, being where the action is, never to be left behind. It was in her blood.
It was in her veins, her life, her story.
She got it from her father, and had seen it in action by her brother. They should have known how it felt when they did that to her, repeatedly. She wasn't there when her father died, because everyone wanted to protect her. She's delicate, they said, a little flower to be looked at and not touched.
She was a kitten, a girl, a weakness. The Moon.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen,
They did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
She was in the shadow her whole life, always meant to be a figure on the sidelines. They had loved her and she knew it, but they didn't respect her. Her safety was more important than her feelings.
Greil and Ike were the clouds, and she was the Moon, but where was the Sun? The question answered itself instantly. Soren had been the Sun, without question. Mist could only guess at how much Soren had been part of her brother's life. He was there when they were kids, when Greil died, when they fought for what they believed in, he never left Ike's side. Their love was something extraordinary, a bond only a chosen few had witnessed.
They had a strength, a bond, a love, that was never to be rivalled.
Soren was there for everything, up until the end. The day, the day they had fought to the last man, ankle deep in the snows of their land, risking life and limb for something that couldn't be taken away. At the time, everyone had thought the only thing to lose was their home, but how wrong they were in Mist's eyes.
For once in her life, she had been there.
Indeed, she was there by her brother's side when the javelin entered his beautiful heart, whose beat still sounded in her mind each day. She held his hand while he whispered his final goodbyes, and she was there when Soren cried for the first time in forever, clutching the lifeless body of his love and only friend. She was there to feel the anger and pain that made her scream through the day and cry through the long, desperate nights, trying to ward off the dreams remaining in her mind.
Haunted again by the nightmares, the thoughts, the woes.
Starry, starry night,
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling in clouds and violet haze reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue,
Morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's
Loving hand.
Soren was never the same after. For years he tried to cope, breaking down on timeless occasions, begging for it not to be true and for Ashera to kill him now. He wanted to be strong for Ike, but Mist knew how very hard it was. Neither of them had any family anymore, but just couldn't help each other. How could they, when they were in such a state of horror and grief?
She had always remembered the way Soren looked the day he killed himself.
After struggling for so long, his face was dead and white, ghost-like and unseen by the shiny happy people of the world they didn't live in. He was but a presence, no longer speaking or eating, but spending endless hours staring into the fire in the same chair every day. Marketers threw around the word "catatonic" as if he couldn't hear their words. Sometimes, he couldn't.
The guilt, the fear, the resentment.
In the end, it was maybe quite safe to say that Soren had lost his mind. There was nothing to think of the day he drew Ettard from her sheath. There was less than nothing to think of when Mist saw his body, bloody on the floor of stone in the room that was once his and Ike's.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night.
You took your life as lovers often do;
But I could have told you,
Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.
The world was never meant for someone as beautiful as Ike and Soren, it was obvious. They weren't just people; they were something totally new and indescribable.
They were heroes, friends, and gods.
They were Mist's life and only loves she'd ever known since her father's death, but they were gone now. They were forgotten faces and empty frames, figures of the past from a time and place that no longer existed. Her heart and soul had left her, and once again, she was left alone.
Maybe, if they had listened to her, she would have had more time to love them while they were around.
Starry, starry night,
Portraits hung in empty halls Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget,
Like the strangers that you've met. The ragged men in ragged clothes, The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lies crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
The memories still rushed through her mind every night, ones of happiness and laughter, and ones of remorse and struggle. They proved her father, brother and friend were real, not just headless portraits, but part of her. The part that was missing now.
The grass was wet beneath her fingers, and her arms were rigged with gooseflesh. The Moon was setting, the clouds still hovered, and any sign of the Sun was nowhere to be found.
She was protected by the clouds her whole life, but it was time to move on. The Sun would meet the clouds soon, and the Moon would hide again.
The Sun, the clouds, and the Moon.
And now I think I know what you tried to say to me, And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
They're not
Listening still
Perhaps they never will.
Reviews are loved!