99 Red Balloons
Pales Megami
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers apply. Don't sue me; I have no money.
Spoilers: None
I like the red one. Bright, like fire, so round and pretty! I tug at my father's hand.
"Papa..."
No response. I try again.
"Papa."
He flashes me an annoyed glance and walks a little faster. "What?" His voice bites, cuts. Scissors upon satin. Ripping. It's hard to keep the hurt out of my voice.
"Um..." I fiddle with a button on my jacket. My balloon becomes smaller and smaller as we hurry through the crowd. Craning my neck around, I can see it, bobbing above the heads. A tiny red dot. I turn back to my father.
"Can--can I have a balloon?" My reply is timid; soft; scared. I flinch as he glares furiously at me.
"A *balloon*?" he spits. "What the fucking hell do you want a *balloon* for?"
"I--" Tears begin to tickle the corners of my eyes. "I just do--"
His slap sounds like hail upon window panes. People stare and whisper; edge around us. My father, hand still raised, face contortedi n agner. Me, clutching my cheek, now wet, stinging, red. Red, like the perfect dot that is blurred through my tears.
He smiles at me. Not the smile Mommy gives me. Not the smile Papa gives me. This one is like chocolate. The sweetness flows all through my body; suddenly, I don't feel so cold anymore. I smile back, a shy smile, a chocolate smile.
"What's a little guy like you doing here alone?" he asks me. "Where's your mother? Do you take a bus?"
I shrug, shaking my head. "Mommy always comes late."
"Huh." Another smile. "Poor fella." I look up, up above the cart he's fumbling with. The man chuckles at my gasp of surprise. Red, red, red, red, red. Dots, dots, dots. Beautiful red balloons, swaying in the breeze. 1, 2, 3... too many, too many to count. I settle for a hundred. One hundred beautiful red balloons.
"You like them?" His eyes twinkle. Like stars, like moonlight, like the ocean at night.
I nod, clapping my hands, laughing. "Mm! Red is my favorite."
"Oh?" He begins to undo a knot. "Same here. Here, kiddo." Something is fastened around my wrist. A balloon is dancing above me; *my* balloon. For me. Mine. I nod in thanks, and smile that chocolate smile. I look up at the remaining 99 balloons. I imagine them, eyes closed, to be free, like mine. Untied, each one flying, flying away. 99 red dots against the gray sky, dancing and flying to wherever the wind takes them.
I hear it even with my door closed. Mommy's yelling. I hate it when she yells. So loud! So shrill. I poke my head out my door, imaginary playmates abandoned on the wooden floor.
Bam. Bam. Bam. What's Mommy doing? Bam. She's yelling again. Bam, bam. Tiptoe by tiptoe, I inch towards the stairs. Bam. Down one step, another step, another... bam bam. No more steps. Bam.
"Mommy?" There is a pause.
"Whaddya want, brat?" she slurs. Bam. I shuffle towards the sound of her voice, the sound of the noises.
Bam. With each slash, pieces of... of everything are ripped from me. Red fragments, everywhere. Sad little rose petals, strewn over the living room. Bam. They're crying, my roses are crying. Bam, bam. Pretty red shreds, dead red shreds; perfect lives snatched away by the kitchen knife clutched in Mommy's hands. I scoop up a handful. Mommy screams at me, but I do not hear her, and I am running out the room fast as I can. The snow burns my feet; the wind stings my face... and suddenly, the snow bleeds. Perfect red petals lay upon the ground. One hundred, two hundred. Now they fly, they soar, dancing, dancing, red against white, and I laugh as the tears turn to crystals on my cheek.
A/N: o_o Wow. Pales on crack. Be glad you don't know her IRL. I'm not sure where this delightful piece of garble came from. I was listening to "99 Red Balloons," and had a sudden image of a little boy staring in horror as his mother stabbed each balloon with a kitchen knife (bad Farfie! It's all your fault! ::sob::)
Just to clarify the fic a bit:
The speaker is Duo (uh... _;). I chose him because-- because something about him just clicked.
It just... *worked*. I played around with his childhood a bit (a lot); he's supposed to be young here, five or six. (And please note, this is set in an AU, so don't come crying to me that I'm an idiot and Duo was raised in the Maxwell church as an orphan, blah blah blah.) In the first blurb, he and his dad are at the park, and he sees a balloon seller. In the second scene, he's sitting alone outside after school, waiting for his mother, and a balloon/trinket vendor comes along. In the last memory thing, it's after his birthday party, and his drunken mother is stabbing the balloons left over from the party.
.....
I think I'll go watch some "Dragon Tales" or something ~_~;;
Pales Megami
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers apply. Don't sue me; I have no money.
Spoilers: None
I like the red one. Bright, like fire, so round and pretty! I tug at my father's hand.
"Papa..."
No response. I try again.
"Papa."
He flashes me an annoyed glance and walks a little faster. "What?" His voice bites, cuts. Scissors upon satin. Ripping. It's hard to keep the hurt out of my voice.
"Um..." I fiddle with a button on my jacket. My balloon becomes smaller and smaller as we hurry through the crowd. Craning my neck around, I can see it, bobbing above the heads. A tiny red dot. I turn back to my father.
"Can--can I have a balloon?" My reply is timid; soft; scared. I flinch as he glares furiously at me.
"A *balloon*?" he spits. "What the fucking hell do you want a *balloon* for?"
"I--" Tears begin to tickle the corners of my eyes. "I just do--"
His slap sounds like hail upon window panes. People stare and whisper; edge around us. My father, hand still raised, face contortedi n agner. Me, clutching my cheek, now wet, stinging, red. Red, like the perfect dot that is blurred through my tears.
He smiles at me. Not the smile Mommy gives me. Not the smile Papa gives me. This one is like chocolate. The sweetness flows all through my body; suddenly, I don't feel so cold anymore. I smile back, a shy smile, a chocolate smile.
"What's a little guy like you doing here alone?" he asks me. "Where's your mother? Do you take a bus?"
I shrug, shaking my head. "Mommy always comes late."
"Huh." Another smile. "Poor fella." I look up, up above the cart he's fumbling with. The man chuckles at my gasp of surprise. Red, red, red, red, red. Dots, dots, dots. Beautiful red balloons, swaying in the breeze. 1, 2, 3... too many, too many to count. I settle for a hundred. One hundred beautiful red balloons.
"You like them?" His eyes twinkle. Like stars, like moonlight, like the ocean at night.
I nod, clapping my hands, laughing. "Mm! Red is my favorite."
"Oh?" He begins to undo a knot. "Same here. Here, kiddo." Something is fastened around my wrist. A balloon is dancing above me; *my* balloon. For me. Mine. I nod in thanks, and smile that chocolate smile. I look up at the remaining 99 balloons. I imagine them, eyes closed, to be free, like mine. Untied, each one flying, flying away. 99 red dots against the gray sky, dancing and flying to wherever the wind takes them.
I hear it even with my door closed. Mommy's yelling. I hate it when she yells. So loud! So shrill. I poke my head out my door, imaginary playmates abandoned on the wooden floor.
Bam. Bam. Bam. What's Mommy doing? Bam. She's yelling again. Bam, bam. Tiptoe by tiptoe, I inch towards the stairs. Bam. Down one step, another step, another... bam bam. No more steps. Bam.
"Mommy?" There is a pause.
"Whaddya want, brat?" she slurs. Bam. I shuffle towards the sound of her voice, the sound of the noises.
Bam. With each slash, pieces of... of everything are ripped from me. Red fragments, everywhere. Sad little rose petals, strewn over the living room. Bam. They're crying, my roses are crying. Bam, bam. Pretty red shreds, dead red shreds; perfect lives snatched away by the kitchen knife clutched in Mommy's hands. I scoop up a handful. Mommy screams at me, but I do not hear her, and I am running out the room fast as I can. The snow burns my feet; the wind stings my face... and suddenly, the snow bleeds. Perfect red petals lay upon the ground. One hundred, two hundred. Now they fly, they soar, dancing, dancing, red against white, and I laugh as the tears turn to crystals on my cheek.
A/N: o_o Wow. Pales on crack. Be glad you don't know her IRL. I'm not sure where this delightful piece of garble came from. I was listening to "99 Red Balloons," and had a sudden image of a little boy staring in horror as his mother stabbed each balloon with a kitchen knife (bad Farfie! It's all your fault! ::sob::)
Just to clarify the fic a bit:
The speaker is Duo (uh... _;). I chose him because-- because something about him just clicked.
It just... *worked*. I played around with his childhood a bit (a lot); he's supposed to be young here, five or six. (And please note, this is set in an AU, so don't come crying to me that I'm an idiot and Duo was raised in the Maxwell church as an orphan, blah blah blah.) In the first blurb, he and his dad are at the park, and he sees a balloon seller. In the second scene, he's sitting alone outside after school, waiting for his mother, and a balloon/trinket vendor comes along. In the last memory thing, it's after his birthday party, and his drunken mother is stabbing the balloons left over from the party.
.....
I think I'll go watch some "Dragon Tales" or something ~_~;;