Hi there! This fanfic will be a series of short stories from Gaav's human
lives. Some of them assume he was born in different dimensions at times
^^;;; They will progress into him remembering his mazoku side, and the two
sides fusing, and it goes from there. Basically a reflection of Gaav's
human life. Please tell me what you think. Flames welcome! . . . . . needed
. . . . .
I have always admired the fight for life. The overwhelming human will to live, and live fully. I have tried so to live each day of my life like . . . . . . . it's a day of my life. No regrets. However, now.my fight for life is over. Around me, there is water. It reflects gold from some unknown light source, as far as the eye can see. All else is white. As I look around, my eyes are drawn to the striking contrast of my reflection in the water against all white. I can see the cascade of blood red hair, the weary blue eyes. The lines in my face . . . . . see these lines here? Laugh lines. Physical evidence of the weariness the world brings upon us. Am I so tired? I . . . . . .don't think so. The struggle for my life has never ceased, up to the very end. But then . . . . sometimes I feel it, when I am left alone with nothing but my thoughts. Like now.
I sit down in the water that will never again make me wet, look up at the sky filled with nothing. These are my laugh lines, my life I fought so for, my memories.
* * *
Among wreakage and debree, one person stands. At his feet, the great form of Ragradia lays dead. His distraught blue eyes are cast up to the sky, and blood runs down his face, crimson as the flowing hair that falls to his feet. He looks and bloodied hands, and touches his face. His mouth suddenly emits a scream, racking his now small form. One of betrayal, of pain. He falls, and blood of the not so good runs together with the blood of not so evil. Their blood, together, runs cold.
I have always admired the fight for life. The overwhelming human will to live, and live fully. I have tried so to live each day of my life like . . . . . . . it's a day of my life. No regrets. However, now.my fight for life is over. Around me, there is water. It reflects gold from some unknown light source, as far as the eye can see. All else is white. As I look around, my eyes are drawn to the striking contrast of my reflection in the water against all white. I can see the cascade of blood red hair, the weary blue eyes. The lines in my face . . . . . see these lines here? Laugh lines. Physical evidence of the weariness the world brings upon us. Am I so tired? I . . . . . .don't think so. The struggle for my life has never ceased, up to the very end. But then . . . . sometimes I feel it, when I am left alone with nothing but my thoughts. Like now.
I sit down in the water that will never again make me wet, look up at the sky filled with nothing. These are my laugh lines, my life I fought so for, my memories.
* * *
Among wreakage and debree, one person stands. At his feet, the great form of Ragradia lays dead. His distraught blue eyes are cast up to the sky, and blood runs down his face, crimson as the flowing hair that falls to his feet. He looks and bloodied hands, and touches his face. His mouth suddenly emits a scream, racking his now small form. One of betrayal, of pain. He falls, and blood of the not so good runs together with the blood of not so evil. Their blood, together, runs cold.
