Summary: Walking hand in hand with death, fully aware. So close, and may it be so far?
Note: I basically vented/channeled my mental numbness in this fic so I have no idea how it actually turned out. To the theme of contemplating death under the four elements: fire, earth, air, water.
Warnings: Passive Contemplations Of Death, Implied Major Character Death (Canon Compliant), Second Person POV.
Disclaimer: Don't own P5.
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Ashes-
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[F. I. R. E. It BurnsBurnsBurns]
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You hold power.
And you relish it.
Your voice calls out a command, and the overwhelming specter you bring forth swings its sword.
Heat radiates off of it as it passes over your head, and your enemies are set aflame.
You watch them succumb to the fire. Fascination fills you as you watch them, but it disappears as quickly as it comes to you.
Loki and the sword hover behind you, above you.
The sword hangs in the air, looking ready to slip from Loki's grip and cut into whichever is under it like a knife through butter.
You think of the sword, how it hangs over your head, a sword of Damocles, a tale of power and repercussions.
One day, this sword can just as easily fall into you, pierce you, and torment you with its searing heat.
You're not immune to fire.
(Does it matter?)
(You walk away. You have work to do.)
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[An E. M. B. R. A. C. E.-]
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Your treacherous mind loves to dredge up images and scenarios. The top too high, the bottom too far, the landing too dangerous. Your hand slipping, your foothold lost, your body freefalling down, down, down. And then impact. Your mind considers the pain, the bones breaking, the bleeding, because of course you're going to suffer as much as possible in the ugliest way before your body finally gives up on the struggle and surrenders its life.
You step away from the edge, and you don't think if your steps are too hasty, or if they are too slow.
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(The thoughts don't go away, they'll never go away. They slip from immediate attention, but prowl at the edges of your awareness. Whether it's bouldering exercise, or taking the steps down to the station, or climbing a Palace. The weight of a simple failure that will send you straight into Death's embrace.)
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[-It SuffocatesChokingCan'tBreathe]
You haven't eaten since yesterday, and your stomach gnaws at you, hunger grasping at every single shred of your strength. You stare at the curry on the menu, and the tie tightens around your neck, you feel bile climb up your throat, and the need to throw up overwhelms you. But no. You can't afford to let that happen, not here. Not anywhere outside of your apartment. By practice and a miracle, you manage to keep the need to hyperventilate at bay, and you smile.
You request a cup of coffee.
You'll tide yourself over, like you always have.
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[DrowningDrowningDrowning]
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You choke.
It's not your tie. It's not your high collar.
You cough, and blood splatters.
The world shakes and water creeps close to you. Water creeps up your body.
You'll choke.
Water slips, treacherous, and you struggle. You thrash.
You have no hope yet you fight back. The last remains of life crawl out of your body, burning in your veins, giving you a last burst of strength. A meaningless burst of strength.
You choke. You're submerged.
You hold no hope.
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[From the waters of your mother's womb you come, thrashing, and into the waters of your father's distorted heart you disappear, thrashing.]
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-to ashes.
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End