"After all is said and done, the song still plays, and there is retribution to pay."
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Dedication: This is dedicated to my Sissy, Marika, for her birthday.
Warnings: Dark, and darker. Possible death, depending on my muse, and the reviews of the readers. May possibly be yaoi, if there happens to be romance involved at all.
A/N: My muse was in one hell of a mood, and as I was reading a few essays on Duo, and mixed with my own opinion, since I identify with all of the coping mechanisms, I decided to run with this. But, as of right now, all I have is the teaser.
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The Breaking of Duo Maxwell
By Cieraco, AKA Miss Reika
After the wars, the death, the loss, and the gain; there is a time of reflection, and of retribution. But what if, when in that time, one begins to believe that what he or she has done, was not worth the outcome? Or even furthermore, if the journey, while still being worth the destination, is to hard to overcome? What then happens to one who after escaping the past for so long, cannot face it all, and cannot move forward? The gears of the clock continue to turn, grinding, and crushing those that refuse to move on as well right?
So, here I am. I sit, unseen, unknown, and unacknowledged in this place, a church no less. I am in the last pew, all the way in the back; the only pew in this place of sanctity left. What is it that I see? A naked boy, kneeling in the center of the room, facing the alter, tears streaming from cloudy amethyst eyes. Candles light this place, all red, deep, dark, the color of shed blood.
Speaking of blood. Our beloved Duo Maxwell, as he kneels, has his arms resting on his thighs, palms up. Along his pale skin, are dozens of bleeding cuts. Scattered around him, are silvery glittering objects. Razorblades, dozens of them, all covered in blood. His hair, usually kept in that gorgeous braid? Loose, wild, almost mangy.
So, now you ask me what the hell happened to our beloved Duo right? Why is he here, essentially bleeding to death? Think about it. When you run from your fears for as long as you can remember, what happens when the time comes that you do not have the choice to run anymore? Sink or swim time. You can just guess what happened in this case.
Oh, so now you ask me what it was that he was running from? Oi, you really are slow today. Again, think about it. Death. It has been all around him for as long as he can remember. He fought to save lives. But, he took almost as many as he saved. The end justified the means, but still, retribution to be paid.
What retribution? Well, in my opinion, all he has to do is forgive himself, he did what he had to, saving that which he believed, and protecting the lives of those that strove for peace. But, this is a teen who has had the wrong life, and to much Death in his past, deaths that he ran from, refused to deal with. So, now he deals with those, and those he took himself.
All done asking questions? Good, let me get back to the relevance of the story then.
I know I have not painted the pretty picture, Duo, in the church, slowly bleeding out. But, I failed to mention the smile. Still that smile. Still that hypocrisy. Still that lying to himself. He smiles, outwardly thinking he is happy to die. Truth is, he lies to himself; he is scared, and wants saved, helped, shown he is not alone in this.
Talk about hypocrisy, letting yourself bleed out in a church of a god you do not have faith in, or is that simply irony? Ah, but there is faith in a way. Faith in redemption. Not his redemption mind you, he thinks he is well beyond that, but the redemption of everyone else, those he killed, those he saved, everyone, because in this day and age, with that war, you are either one or the other.
The soft rapping sound of rain, its just a light sprinkle now, but I can tell that it will get harder, a full blown storm maybe soon. But, to him, our beloved Duo, the sound is soothing. Constant pitters and patters, like a heartbeat, like his heartbeat, fast, yet irregular. Ever-changing beats, fast, slow, harder, and then almost seeming to fade fully. His eyes close, slowly, lashes soaking with tears. He looks like an angel though.
How can I say that, as he is in such a state? Take another look at him. His head lowered like so, tearstained face, a glean of sweat glistening in the candle lights. Even the crisp crimson against his near snow white skin. All of it, couple it with the sincerity of what he thinks he is doing. His attempt at his own redemption, is skewed, but it is sincere. He thinks the blood, and more Death will redeem his actions.
The rain, its louder now, a good downpour. Thunder rumbles softy, the flashes of lightning are still fairly far apart from the crashes though, the main part of the storm is still miles away. He never moves though, he does not even see the flashes of light, behind his closed eyes he sees nothing.
He hears nothing, sees nothing, and right now feels nothing. He is gone, but still very alive, taken to that place of almost tranquil sleep. But for him, there is no peace, no sleep. Not as long as his heart beats. But, how long will that be?
He couldn't make the cuts deep enough, even if he thinks they are. And, he does think they are, he thinks he is dying. He is dying, just not the way he thinks. The church bells. They sound so beautiful. Even just in that first chime. The doors are blown open, just as that first bell rings. All of the candles go dark. Twelve chimes all together, midnight.
Now, silence. The rain, it paused, or mayhap stopped fully. Silent, and dark. Not a single sound nor anything but blackness. His heart still beats though.
A flash of lightning, so bright that it looks like daylight for a few seconds. I said he looked like an angel, our beloved Duo. Now I am sure of it. In that flash of lightning, that few seconds of light, he has to be an angel. His hair is blown back by the wind, even as nothing rustles, the wind is still there, even if there is no sound. His bloody arms, fully extended out at his sides, palms up, look as if they are ethereal. But, that is not what catches my eyes. He is facing me now, amethyst eyes clear and bright, and not the smile, but a smirk. Still, not what really catches me. He is focused on me.
Ok, so more explanation time right? Who is it that is narrating this little story right? Let me think, how to define myself. I am neither angel nor devil, neither good nor evil. I am not a guardian spirit, nor anything of that like either. I am more of one that watches, no mortal can see me, though some can feel me at times. Now, I know, you are thinking, that Duo is one of those that can feel me. Yes, well, I would have believed you too, but this is not just faith in a feeling. He sees me, and I can feel that.
Ok, so now, I have a smirking Duo Maxwell that can actually see me, and is staring straight into my own amethyst eyes. What the hell do I do? He is special, I have always known that, as I have watched him since he lost Solo, but to see me, this is to damned strange, even for me. Yes, I am one of those spirits that treads the lines of the rules set for us. So sue me, I like to have fun. Trouble is the best fun by the way. I speak. No mortal has even heard me either I might add.
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DarkLove: Mwahahaha, I am the new muse, and I rawk. Please review, so Miss Reika can feel all good about her newest attempt at writing. Not to mention, she kind of will lose track of this amongst her poetry if I am not careful. O.o Have fun in dementia everyone, I know I do.
Miss Reika: Psycho muse. V.v