All right, this time I remembered the disclaimer: I bow to thee Clamp, all
these characters are yours and if I mangle their characters (as I have
here) in what passes for my writing, it wasn't intentional (mostly).
It only happened at night, and even then, only recently.
He hadn't told anyone - hadn't mentioned it at all, the grief that bubbled up inside him, silent sobbing there was no reason for and no relief from.
//What am I grieving for?//
It had been raining earlier and the wet earth outside smelled like tears. His mind was as foggy as a dream, but tired as he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep yet. Stiffly, Tsukishiro Yukito edged onto the seat under the window and stared up at the sky, drawn irresistibly to the moon. Why did he find it so fascinating? He almost fell into a trance under its glowing face, silver transforming everything into metallic edges and pearl- like lustre.
He closed his eyes, let the wan light seep through the lids.
The tears followed. . . they always did. . .
//Why? I never feel this sad. . . in the daylight I am happy. . .//
It was shock perhaps, or tiredness, whatever was making him feel so bad all the time. . . he'd fallen asleep again, today, woken so cold and tired he could barely move. Had Touya found him? He couldn't remember, but he woke up back at home.
And he was so *hungry.* He couldn't, physically, eat any more but still the hunger raged. It was bad, but not so bad it should make him cry, this illness. . .
you know it isn't an illness. . .
A voice, like his voice, echoing in his own mind. He tried to shut it out as he had done before, and wondered if it would make this worse or better.
He couldn't say anything about it. How sometimes he didn't even feel real anymore. Like a dream, a phantom, something fading. . .
The moonlight glowed around the edge of the hand he held up in front of the window, and in this state of being halfway-asleep, it seemed the skin was transparent as glass, or an x-ray, but there weren't even bones beneath the skin. . .
//Am I going mad?//
Why are you afraid to admit what you already know?
"You know why," he whispered aloud, and there was no answer to that.
Already clouds were drifting back over the moon, hazing the orb over into a greyish halo, and his gaze dropped with the fading light. As he drifted off, he thought that there was still hope left.
. . . but it was failing now. . .
Author's notes:
Bluegoo: Hmm, doncha just hate it when the author decides she hasn't written enough to make a story, and bulks it out with author's notes? Please R&R! (silence.)
Hello?
Is anyone there?. . . (echoes die away.)
Ah. Oh well, I guess I'll have to rope DrM into reviewing. . . go read her stories!
It only happened at night, and even then, only recently.
He hadn't told anyone - hadn't mentioned it at all, the grief that bubbled up inside him, silent sobbing there was no reason for and no relief from.
//What am I grieving for?//
It had been raining earlier and the wet earth outside smelled like tears. His mind was as foggy as a dream, but tired as he was, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep yet. Stiffly, Tsukishiro Yukito edged onto the seat under the window and stared up at the sky, drawn irresistibly to the moon. Why did he find it so fascinating? He almost fell into a trance under its glowing face, silver transforming everything into metallic edges and pearl- like lustre.
He closed his eyes, let the wan light seep through the lids.
The tears followed. . . they always did. . .
//Why? I never feel this sad. . . in the daylight I am happy. . .//
It was shock perhaps, or tiredness, whatever was making him feel so bad all the time. . . he'd fallen asleep again, today, woken so cold and tired he could barely move. Had Touya found him? He couldn't remember, but he woke up back at home.
And he was so *hungry.* He couldn't, physically, eat any more but still the hunger raged. It was bad, but not so bad it should make him cry, this illness. . .
you know it isn't an illness. . .
A voice, like his voice, echoing in his own mind. He tried to shut it out as he had done before, and wondered if it would make this worse or better.
He couldn't say anything about it. How sometimes he didn't even feel real anymore. Like a dream, a phantom, something fading. . .
The moonlight glowed around the edge of the hand he held up in front of the window, and in this state of being halfway-asleep, it seemed the skin was transparent as glass, or an x-ray, but there weren't even bones beneath the skin. . .
//Am I going mad?//
Why are you afraid to admit what you already know?
"You know why," he whispered aloud, and there was no answer to that.
Already clouds were drifting back over the moon, hazing the orb over into a greyish halo, and his gaze dropped with the fading light. As he drifted off, he thought that there was still hope left.
. . . but it was failing now. . .
Author's notes:
Bluegoo: Hmm, doncha just hate it when the author decides she hasn't written enough to make a story, and bulks it out with author's notes? Please R&R! (silence.)
Hello?
Is anyone there?. . . (echoes die away.)
Ah. Oh well, I guess I'll have to rope DrM into reviewing. . . go read her stories!