A Thousand Sirens Yelling
I hate crash landings. I hate jungle crashes more. It was a long battle. Too long, and my poor Deathscythe is in no condition to make it anywhere. Dropping to the jungle floor I favored my left side as I rolled onto the ground.
Gonna have to wait for one of the guys to give me a lift back. I wish I had a cigarette.
I hate myself. I hate my mind. I hate remembering battles. I know what today has brought me, and I know that every event will lie safely within the walls of my heart. Each memory will be wrapped up in tissue paper, placed neatly on a shelf, ready to be played over and over in my mind as soon as it gets too quiet or to dark.
Hello insanity.
Need a new subject. Lets focus on pain. Because, I can handle pain. I flex my leg and focus on the searing line traveling up my body.
I shouldn't covet things like pain. The screams of people are not meant to play like worn records in my head. I know I shouldn't, really I do.
But I also knew long ago that I was fucked. Not just fucked up, but fucked to a point its not worth fighting. Doesn't mean I don't fight, it just means even I have to give in. I have to surrender my sanity over to something deep inside and let it burn the pain away.
Where was I going with this again?
Oh right, the pain. Pain, all around me pain. Wow, I should just paint my nails black and write poetry in a graveyard.
I wouldn't have to go far. All battlefields are graveyards. And all graveyards have ghosts.
Someone is coming. Using my left arm, my less damaged appendage I secure one of my handhelds. Who ever it is, Shinigami is ready. The greenery around me held faint footsteps but no movement. Searching my entire field of vision I was surprised.
Through blood encrusted bangs and a swollen eye I see Trowa making his way through the foliage to where I lay at Deathscythes feet. Handgun leveled and ready to kill just like mine. He lowers his weapon, and I would have too but its just to painful. Making his way to my side he's silent. The last thing I need. He's already tending to my injuries. Good little solider boy.
He stops what he's doing warm hands leaving my body as he searches my face.
"Duo?" Its about this time I realize I'm laughing like a maniac.
"Poor Nanashi. Does the silence speak to you too?" He flinches at the name but continues to repair the gaping wound on my side. Its about this time the checkerboard patterns play behind my eyes and the world goes black.
Black.
I always liked that color.