authors can nominate their own fics.
people can nominate up to 5 fics per category but can only nominate 1 fic
once.
umm... that's it.. here's the story:
A semi-dark oneshot. Rated... lets see.... I donnuo.. but if you are
kinda suicidal.. read it and it'll help!
I SWEAR I am not suicidal. This is a bad rough draft. I wrote this
between studying. Umm... it swaps from past to present tense not
intentionally... please tell me if you see some mistakes.
Umm.. I really had to get this out of my system so I could study in
peace... This is a bit rushed towards the end... *sigh* oh well... I
have a web page for m fanfics but its never updated. Last update
was in ... uh.. 9/30/00? The archive has some links fixed...
umm.. those who read it on the mailing list, its been revised little.
Not too much...
Umm.. still trying to figure out what version of crash and burn
chapter 4 I'm going to use. Its currently on hold unless you really
want to skip it and go on to chapter 5.
Inspired by flunking a science exam. ^_^
Standard disclaimors apply.
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If you stand close to the azure glass that rise from the mountains to
the sky, the world spans out beneath you like the rippling grass,
vibrant with life. The impossibly green emerald glowed with the
sun, and almost illuminated the Mystic moon, strung on the edge of
the skies. The gentle waters paved its path through the forests
below like ribbons of silk, soft and smooth.
It was beautiful. Can such a simple word describe such an exquisite
land?
The paved road seared its way through the forests harshly. The
green emerald, once so pure and beautiful, was marred with a fatal
flaw. But the moving iotas were oblivious to that crime. They ran
excitedly through those streets, chattering so loud that even in his
fortress in the sky, he could hear.
How annoying.
But the mountains hugged its precious emerald like a child to its
mother. Like an older brother to his youths.
And that was so absurd that he almost smiled..... Almost.
He owned an apology to his brother. But ten years can erode
anything, even the bond of blood. His brother was going to feel
pain today. His country was going to die today. What should he
feel? Sad? Regretful? Guilty?
His only guilt was not being able to feel anything.
His life felt like a dream.
And you cannot feel anything when you're dreaming. Or can you?
But he didn't want to wake up. His dream was his armor, and it
protected him.
A dream that was his prison....
A dream that began when he lost his arm. A dream so real that he
could not discern when he was awake or when he was asleep. A
dream so long that he felt never remembered what it was like to be
awake. A dream so deep that it fused with day, and made his life
like a waking reverie. But life itself is a long dream. To wake from
the dream is to die. But to die is the closest you can ever come to
being awake.
He sighed inwardly. His mind was confusing itself.
And then there are dreams within this dream called life, and
sometimes, those are so real that they blend with those two worlds.
And the only way you can tell them apart is that you cannot feel
pain in those dreams. But why live at all, if you feel pain? Is it not
better to dream?
But people live to feel pain. And yet people fear to die. We can be
such fools.
Life is hard.
Dying is easy.
But to die is to run away. And he was not coward. Does it even
matter anymore? He was an outcast in Fanelia, whether he was a
coward or not was already obvious. Was that why he was doing
this? Not for the glory of Zaibach, but for his own petty revenge?
He didn't know. He didn't want to know.
It was better not to know actually. Things that you do not know
cannot hurt you. And if you live life under walls, then no one will
ever be able to touch you.
But no one will ever be able to love you either. You will be gone
when you die. No one will remember you. You will be a shadow in
the world, another body to feed those green hills. And your entire
life would have been like fragile flower, countless and resplendent
on the rolling fields, yet never significant enough to be watched
individually.
But if you die without being remembered, then no one will feel
pain once you are gone. That would be good. He didn't deserve
their sadness. He didn't want to cause any more pain.
A thick smoke had begun to rise from the emerald, dancing in the
twisted wind. Taunting him. Laughing at him. Coward, they
scream in unison.
He almost grimaced.... Almost.
Yes, he told them in his mind. Taunt me, yet I feed you. I offer you
those people. I offer you those hills. Feed like a parasite and taunt
the one who gave you life. At least he still had some dignity.
The green forests are crumbling now, like a field of wooden toys
against a strong wind. Those forests in which he spent his
childhood and his memories are dying. Did he want that? Yes... he
knew he did. He did not want to be reminded of the other life he
spent as a Fanelian prince. To burn away those forests was to burn
away any reminisce that such a person existed.
I'm not that outcast anymore. I've never existed. I'm no longer
remembered.
But he did feel regret.
And he thought he was living in a dream...
Was he lying to himself again?
That thought almost made him laugh... Almost.
People are so foolish. They try to convince themselves that they are
loved... that they are worthy.. that they are important to satify their
own aching hearts. They can ignore what hurts them, no matter
how obvious it could be. And if they cannot ignore that, then that
sense of loss could drive a person to insanity.
And everyone, including himself, contained aberration.
They create lies to fill their emptiness, and try to find happiness by
causing others pain. That hunger for control and power; it can only
be fed by pain.
So was that him?
He could not deny it... but at least he was sane enough to realize it.
Because nothing could be more foolish than lying to yourself.
The beautiful emerald was now a ruby, with a flaming interior.
Those lush forests had fed that flame, making it glow with life and
horror. That flame had consumed the grassland, leaving the hills
with a crimson glow. But in years, the grass will rise again, even
more vivid than now.
Grass that grow on the dead. Those crumbling bodies feed the
earth, and like a chain that attaches us, the living must live off the
dead. Yet the living fear the dead. How ironic. They fear those
mythical spirits that wander the earth, yet they trod on them, and
build their houses over their bodies. No wonder the dead is so
unhappy.
The living feed off the dead... and the dead? The dead... they laugh
at us. For the crimes of stupidity that only we can commit.
For choosing life over death.
For choosing pain.
URG! This stupid thing took me an hours to write. Its really
weird... there's really nothing else that can describe it.
Umm.. I don't really like this draft.. umm.. if its ever revised, then
I'll just mention it somewhere and give a link. Reposting is a pain
for everyone.
Humm.. takes place right before Fanelia is burned.. but it doesn't
really address a specific emotion that well. But hey, that's how
people think! People don't usually focus on a thought and stay
there for 15 minutes... humm... then again. Folken is... well... I
donnuo...
Dying is Easy, Living is Hard
by Rubie aka Jenn
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End
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This is confusing... but I was studying history, what do you
expect?