Hey fellow FF nuts. It's kind of just random babbling from each character's point of view. They are in the ruined Sanc Kingdom. The chapters are short - each is a different character. See if you can tell who it is!
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Gundam Wing, blah blah BLAH B-L-A-H
THEREISAIDITSODON'TYOUDARESUEME.Nameless Soldiers
Soldier's Despair
We are all nameless soldiers plodding through a world of darkness and despair.
My wet hair plasters my pale face. Sometimes I wonder why I take such care of it and my clothes when I don't even have a person to go with the colors.
The dark sky provides a fitting atmosphere as we gather around the destruction we have created. There's nothing like the feeling you get when you destroy something. Inside the great machines we call gundams there is a horrible ringing silence. We become so desperate to fill it that any sound will do. Blow something up. Shoot something. Kill someone and listen to them scream. Burn the city and watch the women and children flee in fear of our great, gruesome mechanical monsters.
But don't worry, it's all in your head.
It's not natural, to mask our fears and our hunger and our anger. We humans are such impure creatures. We are untrue to ourselves as we allow ourselves to imagine we are perfect. We do it to forget the image impressed upon our young minds of blood and blackened skin and mutated bodies lying among the ruins of creation. We do it to remain young. Yet the memories can never be taken again, nor would any person want to steal the painful memories. To me, any joy I ever felt was gone. I want someone to give me back my innocence as it was stolen so long ago, before I even saw the battlefield.
I see them hold each other tenderly, such a moment I would never had imagined out of someone so cold. The third is looking at me sadly, longingly. I can feel his gaze, knowing he would rather be close to me than anyone else. What am I supposed to feel? I know his secret, the dark and filthy things he does at night. It's not hard to know, as I'm sure the others do, late in the middle of our sleep cycles sharing the single room in separate cots, green and uncomfortable. We all lie awake, longing for release for the deep primal urges that come with age, unstoppable as war itself. In a way I admire him. He's not afraid to act out what he feels, even though he knows he will never get what he wants from me. Maybe because he knows he'll never have me.
I find myself jealous of them, able to express things to each other that I'll never be able to understand even if they wrote them down for me. He is the only one of us that does not sleep alone. I hear them, we all do. They're not ashamed. Inside themselves and between, coiled and wound and bound so many ways as to never be untangled, they share the release together. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they scream, and sometimes they laugh. No one of us would dare mention it, they deserve that much from us. We all long to have what they do, and do what they do, without fear of criticism. It's why I know he's stronger than we are. Despite myself, I have comfort knowing he's that much stronger than I am.
The world is gray. The buildings, fallen to the ground, still cast shadows of once-great things. They are little more than shattered memories, abandoned and dangerous, as is the mind of each of us.
I push back my hair and put on my invisible mask, unable to show myself to the world any longer, during my times of weakness. Now is not one of those times.
I am a nameless soldier who stole the identity of a man who was as controversial as his death.
My name is not my own. I don't have the strength to tell the others that I am just a nameless soldier, plodding across the battlefields of time holding my bleeding heart in my hands. I can't do it.
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