This is a short little story that I wrote awhile ago. I thought I'd post it as incentive to myself to finish my Latin essay and do my math problem set. Hopefully, this works...

Wings Without Feathers

I fell, long and hard, though only my soul remembers falling. I fell swiftly, and ignorant of my peril. What were you thinking when you tossed me away? Did you know you were planting the seeds of your own doom?

I foiled your plans in that moment, when you were foiling his. Garland...you killed him and he, too fell, though he deserved it more than I. I was only sorry that I could not kill him myself. He used us both. So, perhaps, I do not, cannot, blame you. We were only victims, harried by the merciless wind. We were only...only...Genomes, with souls, true, but still bereft of what we needed; I was luckier than you in that I grew up among friends, and you among no one but HE who made you...into his angel of death.

We did what we were made to do, ordered to do, and although I fell, my fall meant that I escaped. You gave me a chance that you did not have. Did you know that then, some secret part of you? I who believe in the redemption of all, always thought that you were on some level aware that such a fall was necessary, a small price to pay for the ruination of Garland.

Kuja, I forgive you. Hurling me down by your wrath and jealousy only made me able to live without what you had to endure. You made me into the 'hero' people say I am. For now when I walk the streets, I am no longer the plucky thief whom everyone greets with suspicion or contempt, no longer the happy-go-lucky wanderer, no longer the tough member of Tantalus who somehow manages to charm his way out of the consequences of irreverence. I am Zidane, the heroic soul from Alexandria, or Lindblum if you listen to the right people, or even Cleyra, Burmecia, Terra if you know me. Gaia, however, is my home, and I represent all of Gaia; the library hidden near those waterfalls, that idiot island with those yans that we spent forever fighting, the secret refuges of Chocobos, the icy touch of the waters where I dived for my sword, the dusty desert where in Oeilvert I found out more about my past. Terra was my past, your home, where I spent some time enjoying the crystal architecture, the blue light, the mysterious Genomes, but as a visitor only. Although I felt that yes, there was some part of me completed by Terra, it was my past, and Gaia the future.

So, Kuja, Garland, did things turn out the way you expected? I certainly had no ambition to do what I did, no clue as to what was expected of me, so I can safely say that they did not. However, you I suppose must have had plans, and I wonder exactly how much of them came true, if any. I though long and hard about whether or not I would hate you, Garland, especially; I concluded that I cannot. You are my maker, even though I made myself into something far greater, with Kuja's help. No, I cannot, though I do blame you for what happened, but at this moment it seems that without you I would not even be.

And I have also finished contemplating whatever bruises I took from that fall. They ultimately only built my character, and, you see, Kuja, whatever malice you held in your heart towards me, the fall only assured that I could start rise and, rising, make my way back home...