Disclaimer: I own a bedroom full of crap and a head full of even more crap. I think we can safely say the rights to Kingdom Hearts do not come under either of these titles and are therefore not mine.
A/N: Written for a challenge community on LiveJournal. No more than six hundred words on the topic of 'ink' using only KH characters. I hit exactly six hundred. Phew, just made it.
Lame
© Scribbler, June 2008.
Writing doesn't come easily for me. I'm better at talking. Yap, yap, yap, that's me – gift of the gab since I stole the nails from my crib and convinced my dad fairies took them. But actually doing this whole writing thing? Not so copasetic. Still, easy's for suckers.
I guess that makes us the least suckery people in the multiverse.
Nothing lost, nothing gained, huh? And I'm doing a hell of a lot of losing right now, so I could use some gain, to ease my brain's strain before I lose this game.
Rhyming. Lame!
Know what else is lame? Leon's lame. Because if Leon hadn't taught me how to write, I'd just be fading away, thinking about pretty lights, or don't-go-into-the-light, or whatever junk you think of at times like this. Instead, I'm scribbling like an idiot on a flyer for Cid's shop, wondering if Leon will notice I started sentences with 'because', 'and' and 'but'. Leon, if you actually survived that attack and read this, nuts to you! Rules are for breaking. Like heads. Like Heartless. You should remember that sometime.
Something else lame? Eggs. Eggs are L-A-M-E. They never come out the way you want, especially when you fry them (the only way toeat eggs, and if you disagree you're lamer than lame). You wait three months with nothing but dried biscuits (which make better shuriken than food, especially when you're attacked during breakfast and run out of throwing stars), and canned gunk that could be steak, could be dog food, could be pureed weasel shit. Then miraculously, you finally get real food – eggs! You're so hungry you're drooling, and end up totally messing them up, burning them so they stick to the only freaking frying pan you own... that's lame.
By the way, Aerith, thanks for giving me yours, even if it was lame how you pretended you'd already eaten. Did you think we couldn't hear your stomach growl?
I can hear the buggers creeping over the rubble. I used to think Heartless' footsteps were like teardrops falling on dirt. They don't have claws, do they? Merlin says they're made out of living darkness – like solid shadows. Shadows don't have real claws, only shadow-claws. Does that mean only your shadow bleeds if they scratch you?
Man, I'm writing some real shit. Must be blood-loss making my brain extra floopy. Thanks for teaching me how to tie a tourniquet, Tifa. I guess you do know more than just how to follow Cloud around like a bad smell. Sorry I yelled. I know you can't help chasing him. I didn't mean to say you don't contribute. Personally, I still think knocking him and locking him in the basement is the best idea. I wish I could teach you how to set cool ninja booby-traps that'd keep even Cloud Strife in one place.
Heh. Boobies.
Why didn't I ever grow any of those, anyhow? I'm like two pills on an ironing board. Major unfairness, going out under a pile of bricks, no tits, no blaze of glory. Who wrote the script to my life? Lame-o.
I keep fading out. You can probably tell from my handwriting. Guys, I'll make this quick. These are my last words, so listen the hell up, okay? Yes, even you, Cloud. Quit being all 'Must-Kill-Sephiroth' for a minute.
If you die, I'll kill you. Seriously, I'll resurrect your asses just so I can kill you again. I mean it.
And yes, the ink's red for the reason you're thinking. There aren't many pens around, so I improvised.
Like I said, easy's for suckers.
Fin.