SANEKI
A/N: I might probably come back and edit this one day...probably. Not making much sense here, I think? I'm a little overwhelmed by chapter 3 and all aboard on the "Sasaki=Kaneki" theory, which was only fortified and strengthened by the latest chapter of re:
He felt the terror grip him by the throat. Nails digging in, black- the tips of fingers that were completely rotted away. The result of painful, painful times that had happened long, long ago. The harsh murmurings of a white-haired boy against his ear, voice digging daggers into his heart and squeezing tightly against his windpipe, all the while ignoring the gasp for air. Such poisonous words dripped out of his mouth, oh of how "Eventually you'd break and become useless." and of how he would be discarded then. The nails only managed to dig in further, drawing the tiniest spots of blood as red blossomed.
Words from a boy long gone. Three years was a long time. Too long a time, even. There was no semblance past physical appearances, no semblance at all for the human boy had died long ago- four years ago, then a second time a year later and then finally, the third time a few hours later. Multiple times. Repeatedly, the boy faltered and tried to get back up even stronger. However, one could only handle so much before they broke. The 13th ward's Jason had been a clear testament to that. It ate away at the little bits and pieces of him, until none remained. The sanity, the awkward grins and laughs. The insanity. Everything was gone, broken to pieces and it had all crumbled right infront of him as months of effort turned to ashes right before his eyes. As he had been about to return to happier times.
The only thing standing before him that he had left- had no choice but to embrace were but mere masks. Masks crafted with clear care, memories of a dear friend long gone. A friendship worth more than a thousand words, more than a mere picture said to speak of the very same thousand words and even his own secret of being a half-ghoul. The secret that had eventually cost him his dearest friend, the companion that had understood him in more ways than one, even more than he had understood himself. And to this, he grieved for it was all up in flames now. The only memories, the only keepsakes that he had were but pieces of flesh inside of him-long digested into his system and the jovial mask that played its part of a mood-maker, the life of a party. The hollow imitation of a friend so dear and true.
...
...
...
He woke up with a start, pushing back thoughts of dreams intertwined with nightmares that haunted his very being to the very corner of his mind and instead, began to turn his thoughts to other things that held priority. The investigation.
Hence, this was but the story of a night where ghosts of the past visited a certain ghoul story that had been promised to everyone, the revealing of the truth as time passed.