Children of Peace
The suit flew, destination unknown. He needed to be somewhere,
but he didn't know where. So many battles, so many patches missing out
of his life. He never asked for it. Never wanted it. Yet, time and
time again it invaded his life.
War, what was it that people loved it yet wanted to rid themselves
of it at the same time? The people who incorporated it wasted lives,
made an empty shell of what was once a normal human being. They didn't
care, power was all they worried about, they didn't worry over the lives that
were in their grasp.
The waters changed to forests, forests to deserts under the
suit. The boy inside didn't cry over his wasted life. He never cried.
That had left him when he stepped inside the fated suit. Only one pilot
he knew cried, and that pilot was still pure despite the war.
He was nothing, a dirty used piece whose life was expendable.
Only the thought of achieving peace kept him from dying. Heero Yuy flew
in silence.
On another side of the world a boy sat staring at the
stars. He was born in the colonies. He had seen the stars many a time
before, but they were always more beautiful from Earth. And the moon,
oh the moon was brilliant! It was always too close while on the colonies,
it looked like a graveyard of grey bodies.
He had to achieve peace, it was his mission and his dream. He
would fight for those who could not protect himself. But at the same
time he brought death to those he fought to protect. He wouldn't cry
either, boys don't cry. He vowed to protect, but how can you protect
without killing the innocent, without hurting the peace that seemed so
fragile on this Earth? Angrily he slammed his fist down on the suit.
A dull thud radiated from it and it echoed into the night.
He looked back up, the stars always helped. He would stare at
them now and forget. Forget that he was a child brought on to do a job
that not even a grown person should ever have to take.
A silent wing blew and tumbled the braid around his shoulders.
Duo Maxwell fell asleep, his dreams racked with confusion and sorrow.
A stoic boy sat contemplating his future. A troubling question
was raised to his head. Did he have one? Was there really a future for
a soldier? Someone who killed without mercy, destroyed everything it
touched? Surely no one like that was worthy of a future. Future's are
for people who are pure, kind, and innocent. They weren't for blood
stained, murderous asassins.
He fought to protect that innocence, but at the same time he
lost his own. There was no honor in war. War was for those who were
destined to be lost souls. He was a lost soul, he had no place with the
innocent.
He knida grinned and laughed. Life would be preserved and then
he would disappear. He would not contaminate others.
Chang Wufei laughed and it rang through the small room. But in
his eye was a slight glimmer that would never be shed.
In the words of Lady Une, "I am like a body who has lost its
soul." It fits all of us pilots perfectly, especially me. To love peace
and fight, is to be a hypocrite. I am not pure anymore. But I am not
forever given up upon. I may still have hope. But only if the fighting
stops.
I may not have hope though, I can only wish I do. For someone
who hates war, I may be covered with the most blood of all. A tear falls
down the small childs cheek. He cries, for his lost innocence, for his
bloodstained hands, and for the people of the world.
I don't know whether or not he will ever be whole again. A burden
is not made for a sensitive soul. Especially not this burden. To be
pressed on to kill when all one wants is peace is a sin. It destroys
his life slowly and he watches it as one would watch another be murdered.
The boy, Quatre Reberrba Winner, is close to breaking down. War
is not for the pure of heart.
"Maybe my life doesn't have value any more but i must keep
on living." The silent clown stays still. The knife comes, misses and
another repeats the pattern. The silent crowd erupts. They came to see
fun, but look at the fun they see. For a quick thrill of watching they
see if someone may be killed. Yet they yearn for peace. Do they know
what they truly want?
The nameless boy stole. Not goods, but a name. He wanted to
be someone. To not belong was weary on the soul. It broke down people.
But it didn't matter anymore. He wasn't like a regular people. He had
been smashed down, defeated, forced to destroy. The feelings weren't
there any more. If he died no one would care, so he let the knives fly.
No one would care if he died.
He had never really known his past. His memories only went back
as far as the beginning of Operation Meteor. Sometimes he questioned
himself. Was I even alive before then? His memory was void of joy.
All he could remember was sorrow and brutality.
Trowa Barton, the pilot with no true identity, was a stone. A
shell of a boy who may have once belonged.
Five girls each sat and thought. They wanted peace. But their
ideals were scoffed at. Peace did not belong in a world of humans. All
of their hopes rested in people who did not believe in themselves.
People who thought they were the cause of destruction, when really they
were children of peace also.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters.
Well, what did you think? Sorry for another story so long in
coming. I just got my creative streak back. (Finally!!!!) So, should
I make this one a series, or leave it as a stand alone? I will go by
my reviews, so if you want to see more, or if you want it to be a solo
story, you gotta let me know. Remember, review. And no I will not
have a recount on the reviews after they are in. :-) Email me at
kairosdreamer@aol.com if you have comments that you do not wish to be
expressed in the review page. Thanks! Ja ne.
The suit flew, destination unknown. He needed to be somewhere,
but he didn't know where. So many battles, so many patches missing out
of his life. He never asked for it. Never wanted it. Yet, time and
time again it invaded his life.
War, what was it that people loved it yet wanted to rid themselves
of it at the same time? The people who incorporated it wasted lives,
made an empty shell of what was once a normal human being. They didn't
care, power was all they worried about, they didn't worry over the lives that
were in their grasp.
The waters changed to forests, forests to deserts under the
suit. The boy inside didn't cry over his wasted life. He never cried.
That had left him when he stepped inside the fated suit. Only one pilot
he knew cried, and that pilot was still pure despite the war.
He was nothing, a dirty used piece whose life was expendable.
Only the thought of achieving peace kept him from dying. Heero Yuy flew
in silence.
On another side of the world a boy sat staring at the
stars. He was born in the colonies. He had seen the stars many a time
before, but they were always more beautiful from Earth. And the moon,
oh the moon was brilliant! It was always too close while on the colonies,
it looked like a graveyard of grey bodies.
He had to achieve peace, it was his mission and his dream. He
would fight for those who could not protect himself. But at the same
time he brought death to those he fought to protect. He wouldn't cry
either, boys don't cry. He vowed to protect, but how can you protect
without killing the innocent, without hurting the peace that seemed so
fragile on this Earth? Angrily he slammed his fist down on the suit.
A dull thud radiated from it and it echoed into the night.
He looked back up, the stars always helped. He would stare at
them now and forget. Forget that he was a child brought on to do a job
that not even a grown person should ever have to take.
A silent wing blew and tumbled the braid around his shoulders.
Duo Maxwell fell asleep, his dreams racked with confusion and sorrow.
A stoic boy sat contemplating his future. A troubling question
was raised to his head. Did he have one? Was there really a future for
a soldier? Someone who killed without mercy, destroyed everything it
touched? Surely no one like that was worthy of a future. Future's are
for people who are pure, kind, and innocent. They weren't for blood
stained, murderous asassins.
He fought to protect that innocence, but at the same time he
lost his own. There was no honor in war. War was for those who were
destined to be lost souls. He was a lost soul, he had no place with the
innocent.
He knida grinned and laughed. Life would be preserved and then
he would disappear. He would not contaminate others.
Chang Wufei laughed and it rang through the small room. But in
his eye was a slight glimmer that would never be shed.
In the words of Lady Une, "I am like a body who has lost its
soul." It fits all of us pilots perfectly, especially me. To love peace
and fight, is to be a hypocrite. I am not pure anymore. But I am not
forever given up upon. I may still have hope. But only if the fighting
stops.
I may not have hope though, I can only wish I do. For someone
who hates war, I may be covered with the most blood of all. A tear falls
down the small childs cheek. He cries, for his lost innocence, for his
bloodstained hands, and for the people of the world.
I don't know whether or not he will ever be whole again. A burden
is not made for a sensitive soul. Especially not this burden. To be
pressed on to kill when all one wants is peace is a sin. It destroys
his life slowly and he watches it as one would watch another be murdered.
The boy, Quatre Reberrba Winner, is close to breaking down. War
is not for the pure of heart.
"Maybe my life doesn't have value any more but i must keep
on living." The silent clown stays still. The knife comes, misses and
another repeats the pattern. The silent crowd erupts. They came to see
fun, but look at the fun they see. For a quick thrill of watching they
see if someone may be killed. Yet they yearn for peace. Do they know
what they truly want?
The nameless boy stole. Not goods, but a name. He wanted to
be someone. To not belong was weary on the soul. It broke down people.
But it didn't matter anymore. He wasn't like a regular people. He had
been smashed down, defeated, forced to destroy. The feelings weren't
there any more. If he died no one would care, so he let the knives fly.
No one would care if he died.
He had never really known his past. His memories only went back
as far as the beginning of Operation Meteor. Sometimes he questioned
himself. Was I even alive before then? His memory was void of joy.
All he could remember was sorrow and brutality.
Trowa Barton, the pilot with no true identity, was a stone. A
shell of a boy who may have once belonged.
Five girls each sat and thought. They wanted peace. But their
ideals were scoffed at. Peace did not belong in a world of humans. All
of their hopes rested in people who did not believe in themselves.
People who thought they were the cause of destruction, when really they
were children of peace also.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters.
Well, what did you think? Sorry for another story so long in
coming. I just got my creative streak back. (Finally!!!!) So, should
I make this one a series, or leave it as a stand alone? I will go by
my reviews, so if you want to see more, or if you want it to be a solo
story, you gotta let me know. Remember, review. And no I will not
have a recount on the reviews after they are in. :-) Email me at
kairosdreamer@aol.com if you have comments that you do not wish to be
expressed in the review page. Thanks! Ja ne.