Disclaimer: Heeeey buuuuuuuuuuuuuuddy! Spare a dime? Y'see, if I OWNED these characters, then I wouldn't have to do that, now would I? Nooooo I wouldn't! Just so's ya know, everyt'ing in here is owned by Takahashi Rumiko (or Rumiko Takahashi, whatever way you wanna put it.)
Rating: G, it's Ryoga's take on his life. Slightly sad. ;_;
Author's Notes: This definitely isn't my best piece of work, but . . . hey, it's not X-Men! :D I'm movin' up in the world! ^.~ Well, it's not a HAPPY fanfic (like my other fics are happy or something . . .), but don't get the impression that I'm some manic-depressive, 'cause I'm actually a really happy person. I just tend to write sad stuff better than comedy. My friend Jessica's the exact opposite o' me. . . O_o Anyhoot, please enjoy! Oh, one more thing, I don't have very many Ranma 1/2 manga and absolutely NO exposure to the anime (although I hear great things), so please bear with me if my facts are kinda wrong. Arigato, minna san!
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Even Sunlight Can Burn
Jump.
Breathe.
Punch.
Kick.
Breathe.
Jump.
Breathe.
This was the pattern of events taking place on the unlucky rooftops in the Nerima district, as two teenaged warriors battled fiercely against one another and gravity. Battle auras flickered around the martial artists, emitting red and green light from their bodies. One of the assailants ducked a punch whilst trying to sweep kick the other. Both missed their intended targets.
"You're slow today Saotome!" one fighter with tousled, black hair kept unshapely up with a yellow and black bandana declared, jumping into his opponent's personal space and landing a punch to his gut. The boy named Saotome slightly doubled over, but quickly regained his posture and leapt away from another possible blow. Ranma Saotome (Ranma completing Saotome's full name) decided to make an aggressive move of his own, landing a kick to the side of the other fighter's head. Ryoga Hibiki fell like lead down onto a rooftop, creating a small creator shaped curiously like his own body. Ryoga slowly got up, rubbing his sore spot.
"When will ya learn - you can't beat me!" Ranma said, standing over his fallen opponent's form with a smug smile on his face. His jet-black pigtail swayed in the increasing wind, his being on a heightened plane helped little. Ryoga scornfully looked up at his rival.
"You just wait Saotome . . ." Ryoga began, getting up on to two solid feet, facing his rival at full height, "I will defeat you. One day." With that, the Lost Boy leapt off into the distance, bounding from one rooftop to another, without a particular destination set in mind.
Even if I did, it's not as if I could find it . . . Ryoga said to himself as he idly traveled from one roof to the other, absorbing his recent defeat and swirling thoughts.
He had never beaten Ranma. Not once. It bothered him to no end how Ranma always got the best of him.
But it wasn't just the fact that Saotome always bested him in battle that Ryoga disliked the boy. Far be it that Ryoga simply despised one for better luck (for that's all it was). It was that Ranma took everything he ever had for granted.
He actually had a family that cared for him.
Perhaps 'care' was a strong word . . . his father seemed to be most interested in his son inheriting the Tendo Dojo to carry on some stupid family legacy. However, he had a home where he was always welcomed and cared for. More than Ryoga could say for his parents.
And in that home that Ranma so happily and ignorantly basked in was the one thing that Ryoga truly desired:
Akane.
For God's sake, Ranma was ENGAGED to her - a beautiful, intelligent, and strong woman who . . .
. . . who loved him.
Ryoga wasn't stupid. When Akane thought no one was looking, she would steal quick glances at Ranma. She concealed her true feelings about Ranma to the outside world, however Ryoga was quite perceptive (although he had his dense moments). He would be happy just to hold her once as a human and not as her pet. Yes, Akane loved P-Chan, but not in the sense of loving that Ryoga desperately needed and wanted.
By the time he stopped wandering lost in his own thoughts, Ryoga realized he was outside of the city and close to the forest that he called home. Jumping down from a roof on the outskirts of Nerima, Ryoga walked silently into the forest that was his personal sanctuary. Here, no one could bother him. He could finally be free of all the pressures of modern society.
But he'd be damned if Ryoga could escape the pressures of his mind.
A conveniently placed tree stump made life easier on Ryoga as he nestled in between it and its fallen trunk. He closed his eyes and breathed in a sigh of relief. He exhaled slowly, wanting to soak in all the beauty of the nature around him.
Serene and calming as nature may be, it was little help for Ryoga. The Lost Boy, his eyes still closed, reflected. Just. . . reflected, looking for some peace in his war-torn soul.
He found none so far.
Shi Shi Hokoden. . . That lingered in his psyche for a short time. A most powerful attack indeed. . . but the price of it. . . was it too high?
Every time he used Shi Shi Hokoden, a piece of Ryoga's sould seemed to go along with it. It was simply . . . decimated. He always felt hollow inside for a short time afterwards, but wasn't he always that way?
I confuse myself, Ryoga though bitterly. His life wasn't exactly a happy one, but it was a life nonetheless. There were always rays of sunlight streaming in through the dark clouds.
But even sunlight can burn.
That was his philosophy. You couldn't get too close to anyone; for the more people you have as friends, ultimately the more sadness you would endure. Wouldn't it make more sense for one to isolate them self so they couldn't feel emotions such as pain, agony, defeat, or backstabbing? Ryoga often thought of this.
But what about the good sensations? Heh . . . what ABOUT them? Fate had seemed to conveniently leave those kinds of emotions out of Ryoga's life. . . whenever he thought he could finally experience joy or happiness, it always turned out to be some cruel joke or twist of irony.
The fire Ryoga had built was crackling and struggling to gain strength. The embers' glow softly illuminated the Lost Boy's face as he watched the flames dance around in its mythical way. At least fire had a purpose: to burn. It was so simple. Ryoga envied the fire - it had no thoughts, no emotions, nothing painful to deal with. It served its purpose and served it well.
Unlike me.
Other thoughts like these drifted through Ryoga's mind as his eyelids grew heavier. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone down on the forested earth. The Lost Boy finally leaned his weight against his comfortable slump, and allowed himself to enter his own world; one free of pain, misery and distrust. Finally, he escaped, if only for a short time.
For in his magical place, the sunlight could never burn.
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Ugh, that was terrible . . . I made that up as I went along. -_- Well, reviews appreciated. . . even if they ARE flames. Thanks for reading!