Disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply.
Author Note: Please review this, it's something I worked really hard on.
She stood against the wind, lighting a cigarette as her pale figure
cast a dark, gloomy siloette out onto the building against the
moonlight.
Slowly, she walked to the edge. One step could have ended it all.
Plummetting off the edge of the world into certain gorgeous oblivion -
oh, how inviting it was. She shuffled a bit to the right to adjust
her view of the street below. She grinned to herself and cocked her
head to the side, staring down at the glowing headlights of cars
whizzing by and continuing on with their busy lives.
She sat down on the rough concrete edge, dangling her feet twenty
stories up. She gripped the concrete until her knuckles turned white.
Should I do it now? ....or now? OR NOW? Oh shut up, she told herself.
She was thinking to herself. It wasn't really that hard, I mean, just
one little step and it was all over with. And that was what she
wanted.
Or was it? As she glared at the street below, everything seemed to
revert into a strange state of silence, where everything moved in
slow motion. She drew in a breath of the crisp air and blinked twice.
Blinking - what a peculiar habit we humans have. We close our eyes
every few seconds to cleanse our eyeballs. We do it so much we don't
even notice it; only if we really think about it do we notice how
repetitive, and gradually annoying blinking is. She shut her eyes,
and concentrated on the colour on the insides of her eyelids. What
colour was it? She didn't really need to know, for she would be dying
shortly, for what reason she wished to know the colour of her eyelids
was beyond her. And for the life of her, She couldn't seem to figure
it out. It looked black, it looked grey, it looked pink. It was a
colour that was one colour and several all at once. It was baffling
her.
Her eyes popped open; she easily rid herself of her previous useless
pondering. She couldn't jump yet - it wasn't late enough, the moon
was covered by several intrusive clouds (and she truly wished to see
it just one more time...) and she needed her last cigarette. She stood
up again, steadying herself on the reasonably wide edge. She removed
the almost empty pack of Du Maurier cigarettes and with fumbling
fingers, took out the last smoke. She put it to her lips, and held it
there while she crushed the empty box with her thin, white fingers.
She held it out over the edge, and let go, watching it meet the fate
she was sure to meet in a very short amount of time. It spun midair
until it disappeared from her sight totally.
She leaned against the wall outside her apartment window. Did she
leave the note in a noticable enough place? She thought she most
certainly did - on the kitchen counter next to an emtpy jar of
pickles and an emtpy ashtray. Someone would find it once they
identified her body. Then she would be just another suicide death -
the life of another, gone horribly wrong, alienated by her friends
and disowned by her family, plummets and finds death in a womb of
cool Tokyo pavement.
She inhaled the delicious yet repulsive smoke. Oh nicotine, how I
will miss you! But anywhere would be better than this hell, she
supposed. What was there left for her? She couldn't even think
straight, yet her thoughts continued like a hijacked fright train. "I
don't want anything to do with you, get out of my house and out of my
life." her mother's words rung in her ears, and stung her. She drew
in a quick breath.
She wasn't bad, was she? Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time
there was a masochistic slut who was routinely fucking boys she
didn't even know by the time she was fourteen. At fifteen her
promiscuous ways had gotten her pregnant. Mommy and daddy didn't mind
paying for that abortion, but they sent their little girl off to the
shrink and made her promise to never have sex again while living in
their house. She made a promise on her own life, and had to earn back
her parents' trust. But behold, only a short four months later, after
her sixteenth birthday, she got knocked up again. Her parents felt
betrayed, they refused to pay for another abortion. They became so
infuriated with their daughter's sudden change of heart, that they
disowned her and threw her out of their home.
She was alone, for the first time in her life - truly truly alone. A
fatherless child sat growing in her belly. Off to New York it was, on
a sleek metal Greyhound - where she met a few "friends" and began a
new hobby. That new hobby? Snorting lines of cocaine and injecting
heroin. Only four weeks later, she miscarried after having a severe
heroin overdose and almost losing her life.
She was then thrown into rehab, where she stayed for two months. Yes,
our hero did kick her drug habit. But when she got out she was still
alone. After her release from the narcotic centre, she took to the
streets and sold her body.
Then she found the one thing she had been so good at, doing to
herself all this time: destroying. This time, she inflicted the pain
she had felt inside on the world... Her enemies. The rush of her Gundam's guns crushing someone's fuel tanks... That was how it
was constantly inside her mind. Yet she was fighting for a cause she
barely belived in...
That was when someone had changed her world. A scruffy haired man
that actually seemed to be interested in talking to her, going by the
name of Kitai Pannikku. He was the first person in her world to
actually seem to care about this girl. She discovered that was her
cause. To keep that passion alive in others that she had lost so long
ago. She was saving people.
But that, too didn't last. Everyone in her team regarded her as a
hero; taking out several enemies at a time. Fighting with such
passions as she did. One, however, even grew to love her, although
she couldn't bear to return the feelings. She still clung to him, her
lifeline, the only person in the world that had seemed to give a damn
about her.
And again, she ran. Afraid her life would go to shit again for
getting too close to people; the very source of everything that she
had hated, everything that had hurt or tore her in her past. She
faked her own death. The death of her real self... Mika Suzukake,
thought as a hero even after she died, as no one knew her past to
call her otherwise.
Again she hit the streets, causing the birth if an old wench: Karei
Matsudaino, not working or even seeming to care... Lusting after the
destruction and rush she had gotten from her gunfights...
And began looking for it again... In all the wrong places.
To sum it up, her life was nothing but a string of bad Jerry Springer
cliches and little earthquakes, all relentless in their bombardment.
And she was, obviously, Karei.
She finished her cigarette and sat back down on the edge. She crossed
her ankles and grinned to herself. Soon... yes soon... just a few
more minutes. The evil clouds had moved out of the way, and the face
of a delicious half-moon grinned down on her. "Do it." he
said. "Jump."
Yes, Jump darling! Jump! Do what he tells you to! You never did obey
orders before, and what a time to start now. She sighed and left her
imaginary talking moon at the backdoor.
"Let's face it, babe." her mind said, "Your life has been nothing but
error after error after fatal error. And you know whose fault it
was?"
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" She cried, grabbing her head with both
hands, trying to shut her own conscience up.
"Your fault, dear. Your own fault."
The worse part about it - this was all true. It was her fault, and
because of her life of terror, She was going to fly off a building in
Tokyo and there was nothing good about it.
But she didn't have to. She had the power. Should she jump? Or not?
She shifted her weight uneasily. She could change it all... everyone's
life has to have a turning point somewhere. Where was hers? Or was it
now? Or could she end it all?
No... She didn't have the power to be so selfish and crush Kitai's
heart like that. He knew she could never return his feelings. But her
death would not be her way out, nor his. So she continued living her
tragedy, like a puppet of fate....
A slave of her own creation.
Author Note: Please review this, it's something I worked really hard on.
She stood against the wind, lighting a cigarette as her pale figure
cast a dark, gloomy siloette out onto the building against the
moonlight.
Slowly, she walked to the edge. One step could have ended it all.
Plummetting off the edge of the world into certain gorgeous oblivion -
oh, how inviting it was. She shuffled a bit to the right to adjust
her view of the street below. She grinned to herself and cocked her
head to the side, staring down at the glowing headlights of cars
whizzing by and continuing on with their busy lives.
She sat down on the rough concrete edge, dangling her feet twenty
stories up. She gripped the concrete until her knuckles turned white.
Should I do it now? ....or now? OR NOW? Oh shut up, she told herself.
She was thinking to herself. It wasn't really that hard, I mean, just
one little step and it was all over with. And that was what she
wanted.
Or was it? As she glared at the street below, everything seemed to
revert into a strange state of silence, where everything moved in
slow motion. She drew in a breath of the crisp air and blinked twice.
Blinking - what a peculiar habit we humans have. We close our eyes
every few seconds to cleanse our eyeballs. We do it so much we don't
even notice it; only if we really think about it do we notice how
repetitive, and gradually annoying blinking is. She shut her eyes,
and concentrated on the colour on the insides of her eyelids. What
colour was it? She didn't really need to know, for she would be dying
shortly, for what reason she wished to know the colour of her eyelids
was beyond her. And for the life of her, She couldn't seem to figure
it out. It looked black, it looked grey, it looked pink. It was a
colour that was one colour and several all at once. It was baffling
her.
Her eyes popped open; she easily rid herself of her previous useless
pondering. She couldn't jump yet - it wasn't late enough, the moon
was covered by several intrusive clouds (and she truly wished to see
it just one more time...) and she needed her last cigarette. She stood
up again, steadying herself on the reasonably wide edge. She removed
the almost empty pack of Du Maurier cigarettes and with fumbling
fingers, took out the last smoke. She put it to her lips, and held it
there while she crushed the empty box with her thin, white fingers.
She held it out over the edge, and let go, watching it meet the fate
she was sure to meet in a very short amount of time. It spun midair
until it disappeared from her sight totally.
She leaned against the wall outside her apartment window. Did she
leave the note in a noticable enough place? She thought she most
certainly did - on the kitchen counter next to an emtpy jar of
pickles and an emtpy ashtray. Someone would find it once they
identified her body. Then she would be just another suicide death -
the life of another, gone horribly wrong, alienated by her friends
and disowned by her family, plummets and finds death in a womb of
cool Tokyo pavement.
She inhaled the delicious yet repulsive smoke. Oh nicotine, how I
will miss you! But anywhere would be better than this hell, she
supposed. What was there left for her? She couldn't even think
straight, yet her thoughts continued like a hijacked fright train. "I
don't want anything to do with you, get out of my house and out of my
life." her mother's words rung in her ears, and stung her. She drew
in a quick breath.
She wasn't bad, was she? Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time
there was a masochistic slut who was routinely fucking boys she
didn't even know by the time she was fourteen. At fifteen her
promiscuous ways had gotten her pregnant. Mommy and daddy didn't mind
paying for that abortion, but they sent their little girl off to the
shrink and made her promise to never have sex again while living in
their house. She made a promise on her own life, and had to earn back
her parents' trust. But behold, only a short four months later, after
her sixteenth birthday, she got knocked up again. Her parents felt
betrayed, they refused to pay for another abortion. They became so
infuriated with their daughter's sudden change of heart, that they
disowned her and threw her out of their home.
She was alone, for the first time in her life - truly truly alone. A
fatherless child sat growing in her belly. Off to New York it was, on
a sleek metal Greyhound - where she met a few "friends" and began a
new hobby. That new hobby? Snorting lines of cocaine and injecting
heroin. Only four weeks later, she miscarried after having a severe
heroin overdose and almost losing her life.
She was then thrown into rehab, where she stayed for two months. Yes,
our hero did kick her drug habit. But when she got out she was still
alone. After her release from the narcotic centre, she took to the
streets and sold her body.
Then she found the one thing she had been so good at, doing to
herself all this time: destroying. This time, she inflicted the pain
she had felt inside on the world... Her enemies. The rush of her Gundam's guns crushing someone's fuel tanks... That was how it
was constantly inside her mind. Yet she was fighting for a cause she
barely belived in...
That was when someone had changed her world. A scruffy haired man
that actually seemed to be interested in talking to her, going by the
name of Kitai Pannikku. He was the first person in her world to
actually seem to care about this girl. She discovered that was her
cause. To keep that passion alive in others that she had lost so long
ago. She was saving people.
But that, too didn't last. Everyone in her team regarded her as a
hero; taking out several enemies at a time. Fighting with such
passions as she did. One, however, even grew to love her, although
she couldn't bear to return the feelings. She still clung to him, her
lifeline, the only person in the world that had seemed to give a damn
about her.
And again, she ran. Afraid her life would go to shit again for
getting too close to people; the very source of everything that she
had hated, everything that had hurt or tore her in her past. She
faked her own death. The death of her real self... Mika Suzukake,
thought as a hero even after she died, as no one knew her past to
call her otherwise.
Again she hit the streets, causing the birth if an old wench: Karei
Matsudaino, not working or even seeming to care... Lusting after the
destruction and rush she had gotten from her gunfights...
And began looking for it again... In all the wrong places.
To sum it up, her life was nothing but a string of bad Jerry Springer
cliches and little earthquakes, all relentless in their bombardment.
And she was, obviously, Karei.
She finished her cigarette and sat back down on the edge. She crossed
her ankles and grinned to herself. Soon... yes soon... just a few
more minutes. The evil clouds had moved out of the way, and the face
of a delicious half-moon grinned down on her. "Do it." he
said. "Jump."
Yes, Jump darling! Jump! Do what he tells you to! You never did obey
orders before, and what a time to start now. She sighed and left her
imaginary talking moon at the backdoor.
"Let's face it, babe." her mind said, "Your life has been nothing but
error after error after fatal error. And you know whose fault it
was?"
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" She cried, grabbing her head with both
hands, trying to shut her own conscience up.
"Your fault, dear. Your own fault."
The worse part about it - this was all true. It was her fault, and
because of her life of terror, She was going to fly off a building in
Tokyo and there was nothing good about it.
But she didn't have to. She had the power. Should she jump? Or not?
She shifted her weight uneasily. She could change it all... everyone's
life has to have a turning point somewhere. Where was hers? Or was it
now? Or could she end it all?
No... She didn't have the power to be so selfish and crush Kitai's
heart like that. He knew she could never return his feelings. But her
death would not be her way out, nor his. So she continued living her
tragedy, like a puppet of fate....
A slave of her own creation.