Dear Reader,
Today I got back from Anime Iowa with only 4 hours of sleep under my belt. Earlier today I was watching the encore for the AMV contest and they played a beautiful Wolf's Rain video. I forgot what it's called and I forgot who it's by, but it was pretty. Because of this weekend I will be popping out so many random one-shots... Did you know that Blindfolded Unknown and Luxord from Kingdom Hearts 2 are a pairing? Neither did I until I saw them holding hands and wandering around the Dealer's Room together. Pretty. But anyway... This fic was inspired by an AMV.
I have never seen
the entiriety of Wolf's Rain. I only skipped through the manga. But
this is what I really feel and it came out all on it's own. You have
to feel bad for Kiba though... He needs a hug...
I also wrote this fic like a song with like really messed up verses and chorus and everything. It was fun to do and it really felt good to write this... I like it and I don't care if no one else does...
I don't own Wolf's Rain.
To the wonderful people who went to Anime Iowa... I LOVE YOU! I was the Aerith with the rainbow slinky on her left wrist and had the weird habit of saying 'Pretty' at everything in sight.
To the wonderful friends who went with me and spent time with me... I LOVE YOU TOO! Kidnap me sometime. Soon. I'm free on Tuesday... I think... I'll get a raincheck... Or something...
Lone-chan... DANTE'S PRETTY! PRETTY PRETTY FREAKIN' PRETTY!
To the wonderful reviewers... I LOVE YOU! I'm still working on BoD and FH... But I'll get the next chapter of those out as soon as I can...
Stay safe
Stay healthy
Sincerely,
Starr
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It was a single song that rose up in the emptiness. A rise and fall of a song with only one word. One voice. One verse. One lyric. A song that told a story of long days of nothing but running, the monotony broken up only by fits of exhaustion and collapse followed by the struggle to once again stand and continue one. A song of long nights shivvering with both fear and cold and hunger, of nightmares and the intense emptiness that could only be described in the song of one.
Alone.
So desperately alone. He always told himself that he liked it like that. Liked the solitude and the sound of his own thoughts. But the solitude turned to an echoing silence and his thoughts brought no comfort with their growing darkness. But stubborness and pride won out and he continued on alone with only his thoughts and the wind as company.
It was only in the dark of night when the emptiness grew too much that he sang. And the song was of pain and emptiness and lonliness and longing and a desperate hunger for something he could not find. No matter how hard he tried. But stubborness and pride kept him going.
It was what kept him going until the end.
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It was a single song that rose up in the emptiness. A rise and fall of a song with only one word. But it was no longer one voice. No longer one verse. No longer one lyric. It was now many voices. Many verses. Many lyrics. A song that told a story of long days of nothing but running, the monotony broken up by joking complaints and gruff encouragement and outrageous challenges. A song of nights singing to the moon and curling up, close and safe and warm together, of nightmares quickly chased away by the comforting breaths of the others as they slept.
Pack.
A pack that was together. No longer alone. He always told himself that he hated it. That he missed the solitude and the sound of his own thoughts. But when the solitude turned to an echoing silence and his thoughts brought no comfort with their growing darkness he could always turn to the pack. There was always a distraction, a welcome comfort. Bickering, playing, laughing, singing, living. He needed no words of comfot because the fact that they were alive and that they breathed and that they were with him was enough. He loved them. But stubborness and pride kept him from saying out loud. The wind now fisked among them as they ran, a welcome companion that gave them the enthusiasm needed to carry on.
It was only in the dark of night when the worries and fears between them became too much that he would go out alone and sing. But it would never be long before one and then another would join him in the song and soon the song changed from the song of one to the song of the pack. And it was a good song. But he would never admit it outloud. It was the simple echoing of the song in his heart that kept him going.
It was what kept him going until the end.
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It was a single song that rose up in the emptiness. A rise and fall of a song with only one word. One voice. One verse. One lyric. A song that told a story of long days of nothing but running, the monotony broken up only by fits of exhaustion and collapse followed by the struggle to once again stand and continue one. A song of long nights shivvering with both fear and cold and hunger, of nightmares and the intense emptiness that could only be described in the song of one.
Alone.
So desperately alone. He always told himself that he liked it like that. Liked the solitude and the sound of his own thoughts. But the solitude turned to an echoing silence and his thoughts brought no comfort with their growing darkness. The memories rose up and consumed him and the song of the pack was a hollow ringing in his empty heart. But stubborness and pride won out and he continued on alone with only his thoughts and the wind as company.
It was only in the dark of night when the emptiness grew too much that he sang. And the song was of pain and emptiness and lonliness and longing and a desperate hunger for something he could not find. No matter how hard he tried. But stubborness and pride kept him going.
It was what kept him going until the end.