Prologue
It ripped free from his throat, and thrummed the very air around him with sound,
loud and clear, piercing and searing. It cried for everything that had happened in his
tortured life so far, but spoke of sadness, a great unyielding sadness that he wasn't sure
the others even were aware that he had. It cried for attentions un-given to him, and spoke
of a secret, a secret buried deep within the recesses of his soul. He could feel the silver
against his cheeks, and he brushed it all away, all away to the ground that swallowed it
greedily. The Earth always gained, never gave, unless it was food. But this was sadness,
and the world seemed to thrive on it sometimes. Tripping back, he footed someone behind
him, who got out of his way and into the light of the door, looking at him. The scene
before him rippled and played itself out again, and he cried out in dismay and disbelief.
The person looked at him, and he could see the expression of sympathy and understanding.
This person understood, this person knew what was going on, and perhaps he even knew a way
to overcome the emotion he had been feeling for so long. But he crashed back into a desk,
the cabinet, some form of intricately carved wood, and shattering reached his ears. Again
it came free from his throat, parched and dry and full of unspoken pain.
He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he found he was at the
back door, having broken several plates and mugs at the moment, the kitchen table knocked
over. He almost fell over when he vaulted over the chair, stumbling awkwardly, but when
the back door came into view, he wiped the trails from his eyes away with a rough swipe
against his face, and fled through the door into the world beyond. The street, the cool air
against him, pressuring him to go back was almost welcome, since he found that at least
something in the world hadn't changed. The people still walked on the sidewalk, heeding his
hurrying form. He ran faster than he ever had before, and zipped past people before they
could do much. As he skirted around the corner of some street that he knew nothing of, he
glanced up at the street sign and noted, with a bit of satisfaction, that he was well and
truly lost. But that was what he set out to do, wasn't it?
There came a crackle of paper in his left pocket. He didn't stop running until he
was out of breath and sure that he was somewhere halfway across Tokyo by then. He reached
down and took it out. He recognized the paper, the now-crinkled script, and scanned it. It
seemed to be in order, the street name was known to all who lived in Tokyo for a long
enough time, and he began to walk in that direction, at least what he thought was that
direction. The crowds passed him, and he took the distraction to get out of everyone's way.
After all, he wasn't needed in this world, was he?
Loner's Road, he read silently from the paper. How fitting. Who'da thought I'd
be this desperate?
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
Well, hope that intrigued you. A pretty short prologue, but whatever. This is the
fic I was talking about; it was originally named "Emotion, Masked", but I thought "Brother
Brother, Sister Sister" was a better name, so I put that down.
Andrea Weiling
It ripped free from his throat, and thrummed the very air around him with sound,
loud and clear, piercing and searing. It cried for everything that had happened in his
tortured life so far, but spoke of sadness, a great unyielding sadness that he wasn't sure
the others even were aware that he had. It cried for attentions un-given to him, and spoke
of a secret, a secret buried deep within the recesses of his soul. He could feel the silver
against his cheeks, and he brushed it all away, all away to the ground that swallowed it
greedily. The Earth always gained, never gave, unless it was food. But this was sadness,
and the world seemed to thrive on it sometimes. Tripping back, he footed someone behind
him, who got out of his way and into the light of the door, looking at him. The scene
before him rippled and played itself out again, and he cried out in dismay and disbelief.
The person looked at him, and he could see the expression of sympathy and understanding.
This person understood, this person knew what was going on, and perhaps he even knew a way
to overcome the emotion he had been feeling for so long. But he crashed back into a desk,
the cabinet, some form of intricately carved wood, and shattering reached his ears. Again
it came free from his throat, parched and dry and full of unspoken pain.
He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he found he was at the
back door, having broken several plates and mugs at the moment, the kitchen table knocked
over. He almost fell over when he vaulted over the chair, stumbling awkwardly, but when
the back door came into view, he wiped the trails from his eyes away with a rough swipe
against his face, and fled through the door into the world beyond. The street, the cool air
against him, pressuring him to go back was almost welcome, since he found that at least
something in the world hadn't changed. The people still walked on the sidewalk, heeding his
hurrying form. He ran faster than he ever had before, and zipped past people before they
could do much. As he skirted around the corner of some street that he knew nothing of, he
glanced up at the street sign and noted, with a bit of satisfaction, that he was well and
truly lost. But that was what he set out to do, wasn't it?
There came a crackle of paper in his left pocket. He didn't stop running until he
was out of breath and sure that he was somewhere halfway across Tokyo by then. He reached
down and took it out. He recognized the paper, the now-crinkled script, and scanned it. It
seemed to be in order, the street name was known to all who lived in Tokyo for a long
enough time, and he began to walk in that direction, at least what he thought was that
direction. The crowds passed him, and he took the distraction to get out of everyone's way.
After all, he wasn't needed in this world, was he?
Loner's Road, he read silently from the paper. How fitting. Who'da thought I'd
be this desperate?
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
Well, hope that intrigued you. A pretty short prologue, but whatever. This is the
fic I was talking about; it was originally named "Emotion, Masked", but I thought "Brother
Brother, Sister Sister" was a better name, so I put that down.
Andrea Weiling
