AN: I highly recommend you listen to Better End from the Drakengard 3 OST. Also, I am taking requests from literally every genre, AUs are accepted too!
Soliloquy of the Solipsist
The air was feathery against his skin; the sounds of children playing and the sounds of parents laughing along with them resounded amongst a playground. Birds sung and a gentle gust caressed him. How beautiful the symphony of this world was.
Yet he could not smile.
The man, twenty-seven years old, lithe and pale, was posed elegantly on a wooden park bench. His book, a copy of Paradise Lost, was nestled in his right hand, while his left hand ghosted over every word he absorbed. How interesting Eve was; how gullible...Eve, the supposed mother of mankind...
"Mother," he murmured almost absentmindedly, the syllables sweet on his tongue. She was so kind, so warm, like melted chocolate or classical books on a rainy day.
"Mother," he repeated, savoring every letter.
He snapped the book shut and glanced up at the playground, quite far away, though the echoes of youth reached his ears as if to mock his inevitably close death.
How he longed for his mother's embrace, his mother's bedtime stories and magical tales; her gifts, both physical and emotional.
A woman with dark brown hair coddled a small child as he screamed and sobbed, a small scrape marring his cheek.
Murmurs of "it's okay, my love" and "you'll get better soon" were barely audible.
'You'll get better soon'; he remembered the sour phrase. He tucked a strand of white hair behind his ear.
The phrase resonated with the worst of his memories; how many times had he heard it? Three times a day...? Three times a day, at the very least.
A brunette stroked her son's white hair. "It'll be fine, my dear. You're special because your psycho-pass is so low. Did you know that? You're special, my dear."
"I don't want to be special, mommy!" a sob escaped his lips, quiet and resigned. "I'm a monster, just like daddy!"
After that his mother simply stroked his fine white hair and smiled, her eyes brimming with water.
His father was a monster, and he, a self-proclaimed intellectual, a genius in this muddle of one-track-minded sheep, was following in his father's poisoned footsteps.
And once again he was a child at a playground, alone, his mother's kindness his only bridge to the rest of humanity. How he wished the lovely woman would stroke his hair, would read him fantastical stories, would explain to him the nature of this cruel world.
He sighed. How ironic it was; his difference in this monochromatic world was his psycho-pass, unforgiving and discordant. It was disgusting. He was disgusting. Who else would save this world; would lead it to a better end?
The loneliness he had faced his entire life suddenly caught up to him. He sighed again and ran a hand through his white hair.
Makishima Shougo mentally ran through his plans to destroy the Hyper-Oats field.
This was it; the finale, and there was a high possibility that it would end in his own death.
"I'm coming home, mother."