This should be interesting.

Disclaimers: I don't own Eyeshield 21. Nor do I own a falcon. Sad face.

July 15th - maybe.

For as long as I can remember the world has been sad.

Sad. It's a diminutive word that never gets the same credit as hate or pain. However, it's just as bad. Maybe even worse. Maybe even a whole lot worse.

That small little word could destroy a family; engulf them in a hell without any of them being any the wiser. It slipped under the thick oak door, through the cracks of the colored windowpane. It filled the house not with fire but with cold, murky blue slime until the family was bathing with it, washing the dishes with it, and running it with the laundry.

And maybe, just maybe, I would sometimes let myself think, the family would survive. Yes, they would wake every morning with their sheets cold and damp, brush their teeth with bitter and sour sadness, and blindly stumble through their day – but they would survive. They would be able to manage, and maybe someday in the far future, the sadness would get evaporated and finally leave. But, more likely, the family would be able to live with the sadness without suffering.

The only problem for the family – for his family, was that the sadness was very, very flammable. And I assumed that some people, they were born with fire in their soul. That fire varied from person to person, for one the fire could be a flickering candle, on another it could belong in a comfy fireplace. And every one and awhile that fire inserted into the soul could be an inferno.

Unsui Pigmalio Kongo

Story One: Breathing Blue

It was a good night.

They were practically a scarcity in the Kongo home.

Unsui sat in the middle of the table, his mom to the left, his father to the right. They were making small talk, Dad telling a small story about something at work. Mom was listening intently and for a moment Unsui could've sworn he seen a sparkle in her eyes, as she listened she leaned on the table and cupped her face in her hands, feeding on his every word.

Unsui drank the scene in; to see them so peaceful, with life in their eyes, and actual conversations on their lips, not Did the milk go bad? Or, we need more rice. And Dad, he wasn't hunched over an essay, his eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses inside the study, a bottle tightly enclosed in a feeble fist. No, his eyes were sharp and clear, focused almost.

Unsui brought the fork to his lips and chewed down on the shrimp. Mom was a great cook, she really was. But usually the sadness was so thick inside her, that she couldn't even manage to get out of bed. She would lay there the whole day, with the blinds down softly muttering to herself in Spanish and swallow pills. Pills, with tall glasses of the dark blue sadness.

However, when Unsui got home that afternoon, home from basketball practice, he walked past the kitchen and could hear pots being banged around. Curious and slightly dreadful of what he'd find –

Unsui peered into the room. He sighed with relief when it was just his mother, his beautiful mother with her crazy hair wearing a clean outfit.

He could tell instantly that it was a good day for her, she had her curly Puerto Rican hair tied back in a bright red band and was wearing her fitting expensive clothes. There were bangles on her wrist and large earrings with large green stones in them.

Unsui couldn't help but to grin, it always made him grin, when the sadness took a backseat. She sensed his presence and for a moment, she looked startled, and her eyes widened. Then she smiled back, a wide brilliant smile. "Oh, M'hijo, I didn't see you there," she said straightening up as she found the elusive pot.

The rest of the truth remained unspoken, the part where she had thought, I didn't see you there M'hijo, but when I did, I thought you were your brother!

Unsui shoved the thought to the back of his mind. He didn't need it, didn't need the sadness attached along with it either. "Sorry Madre," Unsui said and her smile widened. Mom liked it a lot when he called her Madre, as if he could just slip into Spanish, as if he was even able to hold a single conversation in Spanish.

Calling her Madre only worked when she was at peace, when she was wearing her jewelry and her bright, clean clothes. Only then did Mom transform into Madre.

"What are you making?" Unsui asked when she turned back to the stove. "One of your favorites M'hijo, criollo!" There was so much warmth in her voice – Unsui was almost positive that all the blueness in the kitchen had instantly evaporated, momentarily.

Criollo – shrimp stew.

Unsui didn't bother to mention that his real favorite food was gyoza and that he hadn't eaten criollo since the last time she made it – which must've been when he was seven.

It didn't matter thought – she could put a frozen try in the oven and it would taste like heaven for Unsui. As long as she still kept that laugh, that warmth, everything would be fine.

Feeling as if he needed a reason to stay in the kitchen, Unsui asked, "Do you want me to help Madre?" She shook her head, her dark corkscrew hair bungle jumping down her back.

"Oh, no need, you go clean yourself up, you're stinking the whole kitchen up M'hijo!" She laughed at her own small joke, which was one of the things Unsui loved most about her, when she was being Madre, she was carefree, she made dinners, and she washed her hair so instead of a frizzy mess it was layers upon layers of black tiny springs.

"Okay, okay," Unsui said and he turned out of the kitchen casually before bolting down the hall. He kicked his shoes into his room and his clothes practically burned as he threw them off. He was in and out of the shower before it had time to warm up, his hair was shampooed and body washed.

And then he was out, into the room, throwing on anything that didn't smell dead. He was back in the kitchen with water still running down the side of his face.

But she was still there. Still at the stove, adding bay leafs to the pot.

They had a small conversation on how Unsui was doing at school, (I'm so proud of you M'hijo you have an A in Biology, that was my worst subject!) How he was doing with the girls, (with a face like yours M'hijo it's only a matter of time until you'll be out on dates all the time!) and anything concerning dinner.

"Use the good crystal and china, oh and get out some candles. Tonight is a candle night," Mom said, so Unsui opened the dusty cabinet.

Inside the dining room, he put the plates down. For anyone going from the living room to the kitchen, the dining room was a pit stop to drop off any unwanted items.

He cleaned all the crap of the wooden dining room table and sprayed it with Pledge. He scrubbed every scratch and every black mark, until he could see his own dark eyes.

He set out the fancy table mats and switched the dead flowers in the center of the table with some yellow roses from the garden outside. And he set the candles, the plates, and the polished silverware on the table.

When Dad got home, he usually hustled into his study, an ungraded essay already in hand, and his glasses in his shirt pocket. But, he could smell the Puerto Rican the second he walked through the door and smiled.

It was as if his walls had crumbled – they weren't gone, but worn and tired. And that was a good thing, because it didn't involve a glass of bourbon and complete isolation. "Madre?" He said when he caught Unsui, who had scrambled through the living and sitting room to the front door.

"Yep, Madre," Unsui said and Dad rubbed his eyes. They were dark eyes they were a dark eyed family.

It's said that the eyes are the windows of the soul; if that's the case then the Kongos' souls had been painted over, perhaps to hide the sadness that weighed on everything. Maybe to keep away something nasty that the rest of the world didn't want.

"And…your brother?" Dad had to ask, quickly of course, while bending down to take his shoes off. Almost as if he was speaking straight to the floor instead of Unsui. "He hadn't been here since yesterday morning," Dad nodded, not in agreement but to simply admit that he had registered the statement.

A part of Unsui knew that was wrong. Dad shouldn't just nod away Agon's continuous disappearances. But then again, Mom shouldn't decide to be Madre for a day then go slither off her expensive clothes back into her dirty pajama pants and stained shirt . With a headache. That would last another week or so.

But, the blue sadness, it did screwy stuff to people, and there was so much of it in the Kongo household, it was amazing that things weren't a whole lot worse.

This is what Unsui repeated to himself at his parents made small-talk at the dinner table, their expressions reflecting off the wood. In the candlelight, their faces smoothed out, making them less tired.

Unsui wasn't all that much of a talker, but was able to put enough impute into the conversation so he was still part of it.

But then things got a whole lot worse.

The front door slammed.

Madre was in the middle of explaining a mildly interesting story about when they were in Paris when Unsui was seven. She actually bit down on her tongue as the sound echoed around their minds. Half of Unsui couldn't believe the expressions on his parents' faces.

Guilt, being caught in the act.

However the other half was trying to manage with a racing heart and sweaty palms. Oh please, don't notice me, it whimpered and Unsui didn't feel guilty or embarrassed because it was the truth.

Don't, don't notice me.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?" In the kitchen, soup crashed to the ground, the metal pot shattering in his mind. But metal pots don't shatter. The thought was stuck in his mind, and Unsui had to force himself off the subject.

And then, faster than he could've registered, Agon was there. He was big, already filling out the doorframe.

Unsui was tall – but Agon, he was something else, something else entirely.

"So was anyone going to fucking invite me to this shit fest?" Agon growled and Unsui glanced at the cornered of his eyes at his parents. Mom had her hands clasped together in her lap. She didn't need to take off her expensive clothes to leave Madre. Her expression was worn, so meek, so frail, and so very tired that her face seemed to hang on its skin.

There was no way that Agon wouldn't notice Unsui, he was sitting facing the kitchen and it was only a matter of seconds before the hell started.

They locked eyes and Unsui's stomach twisted.

"Agon," he tried, he really tried. Tried to put on a brave face, tried to make the situation breathe away. If only – if only Agon could realize that he owned the house. He was always invited, to each and any meal. All he had to do was sit down, grab a plate, and the universe could explode elsewhere.

But, Agon, his soul was created with a blazing inferno and the blue sadness was just TNT waiting for that match.

So the fire raged.

"You shut fuck up you shit face suckass," Agon growled and his eyes descended upon their real victim. "Hey, Mom, did you forget something?" Agon snapped approaching her chair. She didn't seem to notice, her eyes were already descending down dark tunnels through her mind.

"Remember me bitch? I'm from your vagina, part of the package deal, rings any bells?" Agon hissed launching himself into a chair. The back of the chair was facing Mom so he sat down with each leg between the chair, and wrapped his arms around the frame.

Mom made a small noise, like a mouse being stepped on, and Agon grinned. Just go away Mom, just go away. She wasn't quite there, wasn't quite in that place where Madre lives.

"Hey Mom, still there? I'm trying to make a fucking conversation here," Agon snarled snapping his fingers, which in the quiet room managed to sound like firecrackers. But Mom didn't jump, didn't whimper, she had finally finished her ride through the tunnel, and was in her world. "This looks like shit," Agon said, but even he sounded bored.

He knew when Mom left, same as Unsui, who bowed his head.

"This looks like shit," he said picking up her plate. Anger flashed in his eyes and he dumped the rest of the contains directly into Mom's thick bungle-jumped, springing hair.

She didn't even fidget. Not as the now lukewarm soup started to run down her face. It left red streaks and dripped softly onto the table and down her fine silk shirt.

"Pretty fitting for you," Agon sneered before, with another twitch of anger, threw the dish against a wall. It shattered from the force and broken china littered the floor. Finished, Agon stomped out of the room, grinding the china into the carpet as he walked over it in his thick boots.

However, he couldn't help but to glance at Dad one last time and spit out one last bitter word, "trash."

Dad, Unsui had forgotten about Dad. But he was frozen, neck stiff from masquerading as a statue. Slowly, Unsui realized that they were all frozen, not able to move until the last trace of smoke vanished.

In the story above us, Unsui heard Agon's door slam shut.

He was surprised, just how much he was dreading to face Dad.

Stoic. That's the first word that burst into his mind. Dad just didn't care. But then, as he started to unfreeze, more was revealed. A flicker of pain, or maybe panic.

Unsui realized that Dad was starting to realize the same thing, because his eyes, they were starting to yearn for something. Sake, probably.

Just something to keep those emotions lethargic.

And Mom, she was standing up, back to her old self again. Not her old, old self. But the mom with headaches and pills. "Call a housemaid," she said softly to Dad before leaving the room.

Dad left the second she did, ducking out the opposite door, into the kitchen, and then down into the wine cellar. And his office. Some days it was hard to tell the difference.

Unsui sat there, stunned, not sure what it was that he should be feeling.

He was just numb. That's all that was there. Numbness.

For a moment he contemplated checking in on Agon, just to make sure his brother wasn't bashing his head through a wall. But he couldn't. Unsui was a coward – he didn't want to be that wall.

So the 14 year old did the only thing he could, he finished eating dinner.