AN: Yet another piece of work for English. This time, it's my coursework.
This is a short piece from Treize's POV, about the G-Boys, at the end of a
story I'm yet to write. If you like it, please review, but don't feel
obliged to. Anyway, on with the story.
Canta Addio
I sit there, and they stare at me, like they're waiting to give me some great word form the Gods themselves, to tell them to just do. anything. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing, though, do I? I've done my part. Its up to them as to what they're supposed to do now. For all I care, they can go flying off cliffs or something. Its over.
The blonde one is laughing at me. Not out loud, but his expression is very amused. I have always amused him, as far as I can tell. Reading my thoughts or something. I don't know what's so funny about my thoughts. I think I asked him once, out loud or not, and he said that they were 'captivating and enthralling'. I'm sure he was just showing off his vocabulary or something. He might as well just say 'You make so little sense that it's funny' and be done with it. And if he is reading my thoughts, I don't like the idea of that. It's my mind, my own personal space. Why can't he just turn it off or something?
He must've 'heard' that. He looks upset now, his expression stating don't you understand yet?
Of course I don't understand. I'll never understand. It's not me being able to listen in on people's innermost thoughts. It's not me being able to anything they can do. I'm just a regular mortal. Nothing special. They act like I am though.
The defacto leader is staring intently at me now. Maybe he's reading my mind as well. But until you meet someone adept at reading people you don't realise how much of your thoughts seep into your actions and expressions. I'm sure he can tell I'm nervous about the way he stares unblinkingly, and I can tell that he thinks I should be sorry for upsetting the blonde one. The difference is he wants me to know this; I don't intend to let him know I'm nervous, but I do anyway. It's not something I can control. It's not something most can control. While the nervousness seeps out, I stare back, trying to express without words that I didn't want to upset anyone. I just don't understand.
He must've gotten some satisfaction from my return-glare, as he leans back and relaxes in his chair. I'm more relaxed now, too. I need to order my thoughts. They want me to tell them what to do? I need to think.
This all started a long time before eight months ago, really. It began many years ago, when I was a very young, seven to be exact. I lived in a great kingdom that was torn down by 'evil forces'. I thought they were evil at the time, but now I've got a more objective look on things. There isn't really an evil in the soldiers carrying out their commands. It's simply human instinct. They earn their money to support their families from their Kings. If they don't do what they're told, they put their family in danger. Nor does it matter whether or not they want to do it. It's simply war. In the same way, those soldiers have to understand that the ability to kill is followed by the ability to be killed. But I'm drifting off the point.
Seeing what was one day to have been my kingdom ripped apart before my very eyes was not a decidedly pleasant thing. So, I ran into the great library of the castle, and strangely the last stronghold of the castle itself. I knocked over a large book in my natural childhood gracelessness, and the words on the page caught my eye instantly. It was something I felt I should already know. It seemed to me to be some sort of enchantment, and having seen the power of such things, I read it out, in the hope it may bring something to the aid of my kingdom. Naturally, for all my naïve hopes, it did nothing. Again and again I chanted what may have been words of great might, and nothing came of it. That was about where I began to lose faith in any Gods or magics.
In the aftermath of the assault, there were very few survivors, and those no longer wished to stay in the kingdom in case of further attacks. The few of us left stayed, in the partially ruined castle of old, which to this day remains as it did after that night, a silent testament to the atrocities committed by those against whom we began to fight against. From that day those left of us began a rebellion against those responsible for the loss of our once prosperous domain; a group known as Romafeller.
Now, at seven, I didn't actually help out much with the revolution; I had simply sworn revenge against all those responsible. Mostly I was a horrible brattish child who did nothing but sulk all day, until I became ten, and the physical, and psychological, arts of war caught my attention. I studied swordplay until I surpassed all the slowly amassing guerrilla soldiers, and studied strategy and history until I was as learned as the greatest of Generals. I was ready to assume the post as leader of the rebellion, which over the course of time had named itself OZ, at sixteen. There was no opposition to my taking the post; all simply said it had always been mine.
In the nine years it had taken me to finally assume the position of leader, there was a rather large army amassed within the walls of the castle, with every single member as well trained as the next. They had simply been carrying out small guerrilla attacks on Romafeller forces, not so small they had no impact but not so large as to really cause any attention to OZ. This, at the time, I was quite happy with. Until I had the means to truly wage war, I did not want to direct Romafellers forces to our location. As well trained as the soldiers may have been, we were still outnumbered by ratios I don't care to remember. When I entered my twenty-second year, however, events started to take a very strange course.
Eight months ago to this day, I learned that my enchantment fifteen years ago had indeed been answered by the Gods, but only now had they decided I was worthy of help. In the beginning, it wasn't a help I particularly appreciated. The Gods, in all their graciousness, had sent to me five ancient spirits of amazing power to help in my will to wage war. They had deemed that the world needed to be awakened form it's complacency, and I couldn't have agreed more. This wasn't the problem. The problem was the form in which the spirits had been sent.
They had been sent in the form of adolescents.
Teenagers.
I could've easily dealt with well-rounded young men or such. Preferably they would not have been older then me, as to undermine my authority, but I could've dealt with that quite easily too.
But fifteen-year-olds were not what I thought could win the war. Of course, they turned out to be very competent adolescents, and they were in essence older then I would ever want to be, but being in the body of a young person has its drawbacks. One being the chemical effects on the psyche. Ancient they may have essentially been, but they still seemed to suffer the erratic mood swings and esoteric behaviour that had plagued me between seven and ten, (for I grew up far faster then any normal child, naturally) and this, mixed with their decidedly strange natural personalities, often left me adrift. It's a very simple idea, really. Children make no sense whatsoever. Whether or not they could really be called children is entirely beside the point.
Again, I think the blonde is laughing at me. He was certainly quick to cheer up. It amuses them all that I still think of them as children, but he's just proven my point. Their moods change far too quickly for adults. But perhaps that's why they were sent like this. adults, who sit and stew on their thoughts, aren't much use in situations where you have to go for it and damn the consequences. Teenagers are happy to go ahead and do anything, and brood on it at a more productive time.
I think I'm proving my point. I'm not thinking of anything useful whatsoever.
The problem with this situation, is where am I supposed to send them? To wherever they came from? Or has too much changed? Can they stay here? Why are they looking to me for the answers? Ah, thinking about what the repercussions may be, whatever my decision, is making my head hurt.
The long-haired one is starting to fidget, occupying himself with the end of his extensive braid. I can understand the impulse to - we're all just sitting here, not saying anything verbally. It must be getting to him by now, the boy hardly stops moving. It must have something to do with the way he was raised.
Which is another problem. Where did any of them actually come from? The circumstances in which I met them all don't give me any clues. Where exactly would you place a thief, an acrobat, two warriors, and a nomad? They've never once mentioned where their homes are, and I had never really given it much thought before. Now I have to give it a lot of thought in a small space of time and I wish I had thought about it before. Giving an idea little thought over eight months may have yielded results. This does not.
The fact they all arrived at the small town near my castle on the same day helps little either. I bumped into them all in one way or another during that fateful day. It began in the morning, with me browsing the market, when the blonde one appeared as a wandering stranger, began randomly asking me questions about stalls and foodstuffs. At the time I thought nothing of it, and answered his questions graciously, and took my leave. Looking back, he mention he was travelling, and I could've asked him where from, but then, hindsight always offers the perfect solution too late. The next thing I knew, I was being robbed by a braided thief, who I chased into a bar. I thus literally ran into the leader and the warrior as they were leaving, who pointed me towards a travelling circus troupe, which featured the oddly- fringed acrobat. All this happened at a rather impressive speed, so I had no time to truly consider any of these events important until they all arrived at the castle towards the end of the day, and events that cannot be reversed were set into motion.
That's it. I give up. I can't think about any of this anymore. The answers to annoying questions always come up when you're thinking of something else.
If I strain my ears, I can hear the sounds of many of my now redundant soldiers leaving to return to the homes they left to fight for this war. If I concentrate on the noise, I can almost see the faces of the men and women who fought hard and long battles in the name of change. I can imagine the taste of the water from their canteens once their journeys get underway. And if I strain my memory back, I can almost hear the words that began all this, now mere fragments of a once complete memory.
Excitate vow e somno, liberi mei Cunae non sunt Excitate vow e somno, liberi fatali.
On some days I have heard the words like a litany, and yet I can never remember the full chant.
If I move my memory forward form then, I can hear clearly the night I heard one of them singing a haunting melody, which one I have never discerned;
Tempra la centra e canta Il inno di morte A noi si schiude il ciel Volano al raggio
And with some sweet song of the twilight hours, I have the answer. It's simple enough. It's the one question no-one seems to have asked them since this whole incident began .
"Well, what do you want to do now?"
[end]
[The first set of lyrics are from Liberi Fatali, and the second from the Latin version of Canta Per Me. Look up the translations on www. animelyrics. com]
Canta Addio
I sit there, and they stare at me, like they're waiting to give me some great word form the Gods themselves, to tell them to just do. anything. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing, though, do I? I've done my part. Its up to them as to what they're supposed to do now. For all I care, they can go flying off cliffs or something. Its over.
The blonde one is laughing at me. Not out loud, but his expression is very amused. I have always amused him, as far as I can tell. Reading my thoughts or something. I don't know what's so funny about my thoughts. I think I asked him once, out loud or not, and he said that they were 'captivating and enthralling'. I'm sure he was just showing off his vocabulary or something. He might as well just say 'You make so little sense that it's funny' and be done with it. And if he is reading my thoughts, I don't like the idea of that. It's my mind, my own personal space. Why can't he just turn it off or something?
He must've 'heard' that. He looks upset now, his expression stating don't you understand yet?
Of course I don't understand. I'll never understand. It's not me being able to listen in on people's innermost thoughts. It's not me being able to anything they can do. I'm just a regular mortal. Nothing special. They act like I am though.
The defacto leader is staring intently at me now. Maybe he's reading my mind as well. But until you meet someone adept at reading people you don't realise how much of your thoughts seep into your actions and expressions. I'm sure he can tell I'm nervous about the way he stares unblinkingly, and I can tell that he thinks I should be sorry for upsetting the blonde one. The difference is he wants me to know this; I don't intend to let him know I'm nervous, but I do anyway. It's not something I can control. It's not something most can control. While the nervousness seeps out, I stare back, trying to express without words that I didn't want to upset anyone. I just don't understand.
He must've gotten some satisfaction from my return-glare, as he leans back and relaxes in his chair. I'm more relaxed now, too. I need to order my thoughts. They want me to tell them what to do? I need to think.
This all started a long time before eight months ago, really. It began many years ago, when I was a very young, seven to be exact. I lived in a great kingdom that was torn down by 'evil forces'. I thought they were evil at the time, but now I've got a more objective look on things. There isn't really an evil in the soldiers carrying out their commands. It's simply human instinct. They earn their money to support their families from their Kings. If they don't do what they're told, they put their family in danger. Nor does it matter whether or not they want to do it. It's simply war. In the same way, those soldiers have to understand that the ability to kill is followed by the ability to be killed. But I'm drifting off the point.
Seeing what was one day to have been my kingdom ripped apart before my very eyes was not a decidedly pleasant thing. So, I ran into the great library of the castle, and strangely the last stronghold of the castle itself. I knocked over a large book in my natural childhood gracelessness, and the words on the page caught my eye instantly. It was something I felt I should already know. It seemed to me to be some sort of enchantment, and having seen the power of such things, I read it out, in the hope it may bring something to the aid of my kingdom. Naturally, for all my naïve hopes, it did nothing. Again and again I chanted what may have been words of great might, and nothing came of it. That was about where I began to lose faith in any Gods or magics.
In the aftermath of the assault, there were very few survivors, and those no longer wished to stay in the kingdom in case of further attacks. The few of us left stayed, in the partially ruined castle of old, which to this day remains as it did after that night, a silent testament to the atrocities committed by those against whom we began to fight against. From that day those left of us began a rebellion against those responsible for the loss of our once prosperous domain; a group known as Romafeller.
Now, at seven, I didn't actually help out much with the revolution; I had simply sworn revenge against all those responsible. Mostly I was a horrible brattish child who did nothing but sulk all day, until I became ten, and the physical, and psychological, arts of war caught my attention. I studied swordplay until I surpassed all the slowly amassing guerrilla soldiers, and studied strategy and history until I was as learned as the greatest of Generals. I was ready to assume the post as leader of the rebellion, which over the course of time had named itself OZ, at sixteen. There was no opposition to my taking the post; all simply said it had always been mine.
In the nine years it had taken me to finally assume the position of leader, there was a rather large army amassed within the walls of the castle, with every single member as well trained as the next. They had simply been carrying out small guerrilla attacks on Romafeller forces, not so small they had no impact but not so large as to really cause any attention to OZ. This, at the time, I was quite happy with. Until I had the means to truly wage war, I did not want to direct Romafellers forces to our location. As well trained as the soldiers may have been, we were still outnumbered by ratios I don't care to remember. When I entered my twenty-second year, however, events started to take a very strange course.
Eight months ago to this day, I learned that my enchantment fifteen years ago had indeed been answered by the Gods, but only now had they decided I was worthy of help. In the beginning, it wasn't a help I particularly appreciated. The Gods, in all their graciousness, had sent to me five ancient spirits of amazing power to help in my will to wage war. They had deemed that the world needed to be awakened form it's complacency, and I couldn't have agreed more. This wasn't the problem. The problem was the form in which the spirits had been sent.
They had been sent in the form of adolescents.
Teenagers.
I could've easily dealt with well-rounded young men or such. Preferably they would not have been older then me, as to undermine my authority, but I could've dealt with that quite easily too.
But fifteen-year-olds were not what I thought could win the war. Of course, they turned out to be very competent adolescents, and they were in essence older then I would ever want to be, but being in the body of a young person has its drawbacks. One being the chemical effects on the psyche. Ancient they may have essentially been, but they still seemed to suffer the erratic mood swings and esoteric behaviour that had plagued me between seven and ten, (for I grew up far faster then any normal child, naturally) and this, mixed with their decidedly strange natural personalities, often left me adrift. It's a very simple idea, really. Children make no sense whatsoever. Whether or not they could really be called children is entirely beside the point.
Again, I think the blonde is laughing at me. He was certainly quick to cheer up. It amuses them all that I still think of them as children, but he's just proven my point. Their moods change far too quickly for adults. But perhaps that's why they were sent like this. adults, who sit and stew on their thoughts, aren't much use in situations where you have to go for it and damn the consequences. Teenagers are happy to go ahead and do anything, and brood on it at a more productive time.
I think I'm proving my point. I'm not thinking of anything useful whatsoever.
The problem with this situation, is where am I supposed to send them? To wherever they came from? Or has too much changed? Can they stay here? Why are they looking to me for the answers? Ah, thinking about what the repercussions may be, whatever my decision, is making my head hurt.
The long-haired one is starting to fidget, occupying himself with the end of his extensive braid. I can understand the impulse to - we're all just sitting here, not saying anything verbally. It must be getting to him by now, the boy hardly stops moving. It must have something to do with the way he was raised.
Which is another problem. Where did any of them actually come from? The circumstances in which I met them all don't give me any clues. Where exactly would you place a thief, an acrobat, two warriors, and a nomad? They've never once mentioned where their homes are, and I had never really given it much thought before. Now I have to give it a lot of thought in a small space of time and I wish I had thought about it before. Giving an idea little thought over eight months may have yielded results. This does not.
The fact they all arrived at the small town near my castle on the same day helps little either. I bumped into them all in one way or another during that fateful day. It began in the morning, with me browsing the market, when the blonde one appeared as a wandering stranger, began randomly asking me questions about stalls and foodstuffs. At the time I thought nothing of it, and answered his questions graciously, and took my leave. Looking back, he mention he was travelling, and I could've asked him where from, but then, hindsight always offers the perfect solution too late. The next thing I knew, I was being robbed by a braided thief, who I chased into a bar. I thus literally ran into the leader and the warrior as they were leaving, who pointed me towards a travelling circus troupe, which featured the oddly- fringed acrobat. All this happened at a rather impressive speed, so I had no time to truly consider any of these events important until they all arrived at the castle towards the end of the day, and events that cannot be reversed were set into motion.
That's it. I give up. I can't think about any of this anymore. The answers to annoying questions always come up when you're thinking of something else.
If I strain my ears, I can hear the sounds of many of my now redundant soldiers leaving to return to the homes they left to fight for this war. If I concentrate on the noise, I can almost see the faces of the men and women who fought hard and long battles in the name of change. I can imagine the taste of the water from their canteens once their journeys get underway. And if I strain my memory back, I can almost hear the words that began all this, now mere fragments of a once complete memory.
Excitate vow e somno, liberi mei Cunae non sunt Excitate vow e somno, liberi fatali.
On some days I have heard the words like a litany, and yet I can never remember the full chant.
If I move my memory forward form then, I can hear clearly the night I heard one of them singing a haunting melody, which one I have never discerned;
Tempra la centra e canta Il inno di morte A noi si schiude il ciel Volano al raggio
And with some sweet song of the twilight hours, I have the answer. It's simple enough. It's the one question no-one seems to have asked them since this whole incident began .
"Well, what do you want to do now?"
[end]
[The first set of lyrics are from Liberi Fatali, and the second from the Latin version of Canta Per Me. Look up the translations on www. animelyrics. com]