The End in Sight.
In the abandoned bath house in Modeoheim, Angeal Hewley sat alone, listening to the sounds of water quietly dripping out of frozen or broken pipes. It reminded him of weeping. He stared at his hands. Weeping was what he would like to do. His step-father told him long ago that grown men didn't cry. SOLDIERs most certainly didn't. So why did the tears start seeping out of his reddened eyes?
He was lost and alone. He had left Shin-Ra in high hopes of bringing Genesis to his senses and finding out the truth to his own origins. Genesis had told him the truth, or rather, his version of the truth, he realized. Genesis had manipulated him, dragged him along in a chaotic Shin-Ra coup that was entrenched in destruction and world denomination. He tried that lifestyle. It was a lie. It wasn't him.
Now, he had no place to go. Zack had continually offered him a place back at Shin-Ra. He kept telling Zack that he didn't know if he would return. He had taught Zack to be optimist and persistent. What he failed to teach Zack was how to be realistic. He couldn't go back to Shin-Ra. They wouldn't execute him if he returned. No, what they would do would be far, far worse: He would live a non-existent life as a lab rat, where he would be treated as a thing…a monster.
His two white wings dangled feathers in front of his anguished face.
A monster.
He was nothing more than a monster that had nothing to offer this world. Monsters did not have honor. Monsters were nothing more than mindless killing machines that had no thought of their own. He buried his face in his hands, his tears soaking his black gloves. No one could ever love a monster. He thrust his wings back violently. Even his own mother had killed herself in disgust over her past decisions. She had killed herself thinking of the process that had created him. He shuddered. Not even his own mother loved him. She had left him alone to face this.
He had his suspicions of who his real father was. If his thoughts were correct, he wouldn't be proud of him. He wouldn't care about his past accomplishments, his honor, and his pride. No, his own father would call him an experiment: A successful product of Project Gillian and a toy to manipulate to his own whims.
He looked at the large buster sword, leaning against the wall across the room. The tears continued to fall. His step-father had died many years ago. He had been so proud of him that he had worked his entire life to purchase that sword: It was not only a sign of his honor and integrity, but of the pride, love, and support he had from his parents. His step-father would not be proud of him now. He should feel lucky that he perished long before he became this … this…atrocity. He wouldn't be proud, Angeal decided. He would be horrified.
His teeth and hands clenched. The pain was almost unbearable. A deep emotional wellspring that seemed to flow from the depths of hell. He doubled over, clutching his gut.
Death would be something he welcomed, he thought darkly. He had no place in this world. His past was a lie and his future was a black hole full of emptiness. He had no usefulness. He could help no one. If he threw himself on the buster sword right now, would anyone care?
He walked across the room and picked up the buster sword in one hand. He rolled the hilt over in his hand. His hands began to sweat and shake as fear threatened to swallow him whole. He looked down the long, silvery blade and imagined his body limply juxtaposed over the tip of it. His grip tightened so tightly on the hilt that his knuckles turned white. He extended his arms and pointed the blade toward his stomach. He closed his eyes.
In his mind's eye, he suddenly saw Zack, his usual puppy demeanor replaced with sadness and confusion. He seemed to be asking Angeal a question with his eyes. "Why?" They seemed to ask.
His eyes popped open, and he thrust the buster sword as far as he could across the room. His heart was pounding and his chest was heaving. He pivoted to the side and vomited violently, and then wiped his lips on the back of his hand. What had he almost done? He stumbled backwards until he almost tripped over an old rotting bench. He fell into a sitting position and held his hands once more. His entire being was shaking.
Zack.
The one person who still deserved a chance at this life and that could save this world from this madness. Zack, who had a girlfriend in Midgar and still had parents in Gongaga. Zack…the puppy with his unfailing loyalty, who still had faith…in him.
He had no life left, Angeal realized, but he could still redeem himself in one last final way: He would fight Zack. He would prepare him for the battle to come. He would make him face the person that he respected the most so that his heart would be ready. It would also mean, he realized, that he would have to show Zack what sort of monster he truly was.
He leaned back against the tile of the bath house, feeling the chill against his neck. He could do this. He had no life left, but he could give what little he had to Zack, the only family he had left. Maybe he could die in peace, then. He sighed. Maybe, he couldn't save the world. He was too tainted. Too far gone, but he could help Zack do it.
This would be his legacy, he decided. Even if no one else ever knew, it would be his finest moment. He would give his worthless life for his pupil, and let him carry on the torch. It would let him die in peace.
He heard the familiar sound of Zack's boots pounding on the floor in another part of the facility. He sat up straight and wiped the tears from his eyes. He would not let Zack see him like this. He would not make it harder for Zack than it was already going to be.
He stood and strode across the room to pick up his sword. He stared at his tired eyes and stubble in the reflection. He would do this for Zack, he muttered. He gripped the sword's hilt tightly. And overcome the tainted legacy that started before his birth. He didn't start this, but he would finish it.
He walked out of the room without another thought. This…would be the end.
~oOo~
Hi, folks! This is Kari, your author. I'm sorry this was such a dark piece, but I have wanted to write this for so long. Suicide is a topic that is near to my heart as I've known several people who have tried to attempt it. If you or a loved one suffers from suicidal thoughts, please call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. If you don't want to talk to them, please talk to someone. You're never alone. There are people out there who care.
[Type text]