*
Dear Daddy *
A Legend of Dragoon fanfic
Written by Rap's (RaptorJNB@aol.com)
Notes:
I really don't know why I'm writing this. I'm drained on my series
fics at the moment and needed a change of pace, I guess! ^_^ This
is from Claire's POV in a letter she has written to her father Haschel.
I was sort of inspired by Quistis Kinnaes to write this, as she
took on her fiction about Miranda; "Paper Cut" (incredible
work) when she doesn't even like Miranda all that much. I like Haschel,
but I HATE Claire. The woman left Dart alone to go back to Neet...
and yes- I understand she wanted to help her husband; but as a mother
she had a duty to her son, and she flung that away like so much
trash. You don't leave your damned kid at a time like that, okay?
Dart needed her then more then ever before.
I actually felt bad for the spiky haired punk. *Gives Dart a very
quick hug, and then jumps away to attach herself to Albert*
Dart: .... *freaked out*
Albert: Hey, I'm the one who has to live with her, okay?
Dart: ....
ANNYYYWAYYYY.... I hope everyone enjoys this. Please tell me what
to improve, as always. Thanks so much! ^_^ Very short, just to warn
you; but I purposely made it that way to put emphasis on the importance
of the very last few lines.
Reviews are appreciated. ^_^
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Daddy,
I know
your fists are clenched now, as you hold this thin parchment in
your hands. Please don't grip so very tight, or you'll surely rip
my words. Before I say (Or rather, write) Anything more, raise your
eyes for me? Out over the ocean beyond your desk and window; into
the sun that now fades upon it's distant horizon? I've always loved
the ocean, daddy. And now I leave to drift upon it, this 2nd night
of the Autumn quarter moon. I know the earliest you will receive
this is two days from now, so trying to come after me will prove
futile. I've timed everything. You've only just come home from the
mainland.
But I'm not coming back.
I can imagine the deep lines of your face drawing down into that
primitive scowl I know so well. Perhaps, just a little, you have
ripped my letter, and now work to mend the vagrant fold as you read
this. Something keeps you still, even as your mind screams to follow
me. To give chase. But our fishing boat is gone, and you know that;
don't you? You know I've taken it with me.
Daddy, if your wondering why I'm writing this, it's because I must;
not because I want to. If I was in your presence at this exact moment,
your hand would raise to my face; but not strike. You would never
hit me. Just yell. Yell about there being no honor in running away,
and no respect in calling you 'Daddy.'
You always told me to call you 'Master.'
And that is why I am obligated to give you an explanation for my
departure. Because you are my master, and not my father. My father
was a man kind and sweet, who would pick me from the ground when
I should fall and say; "Try again, small one. Try again."
Your instruction helped me then, when I could be imperfect. When
I felt I had a choice between the rouge arts and a happy life. But
when mother died your voice became damnation.
I was your pupil, Daddy, and that was all. You wouldn't let me be
your daughter anymore.
And perhaps I do wish to be with you now. So I can ask why, and
hope for some sort of relevant answer. Why wouldn't you let me be
a child? Climb trees to fetch the ripest bundles of fruit from their
limbs, or play with my friends? Why couldn't I hug you without your
turning away, and why couldn't you say that you loved me? Just once?
Are you even concerned for me now?
It doesn't matter, really. I trained for you, and as inadequate
a student as you may have thought me, I can defend myself. Did you
ever stop to notice, throughout all my flaws, that yes; I was your
best student? Why did you feel the need to humiliate me by saying
that I was impossible? That I would never master the rouge arts;
and that I had no place in your school?
I simply had no place in your heart.
And, for the longest time, I had hoped that was not true. I did,
once. But fooling one's self helps nothing. After all this, I wonder
if (drifting on the sea, reaching for another life) I still care
for you.
They say that good-bye's amongst family are always the longest,
and hardest to deal with. The sad truth is, Daddy, I only spent
the lesser half of five minutes writing this. The number should
be even when I dot my last period, and lay it here. On your desk.
What I've yet to understand is why it has taken me four years to
find the words above, and put them to paper.
With
what I can only call love,
-
Claire
~*fin*~