A/N: Howdy people! Okay now, this story's a bit... Nah, very short, but hey, I did that as an essay for school, and I just thought I'd type it and post it here just to show it to other people than the teacher who made me write it in the first place XD ... ... ...

Yeah, I know you're thinking I'm sooo original right now, welllll, you're right! (see sarcasm here please .) Okay so now I'll stop bothering you and let you procede to reading Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nah, sadly, like any of you, I don't own Kingdom Hearts, nor do I own Roxas '(

Messiah

Roxas knew all his life he was… different from other people. For some reason, it was in his mind, somewhere well hidden… he knew his life was not going to be as long as he would like it to be.

This fateful afternoon only confirmed the fact known by his soul.

The fault did not lie with the doctor. This man was only doing his job, a job that brought both happiness and sorrow at the same time. No, the fault lay in Roxas' own past, a past better forgotten, but never erased. The poor boy was sick; the blood sample he had given revealed it. The nurses and doctors could not do anything about it, that sickness was the blond's payment for the sins he did years ago. The boy thanked the doctor who kept saying he was sorry things turned out that was. Roxas knew he was wasting his time by coming here. Not only his, but the time of others who truly needed to see the white coated man. A messiah for some, but a reaper for others.

The blond stepped out in the bright street, glowing was the snow on the ground. Nobody knew, nobody would know and nobody needed to know. The sun would leave the sky in a few hours. The sick guy walked aimlessly, not knowing where he would go. The winds were very gentle that day, they guided him, they whispered which way he should take. Soon enough, he found himself walking on what looked like a main street. So many people, so many smiles, so many everything… He still walked, wandering in the streets, but the winds told him his next destination. It was a very simple one, very easy to find, very easy to enter. Roxas could have taken the bus, but what good would that do him? For sure, it would have been a lot faster, a lot less tiring, but walking made the blond feel good, it made him feel at ease. For the first and last time probably, but Roxas did not care nor did he care about all those people he saw, all those car honks he heard, all those pastries he smelled, all these everything… The blond's senses were sailing on an ocean of pleasure, each of them opened to every single thing that could easily or not easily catch their attention.

Most sick people stay in a hospital, depressing, thinking about their own fate. They are sad; they do not think positively, they want others to pity them. Roxas did not want to be like them. He wanted to stay strong, he wanted to be happy during the time he had left, he did not want others to pity him. He did not even want others to know he was sick. They would treat their friend, their son, their nephew, their cousin, their classmate differently. He would soon leave them, but it was not in his intentions to make them worry about him.

Finally, his destination, where the winds told him to go… his house. Roxas was alone, his parents were away on a business trip in Europe. They would come back next week. The blond boy slowly walked upstairs to his room, left his coat on his bed before he went back down to the kitchen. It was nearly time for dinner, but before that, he headed to the bathroom, he sat and soon, a dark-red drop fell on the ceramic floor. A second and a third followed very shortly. These drops were coming from his wrists, but soon others fell from his legs. The boy was suffering, but he opened the cuts…longer, larger and deeper. Then, in a last effort, he pointed his weapon near his neck and slashed for one last time.

There he was, Roxas, the blond, the friend, the ill, the son, the nephew, the classmate, the suicidal, bathing in the blood that would soon become his final resting place.

The doctor? All from his imagination. The walk? Something to ease his mind. The disease? He wanted to die, did he not? The parents gone for a week? A lie to himself. The kitchen? That's where he took the knife.

There he was, bathing in his blood, his death ground.

Steps were coming his way. Even half conscious he could hear them. A man. A black and white cloak. Silver hair. A beautiful, long, white scythe. He was coming closer, slowly, step by step. He bent down to his knees, a few centimetres away from the dying boy. He took him in his arms. The stranger felt so warm, Roxas was happy and safe near him. The boy was tightly held near the man's body. His face was soothing for Roxas, his grasp made him forget his wounds, his warmth made him forget his suffering. It was him. Roxas knew this man would take him to where he belonged, where he would not suffer from daily life anymore. The cloaked man was perceived as the one who took beloved ones away, but now he was Roxas' savior.

The stranger got to his feet, not releasing his tight yet very soft grasp on his little protégé. He walked slowly. Each step was as soft as a feather. The man brought Roxas outside. He spreaded beautiful wings and flew off in the sky as the blond boy whispered:

- You really are my messiah…