For all the talented Turk writers who inspire me
…I am not worthy.
Stars…
He'd once come to call them
the overrated and already faded hope.
Sky Changing Salvation
by Jess Angel
Tonight the sky was changing.
Reno could tell. And the slums weren't a place where you'd normally notice. People who lived in the slums, their eyes were always on the ground. Reality was burned into it—and with reality, themselves. Dreams were in the sky, high and lofty; and Reno had never flown. He'd felt nothing, but solid earth under his feet. Still, he could tell. Tonight the sky was changing. Dreams were stars, and wishes were made on stars—stars he couldn't see.
Out of an alley, he stepped, a boy with eyes that cut into you like diamonds on glass. Morning, night, and noon the city of Midgar was a devil's playground, and Reno's practiced gaze was constantly on lookout.
He pulled out a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in a napkin from his lunch earlier that day and finished the rest quickly. He'd shined just enough shoes and scrubbed enough dishes to have a sufficient amount of gil to buy snacks to last him till sundown. The boy usually ate dinner only after she returned.
"Hey, brat," a woman with black hair and red lips poked Reno's shoulder as he lay with eyes closed curled up on an orange couch. He didn't turn around to face her, pretending he had long been asleep. Another jab to his bone and then a snort at his lack of response, "fucking kid."
Reno waited a minute and then two. His toes could no longer feel the blow of air from the vent above him. A rough cloth scratched his elbows. There was a clatter of bottles and then the clap of a door. Gingerly, the boy sat up, a blanket at his waist. He grabbed a small cardboard container from the coffee table and began to chew on a chicken wing.
Streetlights stretched amber across the pavement. The color was false comfort, but Reno found it welcoming. Tainted light was still light, and he could almost pretend it was the sun shining. To him, day swept up in seconds, light ebbed away too soon; night seemed to span forever, and like sudden cruelty, darkness always loomed.
Tonight would be forever in Reno's eyes.
He had stumbled out of his cockroach-infested motel room at 1:42 in the morning, in search of the one he called Mother. The woman was that to him in nothing but name, yet he had still gone to look.
See… she was a funny being, his mother. Never home early but always back before the clock shot midnight - no matter how piss-drunk or high she was. It was a strange constant. She didn't believe in spooks or anything, but she'd dubbed the hour 'Death's Favorite Fucking Non-Holiday'; someone was either being murdered or ending it. Reno guessed the name was warranted, but still retorted smartly it was like that every hour of every day in Midgar the Miserable Maggot-hole.
It was one of the many times Reno was reminded: He had never flown. Sins were plenty on the ground, and that day he had just committed another.
The memories were fresh and rotting.
One right hook and he thought he heard his jaw crack. The woman—Mother—gave him a feral grin as he decorated the puke-colored carpet. He dragged himself backward on the floor, and then suddenly fell forward, coughing out a piece of white enamel mixed with cherry-colored spit. Her sky blue eyes were so wide and bright, it hurt to look in. A low amused mumble tumbled from her lips then a shrill laugh. Mother told him he was right, she just wouldn't be caught past the hour.
Reno barely registered the words as he staggered further back, one hand fumbling for the doorknob, the other raised to his mouth, still dripping red. Next thing he did was yell she was fucking lucky it had been a baby tooth. The door slammed and the brass 'A' next to 72 clanged to the floor.
He hadn't noticed the mistake.
It was a pity Mother never forgot to collect his mistakes.
Reno remembered and forgot again.
He had now walked Regale District twice and passed by all her bar-haunts at least three times. Years could have gone by and Reno wouldn't have stopped. He was a sufferer, sharp eyes glinting in front of a dulling soul. And like any other kid on the streets, Reno was a sacrifice. Like any other kid, he knew it, too.
Nothing would be over. Not until he knew.
Flickering in the distance drew his gaze. But it was the object right outside of the streetlight's blinking boundaries that had him tripping over potholes and his own two feet toward it. His mother's dark hair bled into the night, while her skin was a deadening, cool white - even in shadow. Still, he would be unable to discern any more without taking her from it.
The boy picked her up from the gutter and moved her into the shaky spotlight. The white new dress she'd bragged about the other evening was soiled with the muck and stench of the sewers. The dirty water leaked into his worn shoes and now, his toes were wet. Reno knelt and stretched out a hand to hers.
It was the first time he called her, "...Mom?"
The lamp continued to skip above them.
Left unanswered, Reno pulled his hand away.
He had loved this woman. The shriek of her voice was still in his ears, the angry red lines of her fingernails were still on his skin. He was sure she had tried her best to love him… she'd just loved herself more. And now, she was gone. It was a sobering truth.
And the truth will set you free.
Reno's tears ran bitter into his mouth. He couldn't tell if he was relieved, happy, or sad. The emotions were all the same, one big gray cloud balled up inside of him; he could feel himself choking on it as it climbed the back of his throat. God, how he wished he could throw it all up. Reno's eyes shut and he could feel the shadows passing over them.
He stood up and held on to the lamppost, knees buckling but never hitting the ground. A sickness sent him bending over into a heave. Surprisingly, he lost nothing but strings of spit. Erratic breaths followed. Why he was shaking, he didn't quite understand. There was no chill in him.
The thunder of gunfire jolted Reno still. His eyes shifted in the direction of the noise. He knew it would be wise to find safety quick. Despite the warnings, the red-haired boy couldn't find the reason to listen to his instincts. The steps of what sounded like expensive shoes revealed themselves to him.
A man maybe five years older than him came into view. He had Wutain features and was wiping something off with a cloth in his gloved fingers, seemingly oblivious to anything else before him. He didn't look like he belonged in the slums or appear affected by it's dealings. Perhaps because he was the one who dealt. Reno spotted a mark in the middle of his forehead. The Wutain chose that moment to look up.
It was strange how those cold black eyes were the warmest thing he'd ever felt.
"Tseng, what do you have there?" a voice echoed from behind the Wutain.
The young man never took his gaze off him, "One of us."
And then, Reno knew heaven was real.
Salvation had come.
He saw the blue suit—and marked it as his grave.
…Fin.
Author's Note: My muse for this one was someone from church who I heard speak; pieces of this were based off him. I just twisted things a bit to fit Reno and am thankful for the inspiration. About the Turks ages, in my short search, I didn't find official ages, only speculations/calculations by fans. For this story's purposes, Tseng is roughly 19 and Reno is 13. Music side note, I was listening to Radiohead's "Go Slowly" when trying to finish this up, helped relax me a bit.
It's incredible that it has been about six years since I last posted something. I wrote most of this around that time, so in returning to this so late I may have messed with my original flow and idea. I feel like it might be still missing something or off somehow, so I may revise here and there since I tend to eventually. Old readers (if any of you are still around!), I hope you've been well. New readers, thank you for stopping by and giving this a chance. Feedback appreciated always.
Final Fantasy VII and its characters © Square-Enix, Inc.