AN: This is the other one-shot I mentioned to a couple people. My beta, Jen – King of Bamboo, expressed her liking of this so I posted it.
I don't own Tales of Symphonia.
The world seemed to be comprised of nothing but old and ruined photographs; old, black and white photographs, ones that were slowly turning to dust, withering away, fading, their edges tearing apart. They seemed to mirror the current state of the two worlds, with their very fragile state of being. Some withered away, while others "came out of hiding"; they could then swap places almost mercilessly, not caring about what the person living by them thought. Such was the fate of memories themselves.
He was part of this fragile system that tottered on the edge of balance, watching, always watching…Sometimes he felt like Mithos, always watching, with disgust, the black and white world that was repeating the same cycle over and over again, all the while wishing and working for something "better".
Those photographs weren't worth keeping in mind but he was forced to review them all the time, day by day, without ever bothering to wipe the dust away from them because they are so tainted and black and absolutely wretched.
Why use the words "picture-perfect"?
What was so perfect about those black stained photographs?
The people ebbed away their time in those pictures. It was to be expected that they hardly ever noticed what they were doing.
After more than four thousand years, he had finally found (and partially created) what he was looking for: pictures that weren't black and white or torn, that he could keep enclosed forever in his mind…
"A very picturesque world. "
What a lie.
This world could never be called "picturesque". He had known that for a long time already.
For one, the prized spots where tourists gathered in mobs were nothing but transformations of the natural environment into another state. Most of them had been created for one sole reason: the World Regeneration system that was causing them so much trouble by itself.
Boring…
The cities were created from the first groupings of people who had come together wishing to build a proper civilization. They were a sensible creation to say the least, but the pictures that had started to come out more "recently" were (almost) disdainful.
The population had become disgraceful, mostly those humans. The photography they left behind was also…so…bland to him because he had never felt the need or the desire to try and improve it.
Ridiculous…
…
To put it simply, Yuan found that this "photography" had the very unlucky fate of being forever destined to be bland, boring, especially tainted, and for lack of a more appropriate word, "bad", unless of course, someone decided to do something about it, which was what they were working at.
There was really little more than one thing left in the world that could be described as "vivid", even "charming", or "picturesque". He wanted "it" beside him at all times and wanted to spend his days with "it", rather than "wasting" his time in the outside world, or "ebbing" his time away, rather. He spent less time creating (witnessing) bland photography than he spent creating (witnessing) those very "picturesque" moments.
It couldn't make any less sense.
The black and white and tainted "photographs" of his memory were like pictures, but it would be a lie, again, to describe them as "picturesque".
What was so great and impressive about being in the constant presence of other people that irritated him out of his mind? What was the charm of having to pretend to work for those with the warped minds just to get his way? (Such was the fate of a double agent. That might have been his own fault.) What was so pleasing or interesting about his current state, or rather, the current state of everything for that matter?
He picked a photo from the remains of his archive at random.
Photograph n-x:
The annotation read: "You're such a pessimist."
His answer: a smirk.
Those words…those kinds of moments…those pictures…seemed so…old.
The useless pictures kept being taken whether or not he wanted it or not…
None of them were ever worth mentioning.
"Picturesque pictures fill his mind…"
What a lie.
The pictures began to fill with colour after their first encounter. He had spent his time thinking, pondering, after his first few visits to the Iselia Human Ranch. It might have been well described as him "having an infatuation" with the leader of that particular human ranch but he wanted to avoid calling it that.
The days, weeks, and even sometimes months were spent looking over those photographs of his memory of the time spent with that particular Desian Grand Cardinal during those visits.
Just what was so captivating about him?
It hadn't been long since the half-voiced "declarations of infatuation" had been pronounced when that certain blue-haired seraph simply stood back for a few moments, watching the other man in front of him do the paperwork on his desk in soft silence.
Absolutely striking turquoise unruly short hair…a single ruby-red eye…lips that were usually shaped into a smirk…
Everything about Forcystus drove him crazy to the point of insanity.
His charming features were just so damn picturesque.
One of his favourite "pictures" was a moment in time where the results had been amusingly predictable.
The annotation read: "Do not disturb. Grand Cardinal at work."
He smirked.
He makes the world fill with colour, he once thought, during one of those unbearably long gaps between his visits. He couldn't even remember when time started being this slow.
Forcystus had obviously done far more than just that.
Old black and white, fuzzy, stained photos of absolutely no interest seemed to have been replaced by clear, shiny, colourful, Polaroid pictures. More and more were snapped every time, as if his mind could somehow sense the "inevitable" end coming closer and closer.
He just didn't expect it to come so soon.
There was a bitter feeling in his gut that he had never felt before, shortly after the infiltration of the Iselia Human Ranch by Lloyd and his troop.
This had been expected, of course. He had been almost waiting, waiting, waiting for everything to end, waiting for the time when his mind would no longer be able to take those so very precious colour photographs. The angel found himself re-examining the pictures from their latest and most recent moment together.
The annotation read: "I'm sorry."
Those words had tumbled from his mouth, almost regretfully, as he had turned to push the office door open and leave. A hand grabbed a hold of his wrist and pulled him back.
"Wait. I—"
Their faces had been inches apart from one another for the fourth, or even fifth time that day. Yuan had shrugged off the hand and pulled away, rushing out the door without looking back, almost afraid of seeing the other's supposedly pained expression.
…
His heart broke into a million pieces and the pictures were stained red in his mind from the pain itself that day…
It was so ironic.
When they were apart, both the pictures and his heart began to crack bit by bit with the wretched thing called "time" but…if that foolish dream of being together with the other in the near (far) future somehow became reality, the pictures along with his heart would begin to melt instead…
So ironic…
…
That gallery of pictures was ripping him apart from the inside out, so why keep them? If they were causing him trouble, blockading his usual trend of though and invading his mind constantly, why keep them? They had, once, been reality, and reality was reality and would always stay reality.
…
Even so… why not keep them? They could hardly be forgotten, after all. They'd stay forever ensconced in his memory anyhow.
…
But they'd never be able to compare with the real "thing".
…
Never.
AN: I generally don't like this one but it's a little better than "Barrier"…Hm…
It just occurred to me that a person that's over 4000 years old would start getting bored of stuff after a while.
I'm resisting the urge to call this a piece of turkey stuffing since I actually hate it so much but I'll actually get slapped this time...
-slap- Oops. Too late. XD
Please review,
Kazuki