Hey everyone! Want to watch my go at fail philosophy? Kidding, kidding! I hope you enjoy this, however OoC it may be. Both of these were written on a fairly thin whim, so... Do forgive me if I screw up horribly, but I would greatly appreciate reviews and tips from my fellow FFauthors!
Theme: The wonderings of immortals, time and life, existance.
Characters: C.C. and V.V., our resident immortals of Code Geass.
Couples: If you're really looking for one, I'm sure you could get C.C. & V.V. as one in the second part.
C.C. sometimes wonders what being alive really means.
It normally depends on what you call life in the first place, she supposes. You could say, "I'm breathing, I have a pulse… Therefore I most certainly can't be dead." Or, you could say, "I feel, therefore I must be living."
What's feeling though? Is it any different than just living?
C.C. says it's all the same. Scarred, citrus eyes looking over her hands in the bright sun; delicate, clean, but the faint phantoms of cuts and hard work are always there in her eyes. She's the only one who lived through a near-eternity of Hell, after all. Why would she expect someone else to understand?
Of course, there are always other immortals somewhere in the world. She always fancied the idea that there are always two of everything – even when that's a lie.
Even if it was true, she knew that her only companions would be very much younger than her.
Life wasn't fair.
Oh, see? I said it, she thought to herself, a smirk creeping its way across pale lips, a soft gloss on them. Certainly, I must be alive if I can call life 'unfair.' she thinks again.
It's a lie in her heart though.
You can call something on your conscience, but you know your heart knows it best.
Even C.C. knew that, in her vast, infinite years of wisdom – bested only by the sister that spent such a short, but valued time with her.
She sighed, tossing vibrant hair back behind her shoulder, a slight annoyance gnawing at her, an aggravation prodding and poking… She returned to plucking the blush-toned, almost perfect roses with sharp tugs and pulls, placing them within the wicker basket at her side.
It wasn't the time for reminiscence. So what if her partner was dead? Wasn't she still here? Still alive? Unlike so many other people?
That's a lie too.
She was dead the first time she died. It wasn't worth it… wasn't worth it. No, no, no…
It seemed like it the first time, but after the third, she realized it would just never end. Beaten, battered, burned, stabbed, crushed, ripped apart, experimented on, bound, gagged, hung, strung over horrified spectators, and alone.
And until she could lose any attachment to the poor souls that looked to her for guidance, for help, for life…
Irony was her best friend, where else do you think she got such a dry wit and sharp tongue? It loved company just as much as misery did, and C.C. was happy to comply with such a quiet companion that voiced everything through action.
It brought a lot of suffering, but when you saw it happen to someone else, C.C. instead found herself laughing at its cruelty, not batting an eye except for when she began to cry from laughing so hard.
She wasn't frozen, they were just people she hadn't baited to be her replacement.
Glancing down at the basket, she realized how torn some of the roses were, and frowned at her own mistake. How could she let something like memories ruin her good day?
Honestly, the sun shone a little brighter, the grass was a bit greener, the birds sang and swooned like passionate lovers, and she didn't think about that boy, or the orphaned Chinese, or the fiery young lady that fought so hard for something she couldn't win, or that knight who seemed to back stab anyone whom he got the chance to.
Taking the few that were ruining an otherwise good batch, she told herself she would just go and leave them on some poor Australian fellow's grave…
After all, her home in Britannia was only temporary. Who said she wouldn't take advantage of the wonderful house the young man had bought?
Yes, she thought, I must truly have a life everyone wants. I have endless time, I have no fears of death, but I welcome an embrace… Men who desire such know not what they ask. Even I have come to regret asking for my ability in the first place, and to trick someone I may care about into taking the same fate…
Irony and I are not very good friends, it seems; she finished. Staring forlornly at the red rose in her hand. Had she really come this far since the pink ones?
I can miss people, but I cannot end my own suffering at their cost… She figures, fingers pressing harder into the sharp stem of the rose, the flower of love and courage, will and passion…
She winced and jerked her hand away at the surprise of a sudden pain in her fingers, crimson blood slowly dripping out of a thin cut from a thorn.
Oh, they weren't thornless?
"Never mind that…" She whispered, wiping some of the scarce liquid onto the bleached sundress.
I must be more human than I thought. Even a monster feels compassion,
But only a human bleeds.