The Wrong Choice
I was feeling particularly upset with the world in general, and this helped me vent. You may not like what happens to the characters, but this is basically a sample of how my Writing has changed over the last several months (if you want an example of how it WAS, go back and look at Puzzle in the Window Ch1... that was the first thing I ever wrote) and to prove that I'm, in fact, NOT dead.
I will get around to working on PitW and CRSS soon, hopefully. I haven't done any PitW work since almost last Christmas, and it's Christmas now, so I will work on it soon. I swear! I even know exactly what's going to happen next in PitW.
ON A RELATED NOTE: I HAVE THOUGHT OF SOME FORMS OF KARMATIC REVENGE TO INFLICT ON THE NWC, BUT I CAN ALWAYS USE HELP!! ANY SUGGESTIONS YOU HAVE WOULD BE DUELY APPRECIATED!! JUST MAKE THE PUNISHMENT FIT THE CRIME, NO PERMINANT INJURY TO ANYONE OTHER THAN GENMA, AND NO DEATH.
And, without further blabbering...
The room looked so empty now, the house so quiet. She never realized exactly what she'd had until it was gone, left of it's own free will. The large bed was unmade, covers strewn about haphazardly. In the kitchen, the sink leaked, each drop landing on the unwashed dishes still in the sink. A lightbulb was out in the living room, making a darkened corner of an otherwise happy-looking area. She looked it over again, a reminder of just how good she'd had it, and how she'd gone and completely thrown it all away.
It had been a cold day in December, while the rain was falling and the dogs howled in mourning, when she had came home from a visit with her friends to find the house empty, everything in perfect order, much like always. The dishes had been done, the sink was working fine, the bed had been made. He'd even changed the lightbulb that she'd been asking him to for the last week. For a moment, she smiled, before she saw the note on the dresser.
It had been speared into the wood with a kitchen knife, the blade sinking at least an inch into the mahogany finish. Feeling numb, she'd torn it off of the dresser.
I'd expected to be angry. Or sad. I had hoped to at least SOMETHING, while writing this letter, but to be honest, I can't find it in me to care anymore. I'm completely spent, trying to hold it together, make it work. Part of me wants to just rant and rave for a while, find you, kiss you, and pretend it's all better, but I can't. The pain is too much, too fast.
I guess I should have seen it coming. On the day we got married, I'd heard the whispers that ran up and down the pews behind us, even if you hadn't. 'It won't last', they'd said. At that time, I was determined to prove them wrong, to make this work. I saw it as a challenge. I can see now that they were right. It didn't last.
Was I the wrong choice? Was that it? Or was it that you just never loved me in the first place? All the hours we spent together, just holding each other, fighting to keep ourselves together from everyone that tried to tear us apart. We won our fight against them, but you tore us apart from the inside.
You can imagine my shock when I came home and found you flat on your back, your legs spread wide for him. You were screaming in ectasy as you stabbed me in the back and tore my heart out. Tore it out and gave it to the man I'd once regarded as my best friend. I'd tried to turn away, tell myself it never happened, but I couldn't.
Now it's too late. I just can't put up with it anymore. The short notes you leave that always read the same, 'Don't wait up for me tonight', the long nights alone waiting for you to return. Do you think I don't know that you're out on the town with all of your friends? I'm just too tired of you not caring while I do everything I can, from working to cooking, and you spend your days out partying.
I've waited so long for you to change your way of living. Now I realize that you never will, and I've accepted that.
By the time you find this letter, I'll be gone forever. You made your choice. Him over me. Now you've got to stick with the consequences.
The letter was unsigned, but she didn't need a signature to know who it was from. The tears had streamed down her face as she realized the mistake she'd made, driving away the one thing she couldn't replace. She had tried to go on, but when he had told her that he wouldn't leave his wife for her, she snapped. She spent the time since then in her house, which was slowly starting to fall apart around her.
She whispered his name softly, thinking back to all the good times they'd had that she'd traded away, sobs threatening to overtake her. "You may not believe me," she whispered softly, as if he was still there, "but I never meant to hurt you. I was stupid, I made a mistake. I won't be able to go on like this." Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she continued to whisper appologies to the wind. She looked around once more, before steeling her resolve.
"I made a mistake, and today is the day I redeem it." With that, she kicked out the chair.
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Akane Saotome nee Tendo hung herself from the rafters only two weeks after the body of her husband was found in the kitchen of his Mother's house, both wrists slashed with a knife. He had been burred in the Saotome family plot, next to the body of his father and the empty plot where his mother would reside soon, not being able to take the loss of her son.
Akane was burred in a lonely plot of cemetary away from both the Tendo and Saotome plots. Her father had died of a heart attack years ago, and with her sister Kasumi the head of the household, she'd been disowned from the Tendo register after what she'd done to Ranma got out.
Life in Nerima continued on, but everyone who'd known the couple felt like a piece of the city vanished that cold day in December, while the rain fell and the dogs howled in mourning. The home they lived in was eventually turned into a landmark, but everyone who visited all had the same thought. The rooms looked so empty, the house so quiet.
END
No idea why I put this up, or where I got this idea, other than it was just something I needed to write and put up. It isn't very long, and it's kinda emoish, but I feel like I did some good work with it. If you don't like what happened, don't flame me about it, as I will laugh at you. Also, I know I've been slacking off on the stories I should be writing PitW and CRSS, but I've hit a wall and another story has caught my interest, but I WILL work on them. Probably rewrite some of them, if not all of them, but I WILL do it. I hate highschool.