Final Fantasy 8 is copyright of Square, as is the first line really.. since
it's paraphrased, if you can recognize the source, then you'll know that it
doesn't belong to me. :)
--
She stood five foot six, barefoot in the sand, wistfully looking into the vast expanse of the sea. Long, unbound golden locks fluttering in the wind framed a delicate and fine boned face. Her eyes, the azure blue of a hot summer day in tropical Balamb burned with a cold flame, of passion, of determination. She wore a white sundress, fitted at the waist, edged in gathered white lace and ending just above her ankles. The design of the dress was decades out of style, yet it suited her classic beauty, beauty is timeless after all. Wetness was brimming in her eyes, and tears would periodically escape and travel down her face, leaving thin trails of salty water on her face before they rolled off her jaw and touched down onto the sand. Although she continued to walk along the thin strip of beach, every step seemed to take more effort, as if a little more weight was being added. Eventually, she stopped and had sunk into the sand, her shins and then knees slowly lowering to meet ground. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, creating a small delta of sorts down her face, yet she continued to stare into the sea, mesmerized by the approaching storm, ignorant or unconcerned by the dangers of the soon to be raging sea.
This was my first meeting with her, the woman that would change my life for the better. I had met the girl she was before, but I was just a boy then, full of foolish dreams and an arrogance that should have died before it escaped my mouth and attacked everyone, friend or foe. Shamefully, I must admit I had a hand in turning this woman into the hardened and jaded soul she was now. Could I change the passage of time, if I was ever so gifted with the power, I would in a heartbeat. But hindsight is always 20/20, is it not?
Coming back here was not my choice. No, it was the only choice that was left. People forgive and forget, but I cannot forgive myself, nor can I forget it. Courage had led me to the front gate of the garden, cowardice had lead me away to the beach. Meeting her would prove to be harder than being at the mercy of the entire population of the garden.
It tore at my heart, and made it ache like no physical wound had ever done. At least with a cut, you can stop the bleeding, wrap it up and it will heal itself. This type of wound won't just close up and stop hurting. This type of wound may fester, and eat away at the victim, until the pain consumes them. As worldly and learned of things as I pretend to be, or think to be, this was territory that was yet unexplored.
A part of me wanted to gather this injured woman into my arms and protect her from the savageness of this world. But even I knew that what she really needed to be protected from was from me, from my insecurities and failures, which spelled suffering for all those around me. A broken kettle will burn the hand that touches them, even on a good day. Those who had dared to reach out, to give me a chance and the benefit of the doubt were regretting their kindness, consciously or unconsciously. I had no right to interfere with anyone's life, let alone destroy it. I know that now, as a broken man with only the memories of his destructive past left.
My coat lay forgotten on the edge of the turf that touched the sand, and I walked towards her, knowing that I would never be content until I faced her. I let Hyperion touch the sand, and it cleanly cut a trail into the sand, as competent in dividing the grains as it was in dividing bodies. Struggling, I found that the smile that accompanied me each day, good or bad, the mix of arrogance and amusement, could not form. My face felt like stone, frozen, unable to comply my wish to put up a false front. She would expect that from me.
She must have heard me approach; I had made no effort to conceal the sound of my boots on the sand, yet she had not changed how she sat like a discarded porcelain doll, staring ahead at a point of nothing. Her lower lip quivered, perhaps involuntarily, perhaps from my proximity. She was hugging herself, tightly, seemingly in an effort to protect herself. As I knelt down, less a foot away, nothing indicated that she knew that I was there, yet she must have.
Before I was aware of it, my hand had reached out and was brushing away some of the tears that adorned her face. It was the touch that broke her trance. Azure blue eyes moved away from their previous vigil and focused on a new subject. Her eyes had always been striking, yet now they stared beyond me, into the depth of my soul. Before I could react, she reached out and slapped me, hard.
I was shocked, but I knew I deserved it. I didn't allow myself the comfort of reaching up to feel the now stinging flesh. I continued watching her. Her hand flew back and slapped me again, this time on the left cheek. Even now she was merciful, choosing not to hurt me the same way twice. What I had done to deserve this mercy, I don't know, but then again, the difference between me and her was that she had a conscience, and I had still yet to gain one that would allow me to feel this way to all of those I had hurt.
Her hand raised to strike me a third time, but this time I intercepted it, grabbing her wrist. Her face changed from her cold fury to rage, and she screamed, screaming at me, screaming her anger. I grabbed her and held her close, wrapping my arms around her. Her thin hands, thinner now I realise, before had been slender but now she had withered away, a skeleton of her former self, curled into fists and pounded my chest before she gave into heaving, body wracking sobs and let her arms dangle limply at her sides.
It was a long while before she spoke. Her words were weak, and she sounded defeated, like she was the one that had lost the war. "Sei.. fer." Her voice trailed off before continuing. "Why?"
Why what? Why did I leave her? Why did I delude myself into thinking I could really fulfil some foolish childhood fantasy? Why did I hurt her so? Why.. did I kill him? I'd like to know why as well. I suppose saying sorry at this point is about as disrespectful to her as I could be so I let the moment hang suspended in silence, before I decided on what to say to her.
"I want to change Quistis." I said, slowly, staring into the endless pools of blue, watching myself and hoping to catch a glimpse of her. "I have to change." I continued, after a while, letting her slowly digest what I had said. Then again, that could have been for my own benefit more than for hers.
She trembled, and I held her close, but then I realised that this was the opposite of what she wanted when she pushed me away. She raised her left hand, and pushed the sleeve back, exposing an armband, composed of blood soaked bandages. Looking up at me, she started screaming again, instead, it was of words, and not of unintelligible anguish.
"After his death. When you ran away afterwards. I wanted to die. And you know what? I wish I could have died. I tried so hard to.. " but her loud words had ended, giving way once again to sobs.
She had turned to him the first time I had left, and he comforted her, provided the love and affection that she so desperately craved for. So what had I done? Killed him, and ran away, once again like a coward. I had treated her like a prize, and behaved like a spoilt child when she turned to him. She wouldn't have stayed even if I hadn't had left, but now she probably wanted me to feel her pain, to feel her hurt.
What could I offer her, the love that she needed before, and only now could I give? Relationships, and the potential for them have expiry dates, and this one was far beyond the best before. Seeing Hyperion, lying on the sand next to me, glinting in the dying rays of sunlight, motivated me. I picked it up, pointing it down for safety just as Quistis had taught Squall and myself the first time we had tried to use them.
I faced her again, and solemnly, turned the blade so that it pointed at my chest, and stabbed inwards, first to the left, but then I remembered biology class, and that the heart was more at the centre of the chest, as she had taught us, and dug the blade in further while changing directions.
This was the only thing left I could give her. Not an apology, but retribution. For the death of her heart, I offered her the death of my heart. My hands lost their strength and the gunblade fell into the sand, forgotten for the moment.
The blood trickled down, mixing with the sand and the rain that was now falling faster and harder. As I looked up at her, stained crimson, wet with tears, screaming, pulling at my shirt, I was finally content with the world and most of all, myself. Finally, I had made the right choice. As life slowly ebbed away from me on that beach, sometime that day between the calm and the storm, I was smiling.
--
AN; at first, I was serious about writing a drawn out romance between everyone's favourite couple.. but with the dark mind I have, it just descended into angst. Understandingly, I will take all the flames that this will generate like it is.. so bring it on ! ;)
--
She stood five foot six, barefoot in the sand, wistfully looking into the vast expanse of the sea. Long, unbound golden locks fluttering in the wind framed a delicate and fine boned face. Her eyes, the azure blue of a hot summer day in tropical Balamb burned with a cold flame, of passion, of determination. She wore a white sundress, fitted at the waist, edged in gathered white lace and ending just above her ankles. The design of the dress was decades out of style, yet it suited her classic beauty, beauty is timeless after all. Wetness was brimming in her eyes, and tears would periodically escape and travel down her face, leaving thin trails of salty water on her face before they rolled off her jaw and touched down onto the sand. Although she continued to walk along the thin strip of beach, every step seemed to take more effort, as if a little more weight was being added. Eventually, she stopped and had sunk into the sand, her shins and then knees slowly lowering to meet ground. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, creating a small delta of sorts down her face, yet she continued to stare into the sea, mesmerized by the approaching storm, ignorant or unconcerned by the dangers of the soon to be raging sea.
This was my first meeting with her, the woman that would change my life for the better. I had met the girl she was before, but I was just a boy then, full of foolish dreams and an arrogance that should have died before it escaped my mouth and attacked everyone, friend or foe. Shamefully, I must admit I had a hand in turning this woman into the hardened and jaded soul she was now. Could I change the passage of time, if I was ever so gifted with the power, I would in a heartbeat. But hindsight is always 20/20, is it not?
Coming back here was not my choice. No, it was the only choice that was left. People forgive and forget, but I cannot forgive myself, nor can I forget it. Courage had led me to the front gate of the garden, cowardice had lead me away to the beach. Meeting her would prove to be harder than being at the mercy of the entire population of the garden.
It tore at my heart, and made it ache like no physical wound had ever done. At least with a cut, you can stop the bleeding, wrap it up and it will heal itself. This type of wound won't just close up and stop hurting. This type of wound may fester, and eat away at the victim, until the pain consumes them. As worldly and learned of things as I pretend to be, or think to be, this was territory that was yet unexplored.
A part of me wanted to gather this injured woman into my arms and protect her from the savageness of this world. But even I knew that what she really needed to be protected from was from me, from my insecurities and failures, which spelled suffering for all those around me. A broken kettle will burn the hand that touches them, even on a good day. Those who had dared to reach out, to give me a chance and the benefit of the doubt were regretting their kindness, consciously or unconsciously. I had no right to interfere with anyone's life, let alone destroy it. I know that now, as a broken man with only the memories of his destructive past left.
My coat lay forgotten on the edge of the turf that touched the sand, and I walked towards her, knowing that I would never be content until I faced her. I let Hyperion touch the sand, and it cleanly cut a trail into the sand, as competent in dividing the grains as it was in dividing bodies. Struggling, I found that the smile that accompanied me each day, good or bad, the mix of arrogance and amusement, could not form. My face felt like stone, frozen, unable to comply my wish to put up a false front. She would expect that from me.
She must have heard me approach; I had made no effort to conceal the sound of my boots on the sand, yet she had not changed how she sat like a discarded porcelain doll, staring ahead at a point of nothing. Her lower lip quivered, perhaps involuntarily, perhaps from my proximity. She was hugging herself, tightly, seemingly in an effort to protect herself. As I knelt down, less a foot away, nothing indicated that she knew that I was there, yet she must have.
Before I was aware of it, my hand had reached out and was brushing away some of the tears that adorned her face. It was the touch that broke her trance. Azure blue eyes moved away from their previous vigil and focused on a new subject. Her eyes had always been striking, yet now they stared beyond me, into the depth of my soul. Before I could react, she reached out and slapped me, hard.
I was shocked, but I knew I deserved it. I didn't allow myself the comfort of reaching up to feel the now stinging flesh. I continued watching her. Her hand flew back and slapped me again, this time on the left cheek. Even now she was merciful, choosing not to hurt me the same way twice. What I had done to deserve this mercy, I don't know, but then again, the difference between me and her was that she had a conscience, and I had still yet to gain one that would allow me to feel this way to all of those I had hurt.
Her hand raised to strike me a third time, but this time I intercepted it, grabbing her wrist. Her face changed from her cold fury to rage, and she screamed, screaming at me, screaming her anger. I grabbed her and held her close, wrapping my arms around her. Her thin hands, thinner now I realise, before had been slender but now she had withered away, a skeleton of her former self, curled into fists and pounded my chest before she gave into heaving, body wracking sobs and let her arms dangle limply at her sides.
It was a long while before she spoke. Her words were weak, and she sounded defeated, like she was the one that had lost the war. "Sei.. fer." Her voice trailed off before continuing. "Why?"
Why what? Why did I leave her? Why did I delude myself into thinking I could really fulfil some foolish childhood fantasy? Why did I hurt her so? Why.. did I kill him? I'd like to know why as well. I suppose saying sorry at this point is about as disrespectful to her as I could be so I let the moment hang suspended in silence, before I decided on what to say to her.
"I want to change Quistis." I said, slowly, staring into the endless pools of blue, watching myself and hoping to catch a glimpse of her. "I have to change." I continued, after a while, letting her slowly digest what I had said. Then again, that could have been for my own benefit more than for hers.
She trembled, and I held her close, but then I realised that this was the opposite of what she wanted when she pushed me away. She raised her left hand, and pushed the sleeve back, exposing an armband, composed of blood soaked bandages. Looking up at me, she started screaming again, instead, it was of words, and not of unintelligible anguish.
"After his death. When you ran away afterwards. I wanted to die. And you know what? I wish I could have died. I tried so hard to.. " but her loud words had ended, giving way once again to sobs.
She had turned to him the first time I had left, and he comforted her, provided the love and affection that she so desperately craved for. So what had I done? Killed him, and ran away, once again like a coward. I had treated her like a prize, and behaved like a spoilt child when she turned to him. She wouldn't have stayed even if I hadn't had left, but now she probably wanted me to feel her pain, to feel her hurt.
What could I offer her, the love that she needed before, and only now could I give? Relationships, and the potential for them have expiry dates, and this one was far beyond the best before. Seeing Hyperion, lying on the sand next to me, glinting in the dying rays of sunlight, motivated me. I picked it up, pointing it down for safety just as Quistis had taught Squall and myself the first time we had tried to use them.
I faced her again, and solemnly, turned the blade so that it pointed at my chest, and stabbed inwards, first to the left, but then I remembered biology class, and that the heart was more at the centre of the chest, as she had taught us, and dug the blade in further while changing directions.
This was the only thing left I could give her. Not an apology, but retribution. For the death of her heart, I offered her the death of my heart. My hands lost their strength and the gunblade fell into the sand, forgotten for the moment.
The blood trickled down, mixing with the sand and the rain that was now falling faster and harder. As I looked up at her, stained crimson, wet with tears, screaming, pulling at my shirt, I was finally content with the world and most of all, myself. Finally, I had made the right choice. As life slowly ebbed away from me on that beach, sometime that day between the calm and the storm, I was smiling.
--
AN; at first, I was serious about writing a drawn out romance between everyone's favourite couple.. but with the dark mind I have, it just descended into angst. Understandingly, I will take all the flames that this will generate like it is.. so bring it on ! ;)