Dark.
It was all that is, all that was, all that ever would be. It encompassed him, compressing his body, until he fell (but he was always falling) to the ground (but there was no up or down) and panted and coughed and spluttered, trying to expel the blackness from his body.
A slash. A body hitting the floor. Blood trickling across the flagstones. A plaintive cry.
"Sora!"
He tried to remember before the black, attempting to picture light and trees and sand and sea. But every picture was the same; the ever present, never-ending blackness.
"Where am I? Why can't I see?" The boy extends a hand. The hand stays empty, gripping at empty air. "The Keyblade!"
He extends his hand, just to make sure. Nothing, no mythical weapon, appearing in a flash of light to banish the darkness. He'd expected as much.
"I've got to get out of here. I've got to help them!" He stumbles forward blindly, hands stretched out in front as though waiting to hit a wall. He runs, and runs, alone in the blackness.
The dark has invaded his head today. It squeezes and squeezes around his brain, until his head is ready to explode and he has sunk to his knees. But not a single cry escapes his lips.
The first time, the darkness is sneaky, creeping at him while he's running. It snakes in through his nostrils, into his lungs. His chest is on fire, and it hurts, and he can't breathe. He stops and gags and claws at his chest, screaming and screaming. There is nothing but the pain, and the sound of his cries ringing in his ears, and the sound of his screams –tortured, scared, and oh so alone – hurt him almost as much as the pain in his chest. Soon (or was it in forever?) the screams and the dark and the pain die away, and he gets up. Runs on. And next time, he remembers not to scream.
After the blackness passes, he doesn't rise from his knees. Why should he, there's nowhere to go. The abyss is inescapable. Darkness is inescapable. He's trapped in the dark abyss of death. Then there's a hand on his shoulder.
He's been running for hours (days, weeks, months, years, eternities) and hasn't gotten anywhere. His resolve is burning still, burning bright, but his steps begin to slow. Slower and slower, until he's standing completely still (or perhaps he's moving. In the blackness, it's impossible to tell). He wants to move, to run, to escape, but he cannot. He is tethered to his fate, caged in the endless abyss. And then, the plaintive cry.
"Sora!"
He looks up, and sees her face. Her hair is matted with blood, her clothes are ragged and dirty, her face gaunt, haggard, and expressionless. But she takes his hand, pulling him up. A haunted smile breaks across his face.
The darkness wasn't so bad if you just had someone to share it with.
AN: (Stares at fic) I… honestly have no idea where that came from. Seriously, it just kinda… spilled out onto the page. I don't even know what it's supposed to mean! Oh well, you figure it out for yourselves. Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review!
