Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei belongs to Matsushita Youko. I don't own it
and make no claim to.
My first fanfiction . . . isn't it pitiful? But I wanted to fix up some of the things I knew I messed up on when I first posted it - like spacing. Didn't really change anything to it though. I must preserve its 'first post' quality.
So on with the show!
Restless
By Lockeheart
********************
Hisoka leaned his forehead against the glass of his bedroom window, his breath misting the surface ever so slightly as he sighed. It was nighttime in Meifu, and everyone was in bed everyone except Hisoka that is. He stood there at the window a moment more, looking out at the stars and the full moon in the night sky. It was pale, almost silver, and it cast an eerie pale glow upon the landscape, and upon Hisoka himself.
He pressed his hand against the window, and pushed himself away to stand upright at the window. It had been the full moon that had started his insomnia, large and pale in the dark sky. His only consolation was that there was no sickly red glow upon the celestial body. Nights like these, despite their beauty, were the nights that the nightmares came. Hisoka shivered and wrapped his thin arms around himself, his eyes still upon the pale moon in the velvet sky.
He had worn his pyjamas in hopes that perhaps he could trick his mind and body into sleep. It was a childish gesture, but one he continued in pursuing despite the fact that he knew that it would not work. Alone, here in his empty house, there was nothing to distract him from his demons.
Here, in the dead of night, his memories would surface, and they went far beyond just the red moon and cherry blossoms of that horrible night so long ago. Memories of his childhood, the bittersweet ones before his empathy had emerged - those ones hurt almost more than all the other memories. Those reminded him that at one point in his life, albeit a small span, he had been cherished; he had been loved.
He had adapted and he had found a way to survive in those hellish years of his childhood. He shut himself away from everyone and everything, his only peace in the solitude of his own mind. He wandered alone in the dead of night, when there was no one to hurt him, no one to call him a monster. But on that fateful night, he himself had been seen by an even greater monster, and that man had destroyed what little there was left of the child Hisoka.
In some twisted, warped sense he supposed in a way he had to thank Muraki for ending his life, but what had been done to him, that was inexcusable. No one, not even a "monster" such as Hisoka deserved what Muraki had done to him. Stripping him of everything, Muraki had claimed him as "his" doll, possessing him in more ways than one. He had marred Hisoka's body with curse runes, he had destroyed what little innocence the youth had possessed, and had cast him into a three-year long nightmare.
Hisoka curled up into a small ball upon his bedroom floor, his arms tight around his knees as he remembered. When his demons came, they came in spades, and tonight was to be no different from the many other sleepless nights before. The three years where he lay in the hospital, stretched out between life and death, were just flurries of emotion to him. The fact that his father had even paid to have him in the hospital surprised Hisoka, but perhaps by keeping him there, they would not have to hide a monster in their house. Whatever his family had felt toward him after that night, he would never know, because they never came to see him. They had remained as indifferent to him in his pained last years as they had during his isolated short life.
The pain . . . the pain had been the worst. Eating away at his mind and soul he lay trapped in that misery. Muraki had wanted a "special" death for him, and it was if nothing unique. Death had come as a blessing to the pale, green-eyed youth, ending his tortured existence and oddly enough, giving him a fresh start at 'life' so to speak.
His empathy had made things so much harder, especially when everything he heard and felt was negative in nature. Before Muraki, and after him, it was the same influx of negative emotions. Reaching out to others brought pain, expecting anything besides fear and disgust was a fantasy. When he had finally died and become a shinigami, the emotions he had felt from everyone were strange, and confusing. No one shunned him because he was a monster -- people here seemed to care for him. This influx of emotion was almost as bad as all the negative ones; at least with the negative ones Hisoka knew how to react to protect himself. But here, his usual reactions just caused him to be a moody, angsty youth. And despite his attitude, they still cared for him . . . "he" still cared about him.
Tsuzuki. There was a man that bewildered Hisoka. Tsuzuki thrived on positive emotions, and was loved by everyone in the division. His own past was perhaps almost as dark as Hisoka's, but still the man found it in him to smile, and to try to make others smile. No matter how much Hisoka pushed at him and berated him, he would still come back. He was the only one that had broken through Hisoka's carefully built walls, and remained. It scared Hisoka a little, knowing how close Tsuzuki had gotten, and just how much damage the violet-eyed man could do if he wished to. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let Tsuzuki so close, but Hisoka knew that he could not push Tsuzuki away, even if his life depended on it. He himself depended upon Tsuzuki . . . and where that left Hisoka, he wasn't sure.
Hisoka could feel the tears escape his eyes, and he did nothing to wipe them away. Here, alone, there was no need to hide what he felt. Here, he could rage at the injustices of his life, and cry for what he had lost. Here, he could mourn for broken dreams. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow he would pull the mask back up. Tomorrow he would once again be a shinigami. Dedicated to his work and irritated at his childlike partner. Tomorrow there would be a new case to solve, and another soul to guide. Tonight though, in the pale glow of a full moon, Hisoka cradled only his broken soul, and wept for its shattered remains.
********************
Author's Note:
Same as the above comments. Just wanted to 'fix' this one up a little. I wonder if everyone looks at their first posting and just shakes their head? Who knows.
My first fanfiction . . . isn't it pitiful? But I wanted to fix up some of the things I knew I messed up on when I first posted it - like spacing. Didn't really change anything to it though. I must preserve its 'first post' quality.
So on with the show!
Restless
By Lockeheart
********************
Hisoka leaned his forehead against the glass of his bedroom window, his breath misting the surface ever so slightly as he sighed. It was nighttime in Meifu, and everyone was in bed everyone except Hisoka that is. He stood there at the window a moment more, looking out at the stars and the full moon in the night sky. It was pale, almost silver, and it cast an eerie pale glow upon the landscape, and upon Hisoka himself.
He pressed his hand against the window, and pushed himself away to stand upright at the window. It had been the full moon that had started his insomnia, large and pale in the dark sky. His only consolation was that there was no sickly red glow upon the celestial body. Nights like these, despite their beauty, were the nights that the nightmares came. Hisoka shivered and wrapped his thin arms around himself, his eyes still upon the pale moon in the velvet sky.
He had worn his pyjamas in hopes that perhaps he could trick his mind and body into sleep. It was a childish gesture, but one he continued in pursuing despite the fact that he knew that it would not work. Alone, here in his empty house, there was nothing to distract him from his demons.
Here, in the dead of night, his memories would surface, and they went far beyond just the red moon and cherry blossoms of that horrible night so long ago. Memories of his childhood, the bittersweet ones before his empathy had emerged - those ones hurt almost more than all the other memories. Those reminded him that at one point in his life, albeit a small span, he had been cherished; he had been loved.
He had adapted and he had found a way to survive in those hellish years of his childhood. He shut himself away from everyone and everything, his only peace in the solitude of his own mind. He wandered alone in the dead of night, when there was no one to hurt him, no one to call him a monster. But on that fateful night, he himself had been seen by an even greater monster, and that man had destroyed what little there was left of the child Hisoka.
In some twisted, warped sense he supposed in a way he had to thank Muraki for ending his life, but what had been done to him, that was inexcusable. No one, not even a "monster" such as Hisoka deserved what Muraki had done to him. Stripping him of everything, Muraki had claimed him as "his" doll, possessing him in more ways than one. He had marred Hisoka's body with curse runes, he had destroyed what little innocence the youth had possessed, and had cast him into a three-year long nightmare.
Hisoka curled up into a small ball upon his bedroom floor, his arms tight around his knees as he remembered. When his demons came, they came in spades, and tonight was to be no different from the many other sleepless nights before. The three years where he lay in the hospital, stretched out between life and death, were just flurries of emotion to him. The fact that his father had even paid to have him in the hospital surprised Hisoka, but perhaps by keeping him there, they would not have to hide a monster in their house. Whatever his family had felt toward him after that night, he would never know, because they never came to see him. They had remained as indifferent to him in his pained last years as they had during his isolated short life.
The pain . . . the pain had been the worst. Eating away at his mind and soul he lay trapped in that misery. Muraki had wanted a "special" death for him, and it was if nothing unique. Death had come as a blessing to the pale, green-eyed youth, ending his tortured existence and oddly enough, giving him a fresh start at 'life' so to speak.
His empathy had made things so much harder, especially when everything he heard and felt was negative in nature. Before Muraki, and after him, it was the same influx of negative emotions. Reaching out to others brought pain, expecting anything besides fear and disgust was a fantasy. When he had finally died and become a shinigami, the emotions he had felt from everyone were strange, and confusing. No one shunned him because he was a monster -- people here seemed to care for him. This influx of emotion was almost as bad as all the negative ones; at least with the negative ones Hisoka knew how to react to protect himself. But here, his usual reactions just caused him to be a moody, angsty youth. And despite his attitude, they still cared for him . . . "he" still cared about him.
Tsuzuki. There was a man that bewildered Hisoka. Tsuzuki thrived on positive emotions, and was loved by everyone in the division. His own past was perhaps almost as dark as Hisoka's, but still the man found it in him to smile, and to try to make others smile. No matter how much Hisoka pushed at him and berated him, he would still come back. He was the only one that had broken through Hisoka's carefully built walls, and remained. It scared Hisoka a little, knowing how close Tsuzuki had gotten, and just how much damage the violet-eyed man could do if he wished to. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let Tsuzuki so close, but Hisoka knew that he could not push Tsuzuki away, even if his life depended on it. He himself depended upon Tsuzuki . . . and where that left Hisoka, he wasn't sure.
Hisoka could feel the tears escape his eyes, and he did nothing to wipe them away. Here, alone, there was no need to hide what he felt. Here, he could rage at the injustices of his life, and cry for what he had lost. Here, he could mourn for broken dreams. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow he would pull the mask back up. Tomorrow he would once again be a shinigami. Dedicated to his work and irritated at his childlike partner. Tomorrow there would be a new case to solve, and another soul to guide. Tonight though, in the pale glow of a full moon, Hisoka cradled only his broken soul, and wept for its shattered remains.
********************
Author's Note:
Same as the above comments. Just wanted to 'fix' this one up a little. I wonder if everyone looks at their first posting and just shakes their head? Who knows.