This is the first story I ever wrote down for FanFiction, I'm happy I did, though.
I had the idea during music class, as we sang this song about death. I'd like to make a longer story, using this idea. If you want to read more of it, please review. If you didn't like it, review, too. (But only constructive reviews, please)
If you notice grammatical mistakes in my story, please tell me, I hate not knowing when I was wrong.
I translated the song I used; the English version is under the text.
Oh, and by the way, I do NOT own -man. Have fun reading!
Nightmare/Memory
„Es ist ein Schnitter, heißt der Tod, hat Gwalt vom großen Gott."
Golden hair like fine spider webs gently floating in the soft breeze.
"Heut wetzt er das Messer, es schneid schon viel besser."
A short flash as she raises her scythe against a baby-blue sky.
"Bald wird er dreinschneiden, wir müssens nur leiden."
A splattering sound, as she brings it down into the remains of a once living body.
" Hüt dich, schöns Blümelein. "
His face is pale, a sharp contrast to his dark hair.
" Was heut noch grün und frisch dasteht, wird morgen schon weggemäht."
He is standing not far away from her, watching.
" Die edle Narzissel, die himmlischen Schlüssel, die schön Hyazinthen, die türkischen binden."
She looks towards him, smiling, covered in blood.
" Hüt dich, schöns Blümelein"
He knows some of the faces. He knows what they did. He smiles, although he knows it's wrong, as the scythe cuts their bodies open.
It's wonderful.
" Viel hunderttausend ungezählt, was unter die Sichel hinfällt. Rot Rosen, weiß Liljen, beid wird er austilgen. Ihr Kaiserkronen, man wird euch nicht schonen."
She sings as she obliterates them. Her voice is being accompanied only by the screams of those that feel the cold steel pierce their bodies.
It's beautiful music.
"Hüt dich, schöns Blümelein."
Like aghost, like a feary maby, she dances amidst the dieing.
Beautiful dance.
" Trutz Tod, komm her, ich fürcht dich nicht!"
The grass to his feet is soaked in red . She is soaked in red. The bodies are soaked in red. Even he himself is red from the blood. If he got covered while she danced, or if he did it himself, he does't know.
It's a beautiful colour.
" Komm her und tu deinen Schnitt!"
He moves his bloody fingers in front of his face to examin them. The red fluid made them sticky. It's still warm. Why had he never done that before? Being covered in blood felt so good.
It was such a wonderful feeling.
" Wenn er mich verletzet, so werd ich versetzet, in himmlischen Garten, darauf will ich warten."
So warm. So wonderfully warm on his fingers. Warm on his tongue as he tries the taste.
That wonderful, new, familiar taste.
" Freu dich schöns Blümelein."
Kanda wakes up , covered in sweat. Yeah, sweat, not blood. That was just a nightmare. That stupid nightmare he always gets during hot summer nights, when the sweat makes his body feel sticky. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, trying to make himself belive that it was just a dream and not a memory.
Now, as promised, here the song in English:
There is a cutter called death, has power from the great god.
Today he whets his knife; it already cuts much better,
Soon he will cut in; we only have to suffer from it.
Beware, pretty little flower.
What is still green and fresh today will be cut down tomorrow:
The noble narcissus, the divine keys (literally translated, it means " keyflower" german for cowslip.)
The pretty hyacinth, the Turkish bandage (don't ask me what that means):
Beware, pretty little flower!
Many hundred thousands uncounted, which fall under the sickle:
Red roses, white lilies, he will extinguish both:
You emperor crowns, he won't spare you:
Beware, pretty little flower.
Trutz(I don't know how to translate this, it could be understood with "defiance")
Death! Come here, I'm not scared of you!
Trutz, come and make a cut!
As soon as he hurts me, I will be moved
Into the divine garden, I will wait for that:
Cheer, pretty little flower!