My Father's Grave
By MaiaOLilta
Disclaimer- I do not own Gundam Wing. These characters belong to the creators of the show, I'm just using them, and I promise I won't hurt 'em.
I stare at the markings upon the stone in front of me. I have seen the name so many times before; in fact I would often stare at it trying to picture the man it belonged to. I wondered what he looked like. Do I have his hair, his smile, his eyes? Was he tall ? Was he short? Did he even know I existed? Would he have cared? I thought I was carrying on his legacy. How mistaken I was. And now I sit, hollow and empty. Everything is different now. It has been since I woke up in that hospital. I wasn't supposed to wake up there. I should have been dead. I wanted to be dead.
This isn't the first time that something like that happened. I was never supposed to open my eyes at all. The doctors all thought I was dead before I was born. But I showed them all. I taught them a lesson that day, never underestimate my will. I taught the world that same lesson only seven years later. Now I know it was not my will, I was merely a disposable tool of the ones who called themselves my family. I keep saying that my father would never do that to me. Yet there is the darkest corner of my mind that doubts it.
I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and catch the scent of rose shampoo.
She is leaning close to me, whispering if I was alright. I answer yes.
For I am alright, as alright as one could be in such an instance. I
could stay here all day, looking at that name as if it could tell me
something I didn't already know about the man who called himself by
it.
She is ready to go, and I don't argue. It is hard for her to come
here, I know that. She truly loved my father. As I am wheeled away I
can feel the breeze tousling my hair affectionately and the warm kiss
of the sun upon my face. I look back and catch one last sight of my
father's grave.
Disclaimer- I do not own Gundam Wing. These characters belong to the creators of the show, I'm just using them, and I promise I won't hurt 'em.
I stare at the markings upon the stone in front of me. I have seen the name so many times before; in fact I would often stare at it trying to picture the man it belonged to. I wondered what he looked like. Do I have his hair, his smile, his eyes? Was he tall ? Was he short? Did he even know I existed? Would he have cared? I thought I was carrying on his legacy. How mistaken I was. And now I sit, hollow and empty. Everything is different now. It has been since I woke up in that hospital. I wasn't supposed to wake up there. I should have been dead. I wanted to be dead.
This isn't the first time that something like that happened. I was never supposed to open my eyes at all. The doctors all thought I was dead before I was born. But I showed them all. I taught them a lesson that day, never underestimate my will. I taught the world that same lesson only seven years later. Now I know it was not my will, I was merely a disposable tool of the ones who called themselves my family. I keep saying that my father would never do that to me. Yet there is the darkest corner of my mind that doubts it.
I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and catch the scent of rose shampoo.
She is leaning close to me, whispering if I was alright. I answer yes.
For I am alright, as alright as one could be in such an instance. I
could stay here all day, looking at that name as if it could tell me
something I didn't already know about the man who called himself by
it.
She is ready to go, and I don't argue. It is hard for her to come
here, I know that. She truly loved my father. As I am wheeled away I
can feel the breeze tousling my hair affectionately and the warm kiss
of the sun upon my face. I look back and catch one last sight of my
father's grave.