Promise – to offer a basis for expecting
Cold.
Why the fuck is it always so cold? This weightlessness, this overwhelming weightlessness that surrounds me… it's suffocating.
It's cold.
Always fucking cold.
Being pulled under, engulfed and powerless to breathe; it's the worst. Useless limbs rip and tear to find the surface, but it's too quick. It's over too quickly. It's all over, and you're stuck at the bottom, drowning, drowning. Your lungs scream for that sweet fulfillment, that which keeps the heart pumping, the brain conscious. Almost there. I promise, you're almost there.
But everything is dark. And that light you've been aiming for is too far to reach; you've no more strength left in you. You're not strong enough to make it. No, you won't make it.
This cold… it will swallow you. It will make you tremble and quake and wish you could breathe so that you could wish you were already dead.
You feel the devil's chilling breath upon your neck, your shoulders, fuck your whole body! You're immersed without an escape. He feels a sinister delight as you are brought to your end.
This isn't the first, not even the second time. You've felt this before. You've felt yourself dying before. It's nothing new. But you still hate the cold. It nips at your skin and you long for the bright sun, the watery blur in front of your eyes as he lingers above the surface of your prison. He watches from a safe distance. He may be enjoying it.
Perhaps he is not as warm as he seems.
And this cold is just waiting, waiting, and the cruel sun is waiting too.
Your ears pop as the gravity of the situation sends you to the bottom of the ocean. You suppose dying isn't so hard when you can't feel it.
But something of a memory flashes before your eyes as you begin to surrender to death.
They're not the only ones waiting for you, you realize. There's two others, besides the menacing cold that wants to drag you down with all of your sins, the fucking sun that never gave you a break in your life; the harsh rays that have beaten you down, that still do.
She'll be waiting for you. He will be too. You just wait and see. Maybe we don't have to accept this fate. Maybe fate didn't want this for us. Maybe she is kinder than most believe. And maybe... I will no longer hold the same burdens I have carried…
So you start to thrash at the water surrounding you. You're not ready to give up yet. You're fighting all the way to the surface; fighting's the only thing you could ever do. You'll make it.
I swear you'll make it.
A/N: Guess who it's about! It was a random idea that came to mind while I was complaining about how freakin cold it was in my house! I hate the cold! I remember while I was playing piano I thought about how cold it must have been for Mugen. Sure, the blast from the explosion must have been hot as hell, but afterwards, when he was drowning, it must have been freezing. And I don't think I conveyed it properly (if at all), but I wanted to suggest that maybe hell isn't hot... but rather freezing cold! And this incident could have been a transformation for him.
Either way, I hope you liked it! I haven't been around to add more chapters to my other stories and am instead stacking up more projects that I may not be capable of completing! Sorry!
Oh... I realized after reading through that the character switches between I, you, and we ... But I like it that way and feel that it sort of adds something. Almost like he's trying to convince himself.