A/N: Ah, my first Kamichama fanfiction was met with such great enthusiasm. Le sarcasm speaking, of course.
I'm getting all deep and crap when I write now. If your brain cells can't handle it, then feel free to stop reading. I don't ask for reviews. I just ask for you to honestly think about it. (:
Implications of many things, which is quite possibly the most specific thing I say in this story.
The Sweet Silence Kills Me
i cannot live with it, i cannot live without it
There's a record playing faintly, but it's not really there. Just a memory of a memory of music, tinny and static-ridden, quiet and time-worn.
There's a boy. His eyes are both a dark violet, excited and happy, a frightening parody of the past.
(The picture is flickering horribly. His heart pounds, eyes fluttering…he cannot live this again.
No, he must.
But he can't.
Must. Can't. Hate. Love. Yes. No…)
The boy is speaking, but nobody can hear him. His mother seems to understand and nods, her reply equally silent. Their mouths move. No sound.
The record plays dimly, volume increasing…but still so quietly, crackling and unstable.
Another scene now, a rainy day, and the boy still looks happy. Traces of words now: "rain can't…" "Mother, let's…" "No, I want…"
Mother and Father drive him in the rain. There's a crash, an explosion, fire, blinding light and death.
His eyes are no longer both dark violet. One is now bright blue.
(Not mine, not mine. I can't…not this. Professor. Mother. Father. God.)
The priest says God will make it better.
The boy coughs meekly and the priest leaves.
What's God, Mother?
He made everybody.
Why?
Because… because… go wash your hands for dinner.
Why? (But he still goes to wash his hands.)
Less crackling now. Less static. Music louder, more familiar, more eerie.
He becomes a god.
Power, exhilarating power. Energy coursing, a feeling of wooziness and clarity twisted in a horrible way, but so wonderfully thrilling. There is no pain, there is no static.
(Why?)
The record is loud now, he can recognize the tune. What is it, what is it…yes, that's right, it's something from the Phantom of the Opera. Mother loved that musical… Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, he recalls, he has read it.
past the point of no return. no use resisting…
The record skips; the lyrics repeat again. Again. Again.
He can't stand it, not at all…but he can't turn it off. He hates it, hates it, but needs it.
Finally the record skips forward.
He's not a god anymore.
No more power. No more buzz.
He's trapped; it's raining; the music so loud now; what's god why god will make it better why?
A scream; he can't tell if it's him or the horrifying picture, each moment bringing it closer to clarity.
The record skips again, trapped in the same few minutes over and over again.
He can't turn it off.
He wakes up.
"Micchi…you 'kay?" mumbles his sleepy lover.
Distracted, he replies, "Fine," and scrabbles around for his headphones. He slides them on, pressing play on his iPod and waiting for the music to reassure him.
where you are the dreamer, and we are the dreams
i can write it better than you ever felt it
He pauses and takes them off.
You have no idea.
It's raining.
He's driving.
A crash, an explosion, fire, blinding light and death—and it's over. But not for him, no, death eludes him.
In the end, life wins.
In the end, he loses.
Ending Notes: I feel…philosophical. -Frowns-
I think…I'll go see the doctor sometime.
Also, don't get me wrong here. My favorite character is Michiru, but that of course merely means that I get to exploit his various plot holes and the whole shebang. And hey, if nobody in the series ends up wanting his children, I'll gladly break my Thank You For Not Breeding vow for him. (;
Note I do not mention who his significant other is. I leave it to your rampant imaginations.
I plan on writing a more Kazune centered story sometime…and then maybe a Himeka one. But not soon, I am going on vacation this week. Class trip to Washington D.C.