I do not own Soul Calibur.
I wrung my sweaty palms together between my legs which were rigid against the cold floor in front of me. I could see red at the very edges of my vision, further proving my fatigue to me, as if my tired muscles and heavy eyelids weren't enough. It all felt so wrong, that place. The seats were too hard. How was I meant to relax? The walls felt like they were closing in on me, made me want to run, to get out of this prison.
The stench of the place stung my nostrils, like acid creeping into my lungs. Everything bathed in disinfectant, auras pulsing out their scent. It was too clean, too organized, as if they were trying to hide something from everybody. They were. Behind the crystal clean white and the pearly smiles, there were the cells. Blood was spilling and people were dying, living their last moments surrounded by others in a pool of depression. The disinfectant was to hide the bitter perfume of death.
They took such care to keep their true appearance hidden, but they didn't bother to silence the ghostly echoes of sorrow which lingered in the corridors. The near silent weeping of families, friends and lovers of past, present and future sung to me, they slithered across my brain to tell me of their losses, every one of them crying out to me, but I ignored them for I cared not. The last whispers of death that crawled across the walls, wanting to be heard, and I feared them. I feared hearing her final words.
Over all of this, louder than the constant attacks of noise, more putrid than the death, clearer than the lies their minions spewed, was the beating of my heart, the cracks coursing through my soul, and the splitting seams of my mind. She was the one who made me keep holding on, who held me together. Since the first time we met, I knew I had something to fight for. My family treated me like scum, but she told me I deserved better. And I did get better; I got her.
So I sat there, feeling panicked and tired. I had already been waiting for too long before I heard the subtle click of her doctor's shoes against the floor. It was the sound I had been hoping for but also dreading. It was the moment when I would find out her fate. The doctor cleared his throat and I looked up, my eyes were bloodshot with dark rings beneath my eyes. He had that look in his eyes and I knew it was bad news. "I'm sorry." He said. "You can come and see her, if you want to."
I don't remember much after that. Only one image remains in my mine. Her face, pale and lifeless, cheeks gaunt and lips dry. She fought so hard, she helped people, she cared. She had a kind soul. She didn't deserve this, to die in this hell of lies and bloodshed. Why did it happen? I did bad things, I hurt people, and she fixed me, but she was the one who was punished. How does that make sense? How is that fair?
The next thing I remember was sitting on the cool stone steps outside of the hospital, crying dry tears because I had none left. I could almost feel them bleeding, but I couldn't stop, I didn't want to stop, I wanted to be in pain. Anything to distract me from losing her, to stop me from tearing myself apart. I felt a finger poke my shoulder, cold as a winter gale. I twisted my head around to see her.
She was as white as a china doll, with staring crimson eyes which told of bloodlust. She was wearing an outfit like what goths would wear, a pretty dress and big chunky boots. A small smirk was etched onto her lips and she held her hand out to me. She was not good for me, and she was not human, but something behind those eyes told me that she could grant me peace. I took her hand and she taught me how to deal with the pain. I let my mind unravel, and found that the others could deal with my pain.
I am my memories, but I am not my misery.
Yes, I know it was vague, but you did just read a story about Tira and Talim. I wrote it a while ago, but here is basically what happens: Talim dies, Tira's sad, then Amy Sorel gets Tira's mind to fragments. I know, I'm a genius, thank you.
Reviews will be appreciated. Even if they just tell me that I suck.