Origonally Published 7.23.2005
ORIGONAL AUTHOR'S NOTE:
ok, kids. i've been suffering a bout of writer's block. its not really gone, but somewhere in there i got this written out. believe it or not, it started out being rufus' interlude, not vincent's, but it took the right at alberque and turned into something completly different. enh. what can ya do?
enjoy and review!
eerian
Somewhere close by, water is dripping into a puddle. It wasn't there when I was first put into this place, and I want to be annoyed by it. But I can't manage to find the emotion for it.
I can't find the emotion for much of anything, in fact. Too much is drowned out by the pain.
And the guilt. The terrible, crushing knowledge that I have utterly, completely failed at the only thing I every wanted in my entire existence.
I failed her. And her son. I tried to stop the madman, but I failed miserably.
And all our lives were the price.
Until I met Hojo, I could never have imagined true evil. The Turks are brutally, coldly deadly, and yet we only follow orders. Some of our evil is absolved in that.
But Hojo, who is motivated only by science and his precious JENOVA project, is true evil. Only such a person could experiment on his wife and unborn child merely to see the effect that the JENOVA cells would have on them.
Professor Gast would never have agreed to such madness. But Gast is not here. He left days—weeks?—ago, searching for someone on the northern continent.
And he most certainly would not have let Hojo do what he's done to me. Whatever that is.
I remember very little of what happened after the devil shot me. There was pain—a universe of it. Though not from the gunshot wound. It was a new sort of pain—something I was completely unfamiliar with. It blotted out what came to pass.
I cannot feel my left hand anymore. I know something is there, however. I hear it rasping—a dry metal on metal sound—when I command the fingers of that hand to move. I cannot bring myself to look and find what it is, however. I cannot bring myself to see how evil has deformed me.
I also hear things I should not be able to. The bats in the hallway do not make enough noise to penetrate stone walls and casket lining, and yet I hear them. And I hear Hojo in the library talking to the baby, telling him clinically how he will contribute to evil's research. It makes me wish to be ill. If I hear more, perhaps I will be.
And perhaps I shall try to sleep—to escape my guilt for awhile. Though the drip will doubtlessly keep me awake.
