Summery: weirdness

XxxX

There was pain, of that much Sanji was sure. Always pain, creeping up under the skin and curling its way into the soul. Unless the kind soldier was there, then the pain felt more like sadness. That was a different kind of hurt. It is not to say that these were the only two emotions that were ever felt—there were others that mixed in—but these were the strongest.

This place Sanji existed in was very confusing and nothing ever made much sense. But maybe that was the point. If the things were agony when they didn't make sense, just imagine if they did. It might be too much to take. Sometimes things just got to be too much, after all. Maybe it was just the brain's way of coping with trauma. There must be a lot of trauma if this place was the result. All the same, not knowing what was going on was a hideously scary existence. The mind was constantly reeling, trying to fit the pieces into some sort of semblance of order, to organize the events that bled together as the rain fell. The rain fell often and heavily, but it never made the grass grow.

Things would always happen again and again and despite having already gone through them multiples of times, Sanji would react in exactly the same way. There was very little in the way of control. Sanji was probably most out of control when the water came.

Sanji lived to repeat many things that had already happened and the events never seemed to have lost their initial emotion with time, if time even existed at all in a place like this. There was no way to determine the passage of time in any case. Sometimes it was daytime and in the blink of an eye it was night. Time seemed to skip around very often, just like the way that the environment shifted without any sort of reasoning. Despite how familiar it became, it was still very disorienting.

This place where Sanji existed was mostly made of rubble, that's where Sanji spent the most time; in deviation, everything was destroyed. To what end the destruction was in done, it was hard to say. Remembering things was difficult. Sometimes things were known, often they were not. Existing in the rubble was sad and it was stressful, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world. There were worse times out there that made this pale in comparison.

The only solid structures were the walls to keep this place sealed in, so that nothing could escape and infect the rest of the unknown with its blackness. Inside was crumbled. Flowers and pups and old shoes were always stumbling through the rubble. None of them ever had the time for Sanji. They had better things to do than stop by for a chat, they had to survive after all. Sanji understood their lack of attention and didn't try to talk with them much. Their gazes only ever held animosity. Sanji was not well liked, it was trained distaste. Societal. But that was fair enough, Sanji wasn't so happy with the creature in the murky reflective pools either, it went against years and years of reinforced thought but that's how things were now. Ugly times make for ugly people.

Sanji would sometimes go looking for someone in the rubble, look for toy soldiers with warn down paint—familiar faces—but none of any importance were ever seen. Sanji would pick up scraps of paper in hopes of seeing the names. Sometimes there were familiar names, but none too important. Still, it was marginally sad to see them.

Sometimes Sanji would be stopped by the soldiers with their lazy smiles. They didn't appreciate all the frowns Sanji had for them, they wanted smiles. Sanji resented them for it, but could understand their desire. After so long out in the storm Sanji would want to see smiles on pretty faces too.

Sanji had always been considered aesthetically pleasing, it was a gift of genetics. The eyebrows where asymmetrical, but that didn't take much away from the pretty face that bore them. Perfect porcelain, corn silk hair, and crystal blue eyes, tall and thin. The other flowers had been jealous, but Sanji didn't care much for that sort of thing. There were much more interesting things to think about than physical appeal. The blond had always kept open ears and a closed mouth as the flowers discussed the how horrible all those weeds were while listening to all the stomping about. It all have Sanji a terrible, pounding headache.

The soldiers liked the empty smiles and would hand over food, then there would be an aching feeling inside, it would be pain if it wasn't so dulled by the creeping numbness. It was distressing, but after the water, this was nothing. It still didn't feel good to receive the food unless it was from the kind soldier with the green hair, when he gave away food Sanji only felt at worst the sadness and at best gratitude. Sanji never ate the food—always one to carry an empty stomach—the food was alway set out for the wolves so that the pups could get big and strong. It was food they always gave, it was all Sanji would take. The paper was useless; it did nothing. Things could get other things, paper was nothing and there was so much paper. With food the pain wasn't so bad after seeing the puppies eat, it just became part of life. Sanji just kept moving forward, looking back was detrimental, but in this place it was difficult to say which way was forward and which way was back, so sometimes Sanji would accidentally look back.

The worst thing to look back to was when Sanji was back in the rats' nest with all the flowers. When the zhaleikas were playing long sad songs into the empty air. It was a warning, the water was coming, a terrible thing. Everyone knew it. There was tension in the air so thick Sanji was afraid that any movement might be enough to to break it. Dread was commonplace when they weren't choking on all the smoke in the air. It was already hard to breathe.

Then the water would start to rise, as they all knew it would. The first wave that came wasn't bad so, it had power but did little damage, only flowing up around the knees. The second wave was much worse, it was as horrible as they had been warned. It knocked Sanji about and choking away the oxygen. Swimming to the surface was impossible, fighting against the current was nearly impossible and the air above was poison. If one wanted to live, then one would have to wait for the water to subside and take the fullest of breaths while waiting for the next wave to come, and the next wave, and the next wave. On and on. It was sorely tempting to swim to the surface, to make it all stop, but Sanji wanted to live. Living was everything, without it there was nothing.

The water was boiling hot with tears. It was understandable, it was only right to be angry in such conditions, against such individuals, but drowning hurt and Sanji had whispered words to the voices at night. Sanji had never been friends with those who went stomping around, they lacked elegance. It hardly seemed fair to receive such rubbish treatment but that was how it went anyway. Water had little care for windy words and the rain only aided it.

When Sanji felt truly awful with all the heavy pain and stuck in a downpour, the way things were were now, the blond would go to the walls around this place and look for points of weakness. There were always spots that were crumbling away. It wasn't so hard to breach the wall. On the other side it felt nice, but it was seemingly impossible to break through completely. Every time Sanji broke through the brick, it was immediately sealed back up by the brick layer on the other side. It was incredibly frustrating, but even a little exposure to the outside world was enough to dull the pain a bit. Sanji often went to the wall and tore at it until the bricks were bloody and the soft hands were crying. It painted a sad picture that no one would hope to see. Anything to forget.

The water filled the mouth and lungs, the chest felt tight, every thing hurt. The fifth wave was always the worst, multiple waves built up on top of each other and made for the longest time under water. Sanji screamed and screamed, but kicks moved in slow motion under the water and no one stopped to help.

The tide never really recited away after that, it was ankle deep all around the city, sometimes it would well up again. Mostly that happened in Sanji's district.

The time after the waves was filled with hours of chocking up water, throat burning; gaging on the unwelcome liquid. Swimming had never been the same after that, there was always fear and unease in those dark waters. Swimming with the kind soldier there might be okay though. Sanji wished he had been there in the aftermath but he hadn't landed yet.

The ground was littered with wilting flowers before the waves but more so after, mostly they were pretty blue flowers with little yellow centers. They all looked sad, Sanji felt like a wilted flower sometime.

Sanji blinked and the buildings were whole again. The gardeners had been through on one of their parades. They came day after day through the strong proud city, picking out all the weeds. It unnerved Sanji every time they did it. The blond would turn away for only a moment and a whole patch of weeds would be gone. They went around stamping their feet too much, they made a terrible racket. Sanji didn't trust them, it was better to listen in on what they were saying than to accept their words.

Sanji liked to save the weeds when it was possible, digging them up and planting them somewhere else. That was dangerous business, but sometimes the voices arranged it, anything to bring things back to the way they should be.

When Sanji was sleeping back the, there would be voices that whispered softly sounds like French silk. The language was understood well enough to be spoken fluently, Sanji would tell the voices about how the day had gone and the voices would listen intently, only to disappear by morning and reappear the next night. This only ever happened leading up to the waves, never after. Sanji felt betrayed by the voices for not helping while they had a chance. It was chaos leading up to that, there was no way the voices could be heard over all the racket. Sanji knew this, but it still hurt.

The kitchen smelled warm and sweet, disaster was baking in the oven as everyone was called away. Not everyone, just everyone who could swing a stick at the toy soldiers. None of the pups or the old shoes could go, but Sanji knew mostly stick swingers and they were led away by the gardeners. The feeling wasn't sad so much as it was resigned. Sanji, not being one of them, was forced to stay behind to keep baking, but made sure to protest the action until the one with the long hat had a talk with the voices. It still felt lacking, but it was the best option. The man with the tall hat was dragged off with all the others to fight in their big storm not long after that. He wasn't happy about it.

Disaster was slow to rise at first, but in the cold winter air years later it started its ascent. Sanji never got to bring it out of the oven because all the houses shook to bits, including the one with the kitchen. From then on it was sleeping in a rats' nest with the other flowers as the water crept forward to drown them.

The rats' nest was not a fun place to be. Too many faces and not enough air. The ground felt like it would collapse onto them and the air outside whistled in threatening tones. It was constricting and Sanji wasn't meant for a place like this. Everyone here was weak and lifeless, Sanji needed the fire that had been with the men in the kitchens.

The gardeners took pride in their little garden. They didn't care much for what the flowers had to say, flowers should never speak, after all an outspoken flower was a very rude flower. But still everyone loved the way they looked. A beautiful sight, swaying in the breeze. They had the flowers sing songs for them, but the songs made Sanji's tongue twist and throat ache. The other flowers sang well enough and Sanji had to pretend for the sake of looks. Sanji was glad when the gardeners were drown. The ones that were.

Sanji had been fighting with the little boys again, they were stupid and rather on the mindless side. Their malleable minds were too well suited to the forces at work. They didn't appreciate Sanji's rebellious nature, so violent confrontation was their response. And that suited Sanji well enough, Sanji was good at violence. The boys were saved by time when Sanji rushed back to the restaurant. Men came later to complain with low angry voices. The man with the tall hat brushed them away. Later, he told Sanji to be more careful with such actions. Too many it there would be problems. Teeth grinding, Sanji accepted three words.

Sanji's stomach ached constantly, it was a dull resonating pain, sometimes there would be blood. They both knew it wasn't a good sign, Sanji and the kind soldier. The soldier would make the pain into sadness with a simple touch and Sanji would drift to sleep against him. It was so cold and he was very warm. Sanji knew the hurt was because of the water, salt had crept in and rubbed the insides raw with a red touch. Trauma pushed it over the edge.

The first time Sanji had seen the kind soldier, he had been standing with all the other toys. Sanji had approached him, intending to ask for food but was surprised when just handed it over without takin ting anything in return. The gratitude was immense and he was gifted with a real smile, a very tired one.

Sanji always felt his eyes after that. His eyes made the pain worse when he wasn't there. They added shame.

He was different than the other soldiers in personality and his look was different, but he spoke with the same foreign accent. His hair was very striking, the color of soft grass. Grass didn't grow here anymore, it had all been killed off by the weed killers.

He spoke two languages, Sanji spoke three. They shared one in common and when they bumped into each other they would exchange words. He was worried, Sanji was numb. Sanji did not ease his worries, he words would be false. It was better to keep tightlipped about these sorts of things, talking about things made them real. Words pointed fingers and assigned blame, silence carried only unconfirmed suspicion.

Many of the wilted flowers died in that time, some did not. Sanji did not, despite the soldier's worries but there were many rainy days.

The gardeners were off attending a tea party, but the hosts thought they were rude. Some very important ones left early with permission. The birds wept. It made Sanji's blood boil.

Despair was swelling like a balloon in Sanji's gut. More was needed for food and it was so cold. The kind soldier made an arrangement, Sanji repainted the faces of the toy soldiers. Sanji was on some level grateful, but some of them were mutual acquaintances and laughter behind their hands or worse. It was best to ignore that, just carry on.

At the age of five and one, Sanji was a heavy weight and so was tossed out with the many other kids. This was not uncommon, times were hard so heavy weights were dropped. Sanji was not alone. The whole city was sad and gray. There was an angry buzzing of ideas in the air.

Sanji was always a little different growing up. A little too rough and not soft enough. Different was not a good trait to have, fortunately Sanji didn't give a fuck. All the other kids fought over food, Sanji included. Those days were gray but not as dark as those to come.

The man with the long hat appeared after an especially bad winter. Sanji was half frozen outside the warm restaurant, face pressed against the cold bricks and with an empty stomach. The blond had been there all night, having collapsed in but snow, now morning was coming and the stars were fading.

The lights inside flicked on and a door opened, shedding light into the empty street. The man stood there for a moment, Sanji watched him, sure that he would just go back inside and that would be the end. Instead, he walked out into the cold and accepted the strange child without question. From then on Sanji was a dish washer.

The cold was physically painful to breathe in. Everything was still, it had been for days. There had been blood. The kind soldier brought bandaids and words that only verified what was already known. Sanji didn't know how to feel. The proper response was either sadness or joy. At first it had been relief, but when the doctor gave the medicine—what little he had and none of it stopping the pain—the act was tinged with sadness. The kind soldier didn't know how to feel either. He stood there, running his hands through Sanji's hair as the pain continued to build. Sanji felt bad about that, he didn't have to do this thing. He had no obligation, but he stayed anyway. Sanji thought he was the most wonderful man in the world for that. He knew everything but he still stayed, maybe that was why he stayed. Sanji hoped not.

Sanji didn't like the soldiers with the painted smiles at all. They were harsher than the rest. They were cruel for the sake of being cruel. Sanji wouldn't take it, there was too much anger. One of them almost got his head popped off for it, a few more may or may not have lost fingers. The kind soldier approved in a melancholy sort of way. He brought blankets, cigarettes, and food as thanks.

When the agony twisted, they cut open Sanji's belly and let out all the bad blood until it was empty. It was cold and it hurt inside.

It was alarming the transformation that could be made when entities were unhappy. So much anger could accomplish unexpected things and did just that. It was even more terrifying to watch faces transform like that. Familiar faces transformed into something foreign and hateful.

Painting faces was hard work, Sanji found. It was not as enjoyable as cooking but it filled the time. It was not so good when their eyes held recognition, then they laughed and did terrible things. Sanji continued to ignore it.

Sanji and the kind soldier were the same age, he had lived in a place across the sea. He was not happy where he was now, it made his brain feel sick and his heart beat irregularly. Before, when things were bad, he knew what he was doing, now things were silly and people had gone all daffy. He didn't want to be in this place anymore, but his shoes were glued to the floor when he wanted to run. He wanted to bring Sanji too, it would be better somewhere else. Unfortunately, he was tied up with all the other toy soldiers.

Sanji couldn't go around the soldier factory so much after first meeting the kind soldier. The other toys took notice of them and painted big smiles. They thought it was funny. Maybe it was because he had the different look than them but carrier in better. They were cruel.

The man with the long hat hated dog fights, he had seen a particularly bad dog fight when he was young and never wanted to see something like that again. He had been in the ground while the dogs fought. The wet earth took his leg away. He had swung his stick at the others, but the dog they bet on still lost and the money was owed. So many pieces of paper.

Sanji was walking back to the living quarters, hands covered in paint. A shadow walked the sidewalk going the other way. The attack was sudden, Sanji didn't see it coming until it was too late. The shadow hands dug into the soft underbelly and made bloody flowers under the skin. Sanji stumbled to the side and fell against the ground, shaking. The shadow started kicking, reached words pouring over Sanji. Snow was falling, it was too cold for rain.

They talked about running away sometimes. The kind soldier was always saying how it wasn't so bad back where he came from. Sure, they would hate Sanji's strange wordings, but at least the cities wouldn't be so broken. They talked about it a lot.

It was very cold, blankets didn't do much for help. The kind soldier did a little. He was so warm. Sanji started talking, words dripping with the rain water trapped in the blond's rib cage. Inside was still a turbulent ocean, but Sanji wanted him to see it. When he saw he frowned and kissed Sanji's forehead. He whispered soft words to the cold air as streamers fell from the sky. Heart in throat, Sanji let the moment linger, wishing it would last longer. The day had not been good, Sanji had a mouth full of blood, a roiling stomach and rattled teeth. Nice moments like this were savored, they were few and far between.

The man with the tall hat was beaten with sticks by the other toy soldiers when he was found to be putting water in the sprinklers instead of weed killer. He was too set in his ways. This was very sad, but Sanji was glad that he didn't join with those terrible gardeners.

The kind soldier came late as Sanji lay bleeding. He almost didn't stop, it was so hard to see, but he did. That was when he grabbed for the doctor.

Sanji could breath nothing into life, it all died and crumbled away like the rest of this place. All the hurt memories. Sanji felt that this was only part of the story and if it was part of a story then it must be the low part. From there it could only go up. That was the only reassurance in a place like this. Even in this place of hurt, there was out there another self who was happy. And Sanji would gladly suffer for that cause.

XxxX

A/N: So, this was my pathetic attempt at symbolism and strangeness. I had to wade around a lot of words and no dialogue either. I like dialogue. So, anyway it's a little shorter than usual. I wrote it this way because the subject it's written on is one I find incredibly interesting, but I feel like I have no real way to encompass the emotion or events of such a story and thus have no business writing it. Plus, it's probably a little controversial and very messed up.

I don't know if you can tell what's going on or not but I'd love to hear what you think happened.

btw, I've started school now so updates will probably be even less seldom.

Thanks.