Unsedated
Basic Summary: The white haired swordsman that is both Makenshi and Shiroi Kumo. An emo poem turned fic.
Rating: K+
Warnings: Not many, actually. Just angst, and some violence.
For Feral Phoenix, who is a wonderful writer, and provider of some of the best FFU fanfiction on this site. :D And because angst is all I can write.
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A falling sort of feeling
Except not
When both feet are planted firmly on the ground
And the sensation of sinking
Is only in your mind
A white knuckled grip
On a fantasy
Because reality
Is too sharp
Too fragmented
For a mind unsedated
By lies
Kumo wished there were a sort of anesthesia for the mind. Something to dull everything, blank out the images and the memories and the pain, even if only for a little bit. To wipe everything into a clean, uniform gray, so that that truth and lies alike were smeared and undistinguishable from each other underneath the dirt.
Or even better, something like the amnesia Kaze suffered from, to be able to forget every moment of pain and sorrow suffered, and focus your entire soul and being on a single goal. Which, at the moment, was centered upon killing him.
Not that Kumo felt that this was altogether undeserved.
Crimsononagrayfieldchildrencryingandscreaming. All of the people killed, of the lives lost, the blood spilled in the name of Chaos. The soft horror at the enjoyment he found in the shining arc of his blade, the mild appreciation in the stark beauty of crimson drops against a white background, before the nausea set in, followed by the deep guilt that weighed down his gut. The awful magnificence of his Ittouju as it decimated entire villages, flashes of pure white light in contrast to the dark black of death. A whole world synchronized, harmonizing in a single unanswered cry as its inhabitants burned and died.
Kami-sama…
The gray would eliminate that, eliminate it all. No more pleasure, no more horror, and most of all, no more guilt.
But then, even if such a tranquilizer was available, he wouldn't have been able to use it anyway. The pretense that had become his life, waking and sleeping, the persona of Makenshi, the Earl's willing slave and henchman. Playing the role had required total immersion in this other personality, burying his true self underneath his creation. But now, sometimes, Kumo thought that he'd lost himself somewhere underneath the person that looked to the child-Earl as its God, following every one of its orders with mindless intensity. Makenshi became his own person, with a personality and characteristics all of his own.
That horrified him, that sometimes he could not find where it ended, and he began, a repulsive, hated mask that had somehow began fusing itself to his very being. Occasionally, he would find its thoughts creeping into his mind. A moment of irrational, overpowering hatred of Kaze. An itch for the sensation of flesh beneath his Maken, finding himself beginning to appreciate Chaos's actions in the back of his mind.
And so, he could not succumb. A release from his guilt, from his responsibilities may just be the final layer of binding fusing this second skin to his own. He could not afford to be sidetracked. The heavy burden of remorse and responsibility helped him retain himself, keep from being swallowed and enveloped entirely by the one called Makenshi. Tranquility, forgetfulness, all would only be a lie that he used to blind himself from the truth.
He would have to wait then, wait for Kaze to remember, wait for Kaze to finish this entire charade. Wait for Kaze to fire his Magun once again, and break the cycle of pain and pretending. Wait, and wait, and remain for all the while, unsedated.
Hurry up, Kaze. End this.
End.