Balance
So. . .
The light shudders as it slides across
my face, its crescent waves rippling across the rust colored floor. It, the
rust, tips against my boots, grasping at my toes. Liquid, liquid rust, tasting
my sandy feet. Gritty-dirty.
The room isn't. It's clean. Pretty,
all the shining rust. Meant metal. Like the ship.
She liked red.
Clicking in my hand, not red but
another shining. I brought her closer. I miss her song. Need.
Die, die, die. . . I'd die to hear
it. Kill her to make her sing. Ghost and skeleton, dried and no no no sand.
Murmur in my ears.
There were two. Had been. Are. Long ago
but there is no time, history. A single grain of gritty time. Blend and blur to
stretch. Tear us apart.
Bring us together with a click. Stop
the non-time, tiny and yellow in my boot. Sticky red flowing.
Cling to the floor. Cling to the sand.
Time and life and a puddle spreading.
Sing to me?
Against the sky in drops of petals.
Heavy in my hand, I bring her back.
His back, hates me now. He won. Hates
me now. Love him. Love Her. Both. Once upon and in this instant.
Do it for Her! Need the words. I need
the words. Lullaby in my head, singing me to death. Theirs. Kill her again, die
myself.
He's glaring at me. Frowning. But he
won? I kill.
For her.
She comes and I kill and she comes and
she sings and she dies.
So. . .
Click.
note: This is the second attempt
at a crazy Vash fic. He comes off as more desperate than crazy, so I'll
pretend that's how it's supposed to be. Maybe after *spoiler*. Dunno.
I like some of the descriptions better this time around, but it doesn't seem
very stream of consciousness-y. Uh, and more obsessing with sand.
Threw in some blood just for fun. Mmm, symbols. I'm actually
beginning to wonder how many times I've mentioned sand in my fics. Hella.
Trigun is copyright (c) Yasuhiro
Nightow and Young King Ours.