Intro Notes - Heh, heh. Wrote this fic while listening to "Sora" from the Escaflowne movie (which is extremely worth seeing IMHO). While the song is sung in complete gibberish it's very sad and seems to have a theme of loneliness. Okay, enough rambling about songs. Trigun and it's related characters belong yadda yadda yadda. You know the drill.
Crimson
My hands fumble with the scissors. I feel them slip and in that moment between reality I grit my teeth for the inevitable. I gasp as the steel opens my palm. As my hand quickly become wet and warm, I rush over to the sink to run the water. The unusual cold brings numbness. Hot tears appear unwanted, but they are not from the pain. The color now lining the sink hurts because it reminds me of him.
I stare into the mirror. Its cracked surface and my blurred sight form a strange, disfigured vision. I suddenly feel strangely separated from reality. Somewhere in the distance, I can vaguely hear the sobs which must be my own. It is entirely his fault. I wish I never knew he existed. To never see that pain filled smile, to never know how very alone he is. I lean against the wall for support and sit down. I'm probably getting blood all over my new shirt but I don't really care. I don't really care about anything at the moment.
Except for him.
But does that matter? Do the thoughts of one person make a difference? I smile sadly. The irony is too cruel. He is one person, but to stop and see just how many lives have been touched and changed forever through him, it's amazing. The tears are coming faster now. I don't know what to make of myself. Everything is falling apart at a frightening rate. I don't know what to do. It's like I'm running but running doesn't take you any closer to the moon. I'm sobbing so hard, I'm close to screaming. I'm in too deep with no way out. His pain has become my pain. I have nothing to offer him to ease his eternity of suffering.
So what am I supposed to do? Watch my whole life and the one I love pass me by? I am loath to admit it, but the answer is yes. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a bottle of hard liquor my partner must have missed. It's still more than half full. I've never been much of a drinker, but drowning my despair in alcohol sounds like a good idea at the moment. After a few sips the bitterness seems to fade. Time to do something about that hand.
I shuffle over to my suitcase to find a good supply of bandages. What with him around, you need to be prepared. As I wrap my hand, my face turns bitter. How could one person have such a forgiving heart? Why wouldn't he just strike out at those who give him the pain he carries now? The color now spreading across the bandages reminds me once again
My mind fills with images of him, some smiling, some not, but they are all sad.
I stumble back to the bathroom and plunk down on the floor, bottle of liquor in hand. Ten minutes later I've downed the whole bottle. Whether from the loss of blood or drinking too much, too fast, I'm beginning to feel ill. As I lurch forward and lean on the sink, I get my first glimpse of what a wreck I am. Eyes red and puffy, hair a total mess, and spots of blood all over my clothes. I step back but misjudge the step and tip backwards. I wait for impact with the floor but it doesn't come.
"Oh, Meryl."
The voice is sad and very familiar. I force myself to concentrate and realize I'm being held gently but firmly by a pair of crimson-clad arms. How long had he been watching?
"Long enough."
I didn't know I spoke that out loud.
"What are you doing to yourself? You were gone so long Millie and I were beginning to worry."
You? Worried about me? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.
"This isn't like you. Please tell me-"
Just go away. Leave me alone.
"-what's wrong."
I wrench myself out of his grasp and stumble back to catch myself on the sink. Suddenly, I'm furious. Perhaps it's the color of his coat. It is the color of anger after all.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?! Everything, dammit!" I snap. His eyes become more sad than usual. I immediately regret what I'm saying, but it's too late too stop. "Of course you're too busy spouting morals like that crazy minister." I continue to vent my rage as his eyes become increasingly sadder. But suddenly they seem angry. I've lost all control my tongue now. I can't stop babbling.
SMACK!
I shut up completely and my eyes fill with tears as I return to reality with the slap. His eyes aren't angry anymore, instead his arms are open. I don't hesitate and throw myself at him. He holds me tightly.
"Shh, it's going to be okay." He whispers in my ear as he gently smoothes out my hair. Maybe he's right. His words give me an idea. Maybe I do have something to offer to him. "Let's get you cleaned up first, then maybe we can talk for a while."
* * * * *
We've been chatting for more than an hour now about various things. Oddly enough we're discussing colors at the moment. I listen interestedly as he speaks.
"And did you know what else crimson stands for besides blood and anger?
I shake my head.
It stands for love and determination also."
And then he kisses me.
End Notes - Whoa. That was strange and confusing. I can't believe I wrote that. Is it just me or did this seem very PWP-ish? The ending is kind of weird too. Urgh, Trigun is hard to write. Excuse me while I go hide. In a hole. And escape. From. My. Choppy. Writing.
Crimson
My hands fumble with the scissors. I feel them slip and in that moment between reality I grit my teeth for the inevitable. I gasp as the steel opens my palm. As my hand quickly become wet and warm, I rush over to the sink to run the water. The unusual cold brings numbness. Hot tears appear unwanted, but they are not from the pain. The color now lining the sink hurts because it reminds me of him.
I stare into the mirror. Its cracked surface and my blurred sight form a strange, disfigured vision. I suddenly feel strangely separated from reality. Somewhere in the distance, I can vaguely hear the sobs which must be my own. It is entirely his fault. I wish I never knew he existed. To never see that pain filled smile, to never know how very alone he is. I lean against the wall for support and sit down. I'm probably getting blood all over my new shirt but I don't really care. I don't really care about anything at the moment.
Except for him.
But does that matter? Do the thoughts of one person make a difference? I smile sadly. The irony is too cruel. He is one person, but to stop and see just how many lives have been touched and changed forever through him, it's amazing. The tears are coming faster now. I don't know what to make of myself. Everything is falling apart at a frightening rate. I don't know what to do. It's like I'm running but running doesn't take you any closer to the moon. I'm sobbing so hard, I'm close to screaming. I'm in too deep with no way out. His pain has become my pain. I have nothing to offer him to ease his eternity of suffering.
So what am I supposed to do? Watch my whole life and the one I love pass me by? I am loath to admit it, but the answer is yes. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a bottle of hard liquor my partner must have missed. It's still more than half full. I've never been much of a drinker, but drowning my despair in alcohol sounds like a good idea at the moment. After a few sips the bitterness seems to fade. Time to do something about that hand.
I shuffle over to my suitcase to find a good supply of bandages. What with him around, you need to be prepared. As I wrap my hand, my face turns bitter. How could one person have such a forgiving heart? Why wouldn't he just strike out at those who give him the pain he carries now? The color now spreading across the bandages reminds me once again
My mind fills with images of him, some smiling, some not, but they are all sad.
I stumble back to the bathroom and plunk down on the floor, bottle of liquor in hand. Ten minutes later I've downed the whole bottle. Whether from the loss of blood or drinking too much, too fast, I'm beginning to feel ill. As I lurch forward and lean on the sink, I get my first glimpse of what a wreck I am. Eyes red and puffy, hair a total mess, and spots of blood all over my clothes. I step back but misjudge the step and tip backwards. I wait for impact with the floor but it doesn't come.
"Oh, Meryl."
The voice is sad and very familiar. I force myself to concentrate and realize I'm being held gently but firmly by a pair of crimson-clad arms. How long had he been watching?
"Long enough."
I didn't know I spoke that out loud.
"What are you doing to yourself? You were gone so long Millie and I were beginning to worry."
You? Worried about me? I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.
"This isn't like you. Please tell me-"
Just go away. Leave me alone.
"-what's wrong."
I wrench myself out of his grasp and stumble back to catch myself on the sink. Suddenly, I'm furious. Perhaps it's the color of his coat. It is the color of anger after all.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?! Everything, dammit!" I snap. His eyes become more sad than usual. I immediately regret what I'm saying, but it's too late too stop. "Of course you're too busy spouting morals like that crazy minister." I continue to vent my rage as his eyes become increasingly sadder. But suddenly they seem angry. I've lost all control my tongue now. I can't stop babbling.
SMACK!
I shut up completely and my eyes fill with tears as I return to reality with the slap. His eyes aren't angry anymore, instead his arms are open. I don't hesitate and throw myself at him. He holds me tightly.
"Shh, it's going to be okay." He whispers in my ear as he gently smoothes out my hair. Maybe he's right. His words give me an idea. Maybe I do have something to offer to him. "Let's get you cleaned up first, then maybe we can talk for a while."
* * * * *
We've been chatting for more than an hour now about various things. Oddly enough we're discussing colors at the moment. I listen interestedly as he speaks.
"And did you know what else crimson stands for besides blood and anger?
I shake my head.
It stands for love and determination also."
And then he kisses me.
End Notes - Whoa. That was strange and confusing. I can't believe I wrote that. Is it just me or did this seem very PWP-ish? The ending is kind of weird too. Urgh, Trigun is hard to write. Excuse me while I go hide. In a hole. And escape. From. My. Choppy. Writing.