1 The intense Violet of the eyes gaze back at me, shadows falling across his face…

:::If only I were human::: It is nothing but a sigh, an often-heard utterance that drifts across the empty landscape of my mind. Of Deserts. Of Blinding sandstorms where the sand lifts and swirls and devours all in its path.

I reach out almost unknowingly to touch that face in the cold, smooth, glass, leaning a little forward.

::: Willing it to smile:::

The corners of his lips turn up, ostensibly in a smile of sorts – but it never makes it to his mouth. I wish that sometimes he would smile, but I know that there is too much guilt – spreading its spidery fingers out in tendrils that find their way through his veins – that eat up me from the inside like a disease – to smile.

My hands move of their own volition, and palms over his ears, as if to shut out all sound.

:::That must be the sound of madness::: That White hot static - flood that rises from deep within me, and floods out , and I need to let it out. It stretches out in me, and demands to be released. Like a beast, uncurling from its dormancy.

Slowly, I let my hands fall to my sides, as if by staying still – so quiet – I could fool that – that thing within me that wants to wake up and it would pass me by. I drop my gaze to my hands. The beautiful white delicacy of the wrists.

His eyes flutter almost shut, gaze lowering, and his head inclining ever so lightly.

If only I could draw a knife through my wrist. Through skin and vein, artery, and flesh. And the fresh, deep red, metallic blood would well up like a blossoming flower and the beads of blood would mingle as one and then divide in streams that trace down the lines of my limp hand like rivers to the sea.

:::The dim patter of too much blood pooling on the floor - :::

And the pain, which must not be forgotten. A dull pain, and my blank mind detaches and traces upwards in spirals towards heaven. The nothing is all around and I look down, emotionless, far, far away, as the dull burning traces its way up from the slit wrists and

There is nothing. Nothing, nothing and nothing.

The voices of hysteria rise up to a crescendo like a cyclone around me and I fall to my knees in the – my – blood –

Curled up like a child in the womb, he lies. The obscene red is smearing itself across his porcelain skin as he

lies, crushed by the weight of all his shame.





*Author's notes: Hi! Thanks for reading! Don't know why it became this depressing though (grin) ~ Aa. Well. Oh yes! Disclaimer! None of the characters involved in this ficcie, belong to me! Don't wish they were though. Its probably really hard to look after a crying Tsuzuki!! XD*