For One More Day
(Disclaimer: NOIR, characters and events are copyright to their respective company. No profit was made her. Spoilers for events in episode 12)
A normal day, perhaps a bit colder- after a while one acquires a sensetivity to these things-, in the country of beautiful sights and simple majesty. After swimming deepest in the darkness of humanity, a lot can be said about these natural sceneries. The wind brings peacefulness, the streams bring grace, and the mountains yeild acceptance. The towering creations of humanity seemed vain in comparison to nature's powerful, yet unflaunting, prescense. The atmosphere enveloped in the cool mountain air to filter out any of the dread that could have been escaping the minds of the people around. The reaper, encloacked in humble green material and a humbling prescense, made her way to visit that day, between the grass blades and the rocks.
If you knew that you were to die, certain that the sunset you see would be the last light to enter your eyes, what would happen? To be given the privelage of foresight, where would the mind turn? What past dreams and sins would haunt the mind in a barrage of "what if"s? Would there be regret, contemplation, fear, vain struggles, or passivity? A question to ponder on for the ages, what does a dying man's mind turn to?
He thought the flowers had a beautiful color that day.
It was pleasant that death had a face. One could even go as far to say that it was a privelage. Too many people were to enter it without knowing exactly what will be beyond the horizon, or, that which he was most familiar with, see nothing but a grinning face as the keys to the otherworld twist and churn inside the painfully rotting flesh. He had made peace with death, and death returned the favor by walking with him. No reason was given, but perhaps that was asking too much.
She indulged his idle talks of the past, of his rivals and mistakes. He needed to bear out all his testimonies and previous affairs, to empty himself for that final moment and to let his story pass on into the wind. Foolishness, the games he played. It was realized, a bit too late, that only the divine blood of Our Lord can cleanse sins. Human blood stains the mind like red wine stains white carpet. In the hushed tones of the night, the darkness; Noir, Soldats had send their most pretegious for him. Was it an honor, or an overestimation on their part?
She would keep true to her promise, he knew that. His only concern was Heinz, bless his loyal soul, not understand that this was the nature of things, inescapable fate. Some catacombs are best left unexplored when it's dark. He also knew that she would try to clean the carpet by dropping more wine. Perhaps this was for the best, to just rid the world from it's taints and let the snow fall again.
What does one's dying mind seek refuge? Flowers. Their beautiful color, not violent like red, not innocent pink. Neither one nor the other. Born in the prescense of the wind and the most beautiful place this world has to offer, and laid before the eyes of an unworthy dying man. She let him glance at them befre his eyes closed.
___________
Notes: Everything about episode 12 was just beginning for analysis and/or fanfiction. I liked Raimun's character. It takes someone very accepting of his mortality to be so inviting to someone who expressed clearly she would kill him. It's just a short fic. A bit of a warm up, since I'd like to write more NOIR fanfics in the future.
(Disclaimer: NOIR, characters and events are copyright to their respective company. No profit was made her. Spoilers for events in episode 12)
A normal day, perhaps a bit colder- after a while one acquires a sensetivity to these things-, in the country of beautiful sights and simple majesty. After swimming deepest in the darkness of humanity, a lot can be said about these natural sceneries. The wind brings peacefulness, the streams bring grace, and the mountains yeild acceptance. The towering creations of humanity seemed vain in comparison to nature's powerful, yet unflaunting, prescense. The atmosphere enveloped in the cool mountain air to filter out any of the dread that could have been escaping the minds of the people around. The reaper, encloacked in humble green material and a humbling prescense, made her way to visit that day, between the grass blades and the rocks.
If you knew that you were to die, certain that the sunset you see would be the last light to enter your eyes, what would happen? To be given the privelage of foresight, where would the mind turn? What past dreams and sins would haunt the mind in a barrage of "what if"s? Would there be regret, contemplation, fear, vain struggles, or passivity? A question to ponder on for the ages, what does a dying man's mind turn to?
He thought the flowers had a beautiful color that day.
It was pleasant that death had a face. One could even go as far to say that it was a privelage. Too many people were to enter it without knowing exactly what will be beyond the horizon, or, that which he was most familiar with, see nothing but a grinning face as the keys to the otherworld twist and churn inside the painfully rotting flesh. He had made peace with death, and death returned the favor by walking with him. No reason was given, but perhaps that was asking too much.
She indulged his idle talks of the past, of his rivals and mistakes. He needed to bear out all his testimonies and previous affairs, to empty himself for that final moment and to let his story pass on into the wind. Foolishness, the games he played. It was realized, a bit too late, that only the divine blood of Our Lord can cleanse sins. Human blood stains the mind like red wine stains white carpet. In the hushed tones of the night, the darkness; Noir, Soldats had send their most pretegious for him. Was it an honor, or an overestimation on their part?
She would keep true to her promise, he knew that. His only concern was Heinz, bless his loyal soul, not understand that this was the nature of things, inescapable fate. Some catacombs are best left unexplored when it's dark. He also knew that she would try to clean the carpet by dropping more wine. Perhaps this was for the best, to just rid the world from it's taints and let the snow fall again.
What does one's dying mind seek refuge? Flowers. Their beautiful color, not violent like red, not innocent pink. Neither one nor the other. Born in the prescense of the wind and the most beautiful place this world has to offer, and laid before the eyes of an unworthy dying man. She let him glance at them befre his eyes closed.
___________
Notes: Everything about episode 12 was just beginning for analysis and/or fanfiction. I liked Raimun's character. It takes someone very accepting of his mortality to be so inviting to someone who expressed clearly she would kill him. It's just a short fic. A bit of a warm up, since I'd like to write more NOIR fanfics in the future.