The gravestone sits like a faithful animal, waiting for its master. Gray and dull, it adds nothing to the atmosphere of the graveyard itself, another drab object to the mess of nondescript feeling. Underneath this stone of crude man-made plasters lies a princess, untouched by the many years of filth she rests above. The princess does not know that she is dead, she does not know where she is, she does not know any of these things.
Inside her glass coffin she lays still, eyes shut, a weak smile plastered on her face. It was very hard for them to wipe the look of sick shock off of it, but the funeral workers did a nice job, considering the consequences. She is dressed in a gown of pink silk, a replica of the one worn during death. Upon her nest of golden, not yet decaying curls is a crown, likewise in color. On her wrist is a bracelet, with a charm of the Triforce dangling lazily as the world above passes her by. Her hands rest on her stomach, fingers interlaced. And on the back of her hand, a triangular shape of skin has been cut off.
Layers of dirt added over the coffin protect it from prying eyes, grave robbers. But why would anyone want to rob one who is already dead? I smile, clasping in my hand a triangle about one third the size of the front of hand, discarding fingers of course. It is gold, shiny, brilliantly so. I pocket the object and walk away from the grave, and into the black of the night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Beside the hero was the princess, blood slowly dripped out of a wound to her abdomen, seeping into the clogged ground. Link looked at her, and then at the mound of rubble of blood that was the old Evil King, or rather, the remains of his last minion. The hero couldn't help but smile to himself as he leaned over to pick up the body of the broken princess. He held the girl in his arms, checking her pulse, making sure that she was really dead.
And, of course, she was.
With an andante pace he walked toward the Temple of Light, inhaling the night's air. It had a sort of dull freshness he so loved. He couldn't quite know why, he just did, as some things could not be explained. There was no moon tonight, or if there was, Link failed to notice it was there. It was cloudy, too, but Link did not mind the dark. On the contrary, he enjoyed it greatly. It gave him a certain sense of forbidden solitude. Another one of those things that could not be explained.
She was already growing cold, the princess, that is. The youthful glow in her face had become a rather sickly pale shade that would hurt one's eyes if looked at too closely. But that was not a problem for Link; he did not wish to look at her one bit, and it was, after all, nighttime.
The journey to the temple seemed to last an eternity, and Link did not mind that one bit. He enjoyed the moment and took in the flavor of the night, filling his lungs with the scent of blood. Speaking of which, the princess's own was mixing with the hero's blending into a sort of disgusting reddish mixture. Funny, if Link had dared to notice, they would have been proclaimed blood-brothers...sister and brother, that is.
Link almost stumbled as he nearly tripped over a loose cobblestone on the way, yet he caught his balance. If he hadn't, he would've dropped Zelda, and that would, of course, have foiled his plans.
He considered entering the temple as he arrived, gazing up at the doorway. Contemplating, he closed his eyes, and decided that this would be the only way. Link walked through the door, his feet softly patting the red velvet carpet, paving the way to his destination. Stopping at the alter where the spiritual stones lay, he draped her body over that, careful not to make anything seem...out of place.
Glancing at the hourglass above him, he muttered something suspiciously like, "Damn," under his breath. It was past midnight--the sages would be noticing something was amiss, and all too soon for Link. He reached into an unknown to many pocket, retrieving a dagger. It wasn't his, of course. No, he'd taken it from someone along his quest, though he couldn't quite remember who. "Probably a Gerudo," he said to himself, though it was aloud more than in his mind.
With a steady hand, he began to cut into Zelda's, even more blood drawing from the now small cut. However, he was interrupted by Rauru.
"Link? What in the devil's name are you doing here?" Asked the old man, his brow furling with rage.
The hero stayed calm, managed to keep a collect sort of nature. "Rauru...I was too late for Zelda. Ganon had--" He put his hands to his face, pretending to cry, yet underneath was a smile, a deranged one at that.
"You mean..." Rauru did not finish his sentence, leaving it to the silence of the room.
"Yes, Rauru. I'm afraid I just wasn't fast enough." Link said through faux-tears. "I feel that it is all my fault."
Rauru took a step closer to Link, gesturing that it was all right. "No, Link, it must have been inevitable."
"I feel like I have failed a hero, and a Hylian. What kind of a person would do this to his own country?" He heaved a mock-sigh and nonchalantly slipped the dagger into a pocket, hoping Rauru wouldn't notice.
An apparently, he hadn't.
"Don't feel like this is your fault, Link. Ganon is an evil man, full of tricks up his sleeve. But at least you managed to avenge her death, you slayed the great Ganondorf."
Link smiled, and unbeknownst to Rauru, the smile was for...other reasons... "Yes, I did, didn't I?"
"And only a hero would do that. You stayed strong under all of this pressure. I'm sorry that you had to witness the princess's death."
"Yes," he said, turning away from Rauru. "'Twas rather brutal." He felt odd lying to old man. What with this that he was feeling? Sympathy for the sage? But he was the great Ga--he was the hero of time. The other half caught up to him, though, making him realize just what he had done.
He had second thoughts creep their way through his mind. Second thoughts that burned and twisted, carving a path in his heart, telling him to stop the lies. He could still fight the side of Evil, yet...what good would it do? Standing there, in the Temple of Time, Link stared at Rauru, the pit of his stomach turning upside down and inside out. Why must he feel this way? Surely, it couldn't be a feeling of...regret?
"We'll be having a funeral then, within the next few days, won't we?"
Link lowered his head, this time without a hidden lie. It was a symbol of grief, and this time, he meant it. "Please, may I have a moment alone with the princess?"
The man nodded, smiling weakly. "Of course, you earned it...hero..."
Again, the usage of the word 'hero'. In this case, what did it mean? He was nothing more than a killer, working for the Evil side. But these feelings...this regret...if it ever caught up to him...he shuddered at the thought. But just a few minutes to cleanse things couldn't hurt.
The princess looked stunned, shocked, a feeling of terror etched in the lines of her face. As Link looked at her, he felt a pang in his heart. Link had done a terrible thing. And nothing could ever make it right.
So would that justify finishing what he had started before Rauru came in? A bitter game of wrong versus right tore him open, ripped at his mind. He couldn't take all of these laws of sincerity and being good. He...he had actually...loved the princess, hadn't he? Link gulped, tears forming in his eyes. But she was dead now, there was no turning back. Besides, by dawn he would not be himself.
Link pulled out the knife in his pocket and stared at. Long and hard, he stared at that knife, wondering what all this was really about. It was still soiled with blood. He ran a finger down the shining blade, cringing at the pain. Yet it was more like pleasure he felt, crude pleasure. Oozing out between his skin was blood, dark red, the shade of a crimson dawn. With his cut hand, he touched Zelda's, intertwining their fingertips. His blood poured onto her ghostly-white, porcelain hand.
As it dropped onto the white of her wrist, the word innocence immediately crossed his mind. It did back flips, spirals, as he tried to uncover the true meaning. This, he thought, is innocence. The way my blood, my guilty blood is on her innocent hand. She is pure innocence.
It was rather true, though, in an odd sort of way. She was the innocence, he was its killer, the striking cobra, with the poisonous bite. He had killed her with cold blood, with no feeling. He had destroyed her, as well as a part of himself.
After a number of deaths, the mind goes blank. It forgets all etiquette and rules of war. It was a savage machine, ready to kill anything, and wanting to kill everything. With Zelda, had it been different? Had he not felt remorse? These were questions he could not answer, questions that drove him to the brink of insanity.
His mind raced, his heart pounded, yet everything around him...stopped. With the dagger in his hands, he began to cut. Her skin was so soft, like that of a rose petal's, graceful. He closed his eyes, allowing his fingers to guide the way and cut out the skin's shape of the Triforce of Wisdom. His hand was warm and wet with her blood, and he grimaced all the while. But he was done, and he pocketed the firm and golden shape of the piece.
Link walked out of the temple, not daring to look back, not wanting to. "So when will the funeral be, Rauru?"
Already, the feeling of guilt had dissipated. He was becoming more like himself already.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
However, as I leave, I reach down towards the ground with a green Gerudian hand. I pick up a single flower, bland in color, and walk back towards Zelda's grave. I smile once more, and place it at the foot of the gravestone.
"Have a nice rest, Zelda."
-end-
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You look into his eyes.
Whose eyes?
The eyes of a hero.
What do you see?
Sapphire blue, shining.
Why do they shine?
No, they don't shine.
Is he sad?
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
His hair.
It is blonde.
Dirty blonde, you decide.
Perhaps not,
In this light,
Perhaps not.
What about
That darkness?
Is it different in the darkness?
Perhaps not.
Maybe it's the same...
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
His mouth.
It is shut.
Always shut.
Is it shut?
Hanging open?
Words spoken?
We never see.
Can't see it move.
Is it shut?
We can't see.
We can't see anything.
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
The expression.
Is it gaunt?
Does it haunt?
Does it scare us?
Are we afraid?
No, it's not gaunt.
It can't haunt.
But he doesn't grin.
Still, it wins
Our affection.
But what does it mean?
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
So much more
We don't know
See it show?
See it show?
The hero
Is covered in mist
We can't see
Through the mist
We can't know
Who he's kissed
Who he loves
Yet he,
He is sent from above
Is he not?
Does it rot?
His, soul, is it sad?
Is he mad
Since the quest,
It has taken his life,
Replaced it with strife.
We don't know.
Does it show?
Can you see?
Does it show?
Where was he born?
The forest, in morn',
Maybe dusk,
We don't know
The face,
Oh that face,
The expressionless face
We know it has grace
It's inside of his face
In his lines
How he laughs,
Oh, wait,
He doesn't laugh
As far as we can see
But how far is that?
Do we know?
Does it show
That we really don't know
Anything at all about
This hero
Called Link,
What are we meant to think?
Happy?
Depressed?
Technically speaking,
Second best?
Sister to the princess?
Trying to decipher
Everything,
I see us,
Trying to discover
Everything,
It is us,
Just trying to see,
To make Link free
It is us,
Trying to find out so much
Link's touch
Is it gentle?
Or rough?
We don't know
We try
We don't know
Trying to find out
What he's about
The hero, I mean
Can he cry?
Does he scream?
Can he sigh?
Something else
Was he trying to be
Something else?
Not a hero, perhaps
Maybe he was trying
To be something else
Something other than
A knight
His only purpose;
To fight
And the dreams,
They gave him fright?
Is scared?
Is it fair,
Is destiny fair
To bestow upon Link
All our troubles,
We think
That Link must be sad,
Though really,
He's glad,
Or he could be,
He could be mad
At the fates,
Filled with hate
And expressing the rage
Bottled up in his cage
Is it there?
Does it show
How little we know?
About this character,
This fighter,
He makes our hearts lighter,
But what do we say
As we play
This game
As Link,
What do we think?
What is there to think?
Link...
In love?
Malon?
No, Zelda?
Nabooru?
No, Saria?
Even Ruto?
It is a mystery,
That is Link's history,
Who is his mother,
His father,
His sister?
Zelda?
No, not at all,
She's too small
And not right
To be like Link
She's have
To fight
Still,
We take delight
In creating stories
Of how it began,
How Lin began
And how he ran
Through the race of time
Discovering his own mind
Was filled
With thoughts
And what he's sought
He's always had,
He'll always have
Till the end of time
Till reason stops rhyme,
We believe,
We feel
That Link just can't deal
With his troubles
Or his struggles
That really aren't there?
We don't know,
It's not fair
To sit and to wonder
To mistake
And to blunder
What happened to Link
And we are to think
Of his whole quest,
For everything's less
Than anything hole
We try and look into
His soul
To find out who he is
If the drawing on the tree
Was his,
And still we keep going
With no signs of slowing
This message we're showing
Is that we care
And we can spare
A minute, an hour of
Our lives
To figure out
What makes him thrive
(unfinished)
-----------------------------------------------------------
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Confusion
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
It was torn,
The way he looked
Into his reflection,
It wasn't him, was it?
It was broken,
The way the eyes
Had faded into
Nothing,
And it was a tragedy
That the love
Went away unnoticed.
But...
He simply thought
It was a dream...
For that was what it was,
Wasn't it?
He was afraid,
He was a child,
But no longer innocent,
He was a hero.
Though when he looked
Into his own relfection,
Behind him,
He saw...
...Her...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Empty. He feels he is empty. Does he feel empty, or is he empty? On the ground, he writhes on the dirt. The dirt that hold his very life, it holds the blood that is seeping slowly in. Is it really life that is in the ground? Yes, but what seeps in the ground...it is death. Has the one on the ground...is he dead? No, he breathes, he lives, his blood still flows throughout his body.
A breath. A deep breath, and coughing. Blood is everywhere, coming out as he coughs in fits, trickling down his lips, down his chin, and back into the ground where his life stays. It is a bright red, fresh from his aorta, filled with the air he needs to survive. Slowly it dulls in color, back to the sickly dark color where it stays in the dirt.
It is dark tonight. He at least has noticed that. A sign of being alive, it is a sign he has lived. Where am I? The thought comes out thickly, without a flow, unlike the liquid of Death pouring into the ground, where it stays. And it is true what he thinks. For he cannot know where he is...it was battle...there was a battle. He won the battle. But where is he now?
Outside.
He is able to tell by the soft breeze. No, it is not a soft breeze. It is cold, it is foreboding, it is an a wind of hate whipping across his face. Cold...he feels cold too. And who is this one who feels? Who is this one whose life stays in the ground?
"H-he..."
He? No, that was not what the body, the being, was trying to say. Perhaps it was instead,...
"H-h-help...m-me..."
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
There's something inside me that pulls
Beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
No one. No one answers his small cry for help. The beaten body lays still on the ground. The hand, its hand, no, his hand, is trying to raise itself. To pick itself up.
Failure.
He cannot do it, he cannot take himself up off the ground. The ground means Death, if he stays there longer, out in the cold, it will be Death. Already, he is so weak, so very weak. In his mind, he screams, he shouts, he yells for a way out. The rage--such extreme rage, pulses through his veins along with the bright blood, telling him he is alive. But how alive? For how long? If I can't even pick myself up off the ground...
He lets the thought finish itself, not wanting to believe the truth. The truth? What is that? No, he is a hero. He is a hero, can he pick himself up off the ground, can't he?
I can barely move...can I even move at all? He tries, he tries and he wiggles his fingers. It's so hard, it's too hard. Why is it so hard? Is he that broken? Is he that crushed and that tired, tried? What...what took this strength away?
No...
It is pain, pain, pain...unspeakable pain that he fees. It does not let up, it does not cease, it waged on, like a war against his mind, the mind that fought to get the attention of his nerves.
Again, he moves his hand, clenching his teeth, he digs his palms, his open, cut and bleeding palms, into the dirt, along with the rest of his life. Agony, it is pure agony. But he cannot...he cannot get up. Always strong, he thought he would always be strong. And he had only one more Sage to rescue, to awaken, but now? He did not wish to agree with the grim fate he felt was fit.
And then...then he saw it...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
This lack of self control
I fear is never ending
Controlling
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
The bottle seems to wink at him, wink and snicker, taunting him, teasing him. Inside the bottle, a faerie rests. The faerie...it was his only chance left, wasn't it? He groans, trying to stretch his hand out long enough to reach for the bottle. And the bottle...it is open, it has no cork on it. He must be all the more careful now. Even more careful. Easy now, he thinks to himself. He has almost reached the bottle.
But the faerie stirs. The faerie goes back to her resting, though. It is safe...for the time being. Another reach for the bottle, almost there...almost there...
Wind...the wind blows a heavy gust, knocking the bottle farther away from him. And now the faerie is awake. Out of the bottle she flies, and off into the dark night.
Rage. There was the ultimate sort; he feels it, coursing through his blood, the blood that is bright and flowing through his body. Why hadn't he been able to get the bottle? It was such a simple task...for a normal Hylian. And he--he was hero, shouldn't he be able to pick up a bloody bottle?
No, he tries to shake his head, but nothing moves. Nothing at all moves except the thoughts in his own head. Why? Why me, dammit? The thought of the hero, the beaten, bloody hero makes him feel all the worse. Useless. He is now useless.
And on the ground, at that exact moment, at that exact moment in time, he finally understands how it feels to be helpless. How it feels to be useless. To be weak. It is...It is...
"Help m-me..."
Failure.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
I can't seem
To find myself again
My walls are closing in
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
"Get up..." The voice...it is not his. It is a male voice, with an accent, an accent that is a faux-accent. Or is it male? Yes, he decides that it is. But he can't even open his eyes. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to see who it is. Perhaps it is the Devil, telling him it is him time to die.
The Devil? No, this voice...it is...kind?
"Get up, Link."
This voice, it is the voice of an angel. Is the angel here? Coming to take him to heaven? He feels hope, for once, he feels hope. In his mind, he imagines the angel. She is in white, a white gown, with wings. Beautiful, golden wings, coming to rescue me. But is this being, this being with the fake accent, is this being truly an angel?
"Link, you must get up."
No, he doesn't want to get up. For he cannot get up. Even this beautiful angel could not make him get up. No...all his strength has drained from him. It is in the ground, with the rest of his life.
"It is your duty, Link. You must press on..."
No, he can't press on, he can't. His life is drained away, in the ground, with his strength, and everything else. It is all gone, but he can't tell that to the angel. He can barely speak, let alone speak clearly. And the angel would be mad. She would not take him to Heaven that way. And the only thing Link wanted was to be rid of this life...
This life, and this strength, the things left in the ground. Why isn't the angel taking me away? He wonders, feeling hurt, unloved. He can no longer fight--that is what he is believes, and therefore he is of no use. He failed. He failed as a hero. And failure--failure is a horrible thing.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
(Without a sense of confidence
I'm convinced that there's just too much
Pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
"Link...think of the ones who care about you." The voice, again, the voice is trying to make him get up.
Care? No, thinks the hero. No one cares about me, they are all gone, I will never see them again. No one cares, no one cares... Over and over in his mind, the thought repeats. When you believe something...it starts to become a reality. But is that what Link wishes to believe? Does he want to be alone, with no friends, no hope, no nothing?
He does not know what he wants. He wants the angel just to end this life, to end this pain. The pain that only he can feel. The pain only a hero can feel. And the pain; it is like no other sort of pain. Not pain you have felt, nor pain I have felt. No, their pain is deep, their pain is always there. He remembers things...like his first battle. He got his first taste of the pain there. But it was not his last, nay, there were other times, many other times of this same pain.
The pain that stays forever, that cuts deeply in one's heart. That is the pain the hero feels. And right now, he still feels the pain, he feels the blood, the blood that flows to the ground, along with his strength and his life. What life? He thinks. And it is true, what life has he lived? Just a life of the same pain, the pain only a hero can feel. This life that was taken by this quest...
He had always wanted to be a hero, that was how it was when he was younger. Before the nightmares, before the dreams of prophecy, there were other dreams. The hero remembers these dreams with remorse, cursing the thought that he ever wanted this life. He didn't know; he couldn't know what this life would be like. It had been so long ago, no, he had been so long ago. For now...he isn't anymore. Wasn't what? He thinks...
"What about Saria?" Asks the voice, that heaven-sent voice.
Link considers. What about Saria? She...she is now a sage. She was...yes, she was his best friend. Now? Now the friendship lies in ruins, fragments of memories scattered about, clinging to the edges of his soul. In his head, he counted the thing worth living for, but...
There were none.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
The rain starts to fall, softly at first. It escalades into a drizzle, still gentle, still light. He feels it fall onto his skin, washing away the dirt, washing away the blood. Does it feel good? He can't decide. For the drizzle--it has turned into a downpour. He has forgotten about the angel, or whatever she is, for the time being. He is fascinated by the rain. Strange, though, he had never thought much about the rain before this. Today--tonight, things are different. He is a child, a newborn again, gazing in wonderment at the world around him.
Is it new sight that he has acquired? A sense of thanks for the smaller things in life? No...it begins to hail...pelting on to him, the pellets of ice fly from the sky. Fascination? Not any more...now he is afraid of the rain. Still, he is like the child, afraid of the storm. His senses are alive, wildly so. He is trying to be alert, trying to get up, to see the angel.
Is she still here? He wonders this to himself, unable to tell if her presence is still there. He begins once more to feel the rain. It is cold, colder than it has been before. Did it just now turn cold? Or is it always like this? But the hail...it has subsided. For now, at least. But for Link, that is good enough. The rain is almost soothing--almost.
Am I still bleeding? He can no longer feel the blood flowing out onto the ground, seeping inside the dirt, taking away his life. Did the angel...did she heal him? No, he still feels pain. The pain that only the hero can feel...it is still here.
"You have to go on, Link..." The voice seemed to fade out...getting softer and softer...until finally, it was nothing but the wind.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Discomfort, endlessly has pulled
Itself upon me
Distracting, reacting
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
If the voice has just gone, then is the girl still there? Link struggled, opening his eyes, trying to find her. His angel...where had the angel gone? Around him, a puddle of the fresh rain water rippled with fresh drops of blood and rain.
"W-w-where...d-did you g-g-go?"
Silence, no answers, no sounds, not even the wind, just pure silence draped itself over the land. It makes Link even more alone...but was he alone from the start? Before the angel came, he was alone. And now, is he alone again? No, his angel wouldn't leave like that. She would never, she will never act like that. Slowly, Link begins to get the feeling that there is no angel. And the voice? If there was no angel, where did that sing-song voice come from?
He feels a new strength surging, pumping, creating adrenaline. He is feeling better now, he tells it himself at least. I must get up, I must find my angel. His mind is set on the idea of finding the angel. Now, he must only follow up on his plan. He must get up...This time, he tells himself to pull, to get up off the cold and wet ground.
Struggling. Fighting. The hero will surpass his every challenge. The hero's job is to fight, and to win. He would win.
This time, there would be no failure.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Against my will I stand beside
My own reflection
It's haunting how
I can't seem...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
With great trouble, he raises himself of the ground, the palms of his bruised and bloody hands at the ground once again. He feels his arms quiver under the weight of his own body, but still tries harder. Can't stop now...almost there. It is a fact that heroes always win. And in this case, it is no different.
Agony, more of the agony he had felt before. The same, pulsing agony. This time, Link ignores the pain, he ignores the voice in his head screaming, telling him he will never amount to anything. Memories of the villagers laughing at him because of his destiny, the Kokiri children tormenting him because he was different, laughing at what he wore...Not this time.
Finally, he is on his feet, hunched over, trying to stand straight. All signs of his angel are gone. Why did she go? Why did she leave him alone? He has spent almost all of his strength that is left trying to search for his angel, and now, she is gone. An unjust thing it is, Link decides, looking into the distance. Maybe...maybe there was no angel. Had it been in the past? Had the confrontation with his angel been...in the past?
Strangely, it seemed to make sense...perhaps he had fallen asleep, and angel had left. Yes, it was in the past. Or was it? Now everything is a living, breathing form of confusion. Why is everything so hard? So confusing? Confusion...that was what his life was. And what is it now? The life... is it still in the dirt, in the ground, with his strength? Perhaps he has gotten some of the strength back, for now at least he is standing. What is doing? He is searching for the angel, of course.
Is he even strong enough to do so? He shakes his head, denying the fact that intense pain is running throughout his body, his mind, his soul. A looks down at the puddle, the small pool with the fresh rain water. Is that him? That face, that face that is so awkward. So gaunt. So tormented. So bruised, bloody, beaten. Is that the face of me? No, his face...it used to be smooth, childish. And innocent. What happened to that child-like wonder? It was gone, taken away by his...his way of life, if one could even call it that. His way of life...is a hero's way. And he is a hero, isn't he?
The hero looks once more into the small pool of rainwater. It is his face. Why is it so different? With age, this he knew, but his eyes...they are different now. But how? They are empty.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Without a sense of confidence
I'm convinced that there's just too much
pressure to take it)
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
He is empty. He himself, as a being, is empty of heart. He wants to be filled, though, like this small pool, filled with the same fresh rainwater. The hero thinks once more of the angel. Where did she go? And where is she? Come to think of it, where am I? Now he recognizes it. In the Graveyard of Kakariko, near the hole in which he learned the Song of Sun. Yes, that is where he is... But what about the angel? He remembers that perhaps it was only a dream. But it felt so real, he contradicts his own thoughts, wanting to believe that his angel was still here, that right now, she is waiting for him.
"Where has my angel gone?" Asks the Empty One, not expecting any sort of answer.
From the stone in which the Symbol of Shadow is engraved, a Sheikah jumps down onto it, in a flash of a deku nut. "What angel?"
"The angel who told me to get up," Link stops for a moment, gazing at the young figure. "And who are you?"
He, or rather, what seemed to be a he, nods, a smile covered in a frown. "I am Sheik. Do you not remember me?"
Link closes his eyes, as if trying hard to remember this character. "Ah, yes, now I remember. You...you're the one who has taught me the songs..."
Sheik sighs, shaking his....possible her, head. "But you don't remember...anything else?"
"What exaclty am I supposed to know?"
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
I've felt this way before
So insecure
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
"Then I was wrong about you..." The voice is becoming more feminine like that of...like that of his angel...
"What do you mean?" Link asks, even more...confused. But how confused can one get before reality turns into a dream?
In a beat, the Sheikah's nature has changed from being calm to distressed, nervous. "He'll be coming soon...we have to hurry!"
"Wait--what are you talking about?"
"I'm sorry...if He catches me here...with you! Gods, forgive me!"
Link stands, in a daze. What is going on here? And why? Why is Sheik being so...secretive? Sheik quickly throws a deku nut, a large one, or perhaps...it is something else...nonetheless, he throws it at Link, hitting him hard and fast. He falls to the ground, knocked unconscious by the force of the blow. His mouth is twisted in a sort of surprised manner, his eyes shurt, he is sprawled out on the ground, looking as though he is...dead.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Sheik tosses a deku nut...and becomes...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
There's something inside me that pulls
beneath the surface
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Zelda covers her hands in her face, disgusted with herself. But it was the only way to protect Link from the truth, wasn't it? Leaning over his stiff form, she places a kiss on his forehead, a tear sliding down her cheek. She knows he is not dead, but still feels guilt. But...he would be dead if she had not done such. For the truth...it would have killed them all. And that? That would have been a catostrophic event. She decides it is best to slip away, unnoticed. That way...he will never know...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Consuming, confusing
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
This lack of self control
I fear is never ending
Controlling
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Confusing what is real...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
~0^0~^0^~0^0~END~0^0~^0^~0^0~
[unfinished, also o.0]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
there. that is all. sorry for wasting your time. enjoy your day. :)
Inside her glass coffin she lays still, eyes shut, a weak smile plastered on her face. It was very hard for them to wipe the look of sick shock off of it, but the funeral workers did a nice job, considering the consequences. She is dressed in a gown of pink silk, a replica of the one worn during death. Upon her nest of golden, not yet decaying curls is a crown, likewise in color. On her wrist is a bracelet, with a charm of the Triforce dangling lazily as the world above passes her by. Her hands rest on her stomach, fingers interlaced. And on the back of her hand, a triangular shape of skin has been cut off.
Layers of dirt added over the coffin protect it from prying eyes, grave robbers. But why would anyone want to rob one who is already dead? I smile, clasping in my hand a triangle about one third the size of the front of hand, discarding fingers of course. It is gold, shiny, brilliantly so. I pocket the object and walk away from the grave, and into the black of the night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Beside the hero was the princess, blood slowly dripped out of a wound to her abdomen, seeping into the clogged ground. Link looked at her, and then at the mound of rubble of blood that was the old Evil King, or rather, the remains of his last minion. The hero couldn't help but smile to himself as he leaned over to pick up the body of the broken princess. He held the girl in his arms, checking her pulse, making sure that she was really dead.
And, of course, she was.
With an andante pace he walked toward the Temple of Light, inhaling the night's air. It had a sort of dull freshness he so loved. He couldn't quite know why, he just did, as some things could not be explained. There was no moon tonight, or if there was, Link failed to notice it was there. It was cloudy, too, but Link did not mind the dark. On the contrary, he enjoyed it greatly. It gave him a certain sense of forbidden solitude. Another one of those things that could not be explained.
She was already growing cold, the princess, that is. The youthful glow in her face had become a rather sickly pale shade that would hurt one's eyes if looked at too closely. But that was not a problem for Link; he did not wish to look at her one bit, and it was, after all, nighttime.
The journey to the temple seemed to last an eternity, and Link did not mind that one bit. He enjoyed the moment and took in the flavor of the night, filling his lungs with the scent of blood. Speaking of which, the princess's own was mixing with the hero's blending into a sort of disgusting reddish mixture. Funny, if Link had dared to notice, they would have been proclaimed blood-brothers...sister and brother, that is.
Link almost stumbled as he nearly tripped over a loose cobblestone on the way, yet he caught his balance. If he hadn't, he would've dropped Zelda, and that would, of course, have foiled his plans.
He considered entering the temple as he arrived, gazing up at the doorway. Contemplating, he closed his eyes, and decided that this would be the only way. Link walked through the door, his feet softly patting the red velvet carpet, paving the way to his destination. Stopping at the alter where the spiritual stones lay, he draped her body over that, careful not to make anything seem...out of place.
Glancing at the hourglass above him, he muttered something suspiciously like, "Damn," under his breath. It was past midnight--the sages would be noticing something was amiss, and all too soon for Link. He reached into an unknown to many pocket, retrieving a dagger. It wasn't his, of course. No, he'd taken it from someone along his quest, though he couldn't quite remember who. "Probably a Gerudo," he said to himself, though it was aloud more than in his mind.
With a steady hand, he began to cut into Zelda's, even more blood drawing from the now small cut. However, he was interrupted by Rauru.
"Link? What in the devil's name are you doing here?" Asked the old man, his brow furling with rage.
The hero stayed calm, managed to keep a collect sort of nature. "Rauru...I was too late for Zelda. Ganon had--" He put his hands to his face, pretending to cry, yet underneath was a smile, a deranged one at that.
"You mean..." Rauru did not finish his sentence, leaving it to the silence of the room.
"Yes, Rauru. I'm afraid I just wasn't fast enough." Link said through faux-tears. "I feel that it is all my fault."
Rauru took a step closer to Link, gesturing that it was all right. "No, Link, it must have been inevitable."
"I feel like I have failed a hero, and a Hylian. What kind of a person would do this to his own country?" He heaved a mock-sigh and nonchalantly slipped the dagger into a pocket, hoping Rauru wouldn't notice.
An apparently, he hadn't.
"Don't feel like this is your fault, Link. Ganon is an evil man, full of tricks up his sleeve. But at least you managed to avenge her death, you slayed the great Ganondorf."
Link smiled, and unbeknownst to Rauru, the smile was for...other reasons... "Yes, I did, didn't I?"
"And only a hero would do that. You stayed strong under all of this pressure. I'm sorry that you had to witness the princess's death."
"Yes," he said, turning away from Rauru. "'Twas rather brutal." He felt odd lying to old man. What with this that he was feeling? Sympathy for the sage? But he was the great Ga--he was the hero of time. The other half caught up to him, though, making him realize just what he had done.
He had second thoughts creep their way through his mind. Second thoughts that burned and twisted, carving a path in his heart, telling him to stop the lies. He could still fight the side of Evil, yet...what good would it do? Standing there, in the Temple of Time, Link stared at Rauru, the pit of his stomach turning upside down and inside out. Why must he feel this way? Surely, it couldn't be a feeling of...regret?
"We'll be having a funeral then, within the next few days, won't we?"
Link lowered his head, this time without a hidden lie. It was a symbol of grief, and this time, he meant it. "Please, may I have a moment alone with the princess?"
The man nodded, smiling weakly. "Of course, you earned it...hero..."
Again, the usage of the word 'hero'. In this case, what did it mean? He was nothing more than a killer, working for the Evil side. But these feelings...this regret...if it ever caught up to him...he shuddered at the thought. But just a few minutes to cleanse things couldn't hurt.
The princess looked stunned, shocked, a feeling of terror etched in the lines of her face. As Link looked at her, he felt a pang in his heart. Link had done a terrible thing. And nothing could ever make it right.
So would that justify finishing what he had started before Rauru came in? A bitter game of wrong versus right tore him open, ripped at his mind. He couldn't take all of these laws of sincerity and being good. He...he had actually...loved the princess, hadn't he? Link gulped, tears forming in his eyes. But she was dead now, there was no turning back. Besides, by dawn he would not be himself.
Link pulled out the knife in his pocket and stared at. Long and hard, he stared at that knife, wondering what all this was really about. It was still soiled with blood. He ran a finger down the shining blade, cringing at the pain. Yet it was more like pleasure he felt, crude pleasure. Oozing out between his skin was blood, dark red, the shade of a crimson dawn. With his cut hand, he touched Zelda's, intertwining their fingertips. His blood poured onto her ghostly-white, porcelain hand.
As it dropped onto the white of her wrist, the word innocence immediately crossed his mind. It did back flips, spirals, as he tried to uncover the true meaning. This, he thought, is innocence. The way my blood, my guilty blood is on her innocent hand. She is pure innocence.
It was rather true, though, in an odd sort of way. She was the innocence, he was its killer, the striking cobra, with the poisonous bite. He had killed her with cold blood, with no feeling. He had destroyed her, as well as a part of himself.
After a number of deaths, the mind goes blank. It forgets all etiquette and rules of war. It was a savage machine, ready to kill anything, and wanting to kill everything. With Zelda, had it been different? Had he not felt remorse? These were questions he could not answer, questions that drove him to the brink of insanity.
His mind raced, his heart pounded, yet everything around him...stopped. With the dagger in his hands, he began to cut. Her skin was so soft, like that of a rose petal's, graceful. He closed his eyes, allowing his fingers to guide the way and cut out the skin's shape of the Triforce of Wisdom. His hand was warm and wet with her blood, and he grimaced all the while. But he was done, and he pocketed the firm and golden shape of the piece.
Link walked out of the temple, not daring to look back, not wanting to. "So when will the funeral be, Rauru?"
Already, the feeling of guilt had dissipated. He was becoming more like himself already.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
However, as I leave, I reach down towards the ground with a green Gerudian hand. I pick up a single flower, bland in color, and walk back towards Zelda's grave. I smile once more, and place it at the foot of the gravestone.
"Have a nice rest, Zelda."
-end-
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You look into his eyes.
Whose eyes?
The eyes of a hero.
What do you see?
Sapphire blue, shining.
Why do they shine?
No, they don't shine.
Is he sad?
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
His hair.
It is blonde.
Dirty blonde, you decide.
Perhaps not,
In this light,
Perhaps not.
What about
That darkness?
Is it different in the darkness?
Perhaps not.
Maybe it's the same...
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
His mouth.
It is shut.
Always shut.
Is it shut?
Hanging open?
Words spoken?
We never see.
Can't see it move.
Is it shut?
We can't see.
We can't see anything.
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
The expression.
Is it gaunt?
Does it haunt?
Does it scare us?
Are we afraid?
No, it's not gaunt.
It can't haunt.
But he doesn't grin.
Still, it wins
Our affection.
But what does it mean?
You can't see,
You can't tell,
You can't hear
Navi's bell
Or the ring
Of the clashing
Of the sword
Or the crashing
Of the lightening,
It's so frightening
That we,
We just can't tell.
So much more
We don't know
See it show?
See it show?
The hero
Is covered in mist
We can't see
Through the mist
We can't know
Who he's kissed
Who he loves
Yet he,
He is sent from above
Is he not?
Does it rot?
His, soul, is it sad?
Is he mad
Since the quest,
It has taken his life,
Replaced it with strife.
We don't know.
Does it show?
Can you see?
Does it show?
Where was he born?
The forest, in morn',
Maybe dusk,
We don't know
The face,
Oh that face,
The expressionless face
We know it has grace
It's inside of his face
In his lines
How he laughs,
Oh, wait,
He doesn't laugh
As far as we can see
But how far is that?
Do we know?
Does it show
That we really don't know
Anything at all about
This hero
Called Link,
What are we meant to think?
Happy?
Depressed?
Technically speaking,
Second best?
Sister to the princess?
Trying to decipher
Everything,
I see us,
Trying to discover
Everything,
It is us,
Just trying to see,
To make Link free
It is us,
Trying to find out so much
Link's touch
Is it gentle?
Or rough?
We don't know
We try
We don't know
Trying to find out
What he's about
The hero, I mean
Can he cry?
Does he scream?
Can he sigh?
Something else
Was he trying to be
Something else?
Not a hero, perhaps
Maybe he was trying
To be something else
Something other than
A knight
His only purpose;
To fight
And the dreams,
They gave him fright?
Is scared?
Is it fair,
Is destiny fair
To bestow upon Link
All our troubles,
We think
That Link must be sad,
Though really,
He's glad,
Or he could be,
He could be mad
At the fates,
Filled with hate
And expressing the rage
Bottled up in his cage
Is it there?
Does it show
How little we know?
About this character,
This fighter,
He makes our hearts lighter,
But what do we say
As we play
This game
As Link,
What do we think?
What is there to think?
Link...
In love?
Malon?
No, Zelda?
Nabooru?
No, Saria?
Even Ruto?
It is a mystery,
That is Link's history,
Who is his mother,
His father,
His sister?
Zelda?
No, not at all,
She's too small
And not right
To be like Link
She's have
To fight
Still,
We take delight
In creating stories
Of how it began,
How Lin began
And how he ran
Through the race of time
Discovering his own mind
Was filled
With thoughts
And what he's sought
He's always had,
He'll always have
Till the end of time
Till reason stops rhyme,
We believe,
We feel
That Link just can't deal
With his troubles
Or his struggles
That really aren't there?
We don't know,
It's not fair
To sit and to wonder
To mistake
And to blunder
What happened to Link
And we are to think
Of his whole quest,
For everything's less
Than anything hole
We try and look into
His soul
To find out who he is
If the drawing on the tree
Was his,
And still we keep going
With no signs of slowing
This message we're showing
Is that we care
And we can spare
A minute, an hour of
Our lives
To figure out
What makes him thrive
(unfinished)
-----------------------------------------------------------
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Confusion
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
It was torn,
The way he looked
Into his reflection,
It wasn't him, was it?
It was broken,
The way the eyes
Had faded into
Nothing,
And it was a tragedy
That the love
Went away unnoticed.
But...
He simply thought
It was a dream...
For that was what it was,
Wasn't it?
He was afraid,
He was a child,
But no longer innocent,
He was a hero.
Though when he looked
Into his own relfection,
Behind him,
He saw...
...Her...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Empty. He feels he is empty. Does he feel empty, or is he empty? On the ground, he writhes on the dirt. The dirt that hold his very life, it holds the blood that is seeping slowly in. Is it really life that is in the ground? Yes, but what seeps in the ground...it is death. Has the one on the ground...is he dead? No, he breathes, he lives, his blood still flows throughout his body.
A breath. A deep breath, and coughing. Blood is everywhere, coming out as he coughs in fits, trickling down his lips, down his chin, and back into the ground where his life stays. It is a bright red, fresh from his aorta, filled with the air he needs to survive. Slowly it dulls in color, back to the sickly dark color where it stays in the dirt.
It is dark tonight. He at least has noticed that. A sign of being alive, it is a sign he has lived. Where am I? The thought comes out thickly, without a flow, unlike the liquid of Death pouring into the ground, where it stays. And it is true what he thinks. For he cannot know where he is...it was battle...there was a battle. He won the battle. But where is he now?
Outside.
He is able to tell by the soft breeze. No, it is not a soft breeze. It is cold, it is foreboding, it is an a wind of hate whipping across his face. Cold...he feels cold too. And who is this one who feels? Who is this one whose life stays in the ground?
"H-he..."
He? No, that was not what the body, the being, was trying to say. Perhaps it was instead,...
"H-h-help...m-me..."
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
There's something inside me that pulls
Beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
No one. No one answers his small cry for help. The beaten body lays still on the ground. The hand, its hand, no, his hand, is trying to raise itself. To pick itself up.
Failure.
He cannot do it, he cannot take himself up off the ground. The ground means Death, if he stays there longer, out in the cold, it will be Death. Already, he is so weak, so very weak. In his mind, he screams, he shouts, he yells for a way out. The rage--such extreme rage, pulses through his veins along with the bright blood, telling him he is alive. But how alive? For how long? If I can't even pick myself up off the ground...
He lets the thought finish itself, not wanting to believe the truth. The truth? What is that? No, he is a hero. He is a hero, can he pick himself up off the ground, can't he?
I can barely move...can I even move at all? He tries, he tries and he wiggles his fingers. It's so hard, it's too hard. Why is it so hard? Is he that broken? Is he that crushed and that tired, tried? What...what took this strength away?
No...
It is pain, pain, pain...unspeakable pain that he fees. It does not let up, it does not cease, it waged on, like a war against his mind, the mind that fought to get the attention of his nerves.
Again, he moves his hand, clenching his teeth, he digs his palms, his open, cut and bleeding palms, into the dirt, along with the rest of his life. Agony, it is pure agony. But he cannot...he cannot get up. Always strong, he thought he would always be strong. And he had only one more Sage to rescue, to awaken, but now? He did not wish to agree with the grim fate he felt was fit.
And then...then he saw it...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
This lack of self control
I fear is never ending
Controlling
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
The bottle seems to wink at him, wink and snicker, taunting him, teasing him. Inside the bottle, a faerie rests. The faerie...it was his only chance left, wasn't it? He groans, trying to stretch his hand out long enough to reach for the bottle. And the bottle...it is open, it has no cork on it. He must be all the more careful now. Even more careful. Easy now, he thinks to himself. He has almost reached the bottle.
But the faerie stirs. The faerie goes back to her resting, though. It is safe...for the time being. Another reach for the bottle, almost there...almost there...
Wind...the wind blows a heavy gust, knocking the bottle farther away from him. And now the faerie is awake. Out of the bottle she flies, and off into the dark night.
Rage. There was the ultimate sort; he feels it, coursing through his blood, the blood that is bright and flowing through his body. Why hadn't he been able to get the bottle? It was such a simple task...for a normal Hylian. And he--he was hero, shouldn't he be able to pick up a bloody bottle?
No, he tries to shake his head, but nothing moves. Nothing at all moves except the thoughts in his own head. Why? Why me, dammit? The thought of the hero, the beaten, bloody hero makes him feel all the worse. Useless. He is now useless.
And on the ground, at that exact moment, at that exact moment in time, he finally understands how it feels to be helpless. How it feels to be useless. To be weak. It is...It is...
"Help m-me..."
Failure.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
I can't seem
To find myself again
My walls are closing in
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
"Get up..." The voice...it is not his. It is a male voice, with an accent, an accent that is a faux-accent. Or is it male? Yes, he decides that it is. But he can't even open his eyes. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to see who it is. Perhaps it is the Devil, telling him it is him time to die.
The Devil? No, this voice...it is...kind?
"Get up, Link."
This voice, it is the voice of an angel. Is the angel here? Coming to take him to heaven? He feels hope, for once, he feels hope. In his mind, he imagines the angel. She is in white, a white gown, with wings. Beautiful, golden wings, coming to rescue me. But is this being, this being with the fake accent, is this being truly an angel?
"Link, you must get up."
No, he doesn't want to get up. For he cannot get up. Even this beautiful angel could not make him get up. No...all his strength has drained from him. It is in the ground, with the rest of his life.
"It is your duty, Link. You must press on..."
No, he can't press on, he can't. His life is drained away, in the ground, with his strength, and everything else. It is all gone, but he can't tell that to the angel. He can barely speak, let alone speak clearly. And the angel would be mad. She would not take him to Heaven that way. And the only thing Link wanted was to be rid of this life...
This life, and this strength, the things left in the ground. Why isn't the angel taking me away? He wonders, feeling hurt, unloved. He can no longer fight--that is what he is believes, and therefore he is of no use. He failed. He failed as a hero. And failure--failure is a horrible thing.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
(Without a sense of confidence
I'm convinced that there's just too much
Pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
"Link...think of the ones who care about you." The voice, again, the voice is trying to make him get up.
Care? No, thinks the hero. No one cares about me, they are all gone, I will never see them again. No one cares, no one cares... Over and over in his mind, the thought repeats. When you believe something...it starts to become a reality. But is that what Link wishes to believe? Does he want to be alone, with no friends, no hope, no nothing?
He does not know what he wants. He wants the angel just to end this life, to end this pain. The pain that only he can feel. The pain only a hero can feel. And the pain; it is like no other sort of pain. Not pain you have felt, nor pain I have felt. No, their pain is deep, their pain is always there. He remembers things...like his first battle. He got his first taste of the pain there. But it was not his last, nay, there were other times, many other times of this same pain.
The pain that stays forever, that cuts deeply in one's heart. That is the pain the hero feels. And right now, he still feels the pain, he feels the blood, the blood that flows to the ground, along with his strength and his life. What life? He thinks. And it is true, what life has he lived? Just a life of the same pain, the pain only a hero can feel. This life that was taken by this quest...
He had always wanted to be a hero, that was how it was when he was younger. Before the nightmares, before the dreams of prophecy, there were other dreams. The hero remembers these dreams with remorse, cursing the thought that he ever wanted this life. He didn't know; he couldn't know what this life would be like. It had been so long ago, no, he had been so long ago. For now...he isn't anymore. Wasn't what? He thinks...
"What about Saria?" Asks the voice, that heaven-sent voice.
Link considers. What about Saria? She...she is now a sage. She was...yes, she was his best friend. Now? Now the friendship lies in ruins, fragments of memories scattered about, clinging to the edges of his soul. In his head, he counted the thing worth living for, but...
There were none.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
The rain starts to fall, softly at first. It escalades into a drizzle, still gentle, still light. He feels it fall onto his skin, washing away the dirt, washing away the blood. Does it feel good? He can't decide. For the drizzle--it has turned into a downpour. He has forgotten about the angel, or whatever she is, for the time being. He is fascinated by the rain. Strange, though, he had never thought much about the rain before this. Today--tonight, things are different. He is a child, a newborn again, gazing in wonderment at the world around him.
Is it new sight that he has acquired? A sense of thanks for the smaller things in life? No...it begins to hail...pelting on to him, the pellets of ice fly from the sky. Fascination? Not any more...now he is afraid of the rain. Still, he is like the child, afraid of the storm. His senses are alive, wildly so. He is trying to be alert, trying to get up, to see the angel.
Is she still here? He wonders this to himself, unable to tell if her presence is still there. He begins once more to feel the rain. It is cold, colder than it has been before. Did it just now turn cold? Or is it always like this? But the hail...it has subsided. For now, at least. But for Link, that is good enough. The rain is almost soothing--almost.
Am I still bleeding? He can no longer feel the blood flowing out onto the ground, seeping inside the dirt, taking away his life. Did the angel...did she heal him? No, he still feels pain. The pain that only the hero can feel...it is still here.
"You have to go on, Link..." The voice seemed to fade out...getting softer and softer...until finally, it was nothing but the wind.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Discomfort, endlessly has pulled
Itself upon me
Distracting, reacting
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
If the voice has just gone, then is the girl still there? Link struggled, opening his eyes, trying to find her. His angel...where had the angel gone? Around him, a puddle of the fresh rain water rippled with fresh drops of blood and rain.
"W-w-where...d-did you g-g-go?"
Silence, no answers, no sounds, not even the wind, just pure silence draped itself over the land. It makes Link even more alone...but was he alone from the start? Before the angel came, he was alone. And now, is he alone again? No, his angel wouldn't leave like that. She would never, she will never act like that. Slowly, Link begins to get the feeling that there is no angel. And the voice? If there was no angel, where did that sing-song voice come from?
He feels a new strength surging, pumping, creating adrenaline. He is feeling better now, he tells it himself at least. I must get up, I must find my angel. His mind is set on the idea of finding the angel. Now, he must only follow up on his plan. He must get up...This time, he tells himself to pull, to get up off the cold and wet ground.
Struggling. Fighting. The hero will surpass his every challenge. The hero's job is to fight, and to win. He would win.
This time, there would be no failure.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Against my will I stand beside
My own reflection
It's haunting how
I can't seem...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
With great trouble, he raises himself of the ground, the palms of his bruised and bloody hands at the ground once again. He feels his arms quiver under the weight of his own body, but still tries harder. Can't stop now...almost there. It is a fact that heroes always win. And in this case, it is no different.
Agony, more of the agony he had felt before. The same, pulsing agony. This time, Link ignores the pain, he ignores the voice in his head screaming, telling him he will never amount to anything. Memories of the villagers laughing at him because of his destiny, the Kokiri children tormenting him because he was different, laughing at what he wore...Not this time.
Finally, he is on his feet, hunched over, trying to stand straight. All signs of his angel are gone. Why did she go? Why did she leave him alone? He has spent almost all of his strength that is left trying to search for his angel, and now, she is gone. An unjust thing it is, Link decides, looking into the distance. Maybe...maybe there was no angel. Had it been in the past? Had the confrontation with his angel been...in the past?
Strangely, it seemed to make sense...perhaps he had fallen asleep, and angel had left. Yes, it was in the past. Or was it? Now everything is a living, breathing form of confusion. Why is everything so hard? So confusing? Confusion...that was what his life was. And what is it now? The life... is it still in the dirt, in the ground, with his strength? Perhaps he has gotten some of the strength back, for now at least he is standing. What is doing? He is searching for the angel, of course.
Is he even strong enough to do so? He shakes his head, denying the fact that intense pain is running throughout his body, his mind, his soul. A looks down at the puddle, the small pool with the fresh rain water. Is that him? That face, that face that is so awkward. So gaunt. So tormented. So bruised, bloody, beaten. Is that the face of me? No, his face...it used to be smooth, childish. And innocent. What happened to that child-like wonder? It was gone, taken away by his...his way of life, if one could even call it that. His way of life...is a hero's way. And he is a hero, isn't he?
The hero looks once more into the small pool of rainwater. It is his face. Why is it so different? With age, this he knew, but his eyes...they are different now. But how? They are empty.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Without a sense of confidence
I'm convinced that there's just too much
pressure to take it)
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
He is empty. He himself, as a being, is empty of heart. He wants to be filled, though, like this small pool, filled with the same fresh rainwater. The hero thinks once more of the angel. Where did she go? And where is she? Come to think of it, where am I? Now he recognizes it. In the Graveyard of Kakariko, near the hole in which he learned the Song of Sun. Yes, that is where he is... But what about the angel? He remembers that perhaps it was only a dream. But it felt so real, he contradicts his own thoughts, wanting to believe that his angel was still here, that right now, she is waiting for him.
"Where has my angel gone?" Asks the Empty One, not expecting any sort of answer.
From the stone in which the Symbol of Shadow is engraved, a Sheikah jumps down onto it, in a flash of a deku nut. "What angel?"
"The angel who told me to get up," Link stops for a moment, gazing at the young figure. "And who are you?"
He, or rather, what seemed to be a he, nods, a smile covered in a frown. "I am Sheik. Do you not remember me?"
Link closes his eyes, as if trying hard to remember this character. "Ah, yes, now I remember. You...you're the one who has taught me the songs..."
Sheik sighs, shaking his....possible her, head. "But you don't remember...anything else?"
"What exaclty am I supposed to know?"
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
I've felt this way before
So insecure
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
"Then I was wrong about you..." The voice is becoming more feminine like that of...like that of his angel...
"What do you mean?" Link asks, even more...confused. But how confused can one get before reality turns into a dream?
In a beat, the Sheikah's nature has changed from being calm to distressed, nervous. "He'll be coming soon...we have to hurry!"
"Wait--what are you talking about?"
"I'm sorry...if He catches me here...with you! Gods, forgive me!"
Link stands, in a daze. What is going on here? And why? Why is Sheik being so...secretive? Sheik quickly throws a deku nut, a large one, or perhaps...it is something else...nonetheless, he throws it at Link, hitting him hard and fast. He falls to the ground, knocked unconscious by the force of the blow. His mouth is twisted in a sort of surprised manner, his eyes shurt, he is sprawled out on the ground, looking as though he is...dead.
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Crawling in my skin
These wounds, they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Sheik tosses a deku nut...and becomes...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
There's something inside me that pulls
beneath the surface
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Zelda covers her hands in her face, disgusted with herself. But it was the only way to protect Link from the truth, wasn't it? Leaning over his stiff form, she places a kiss on his forehead, a tear sliding down her cheek. She knows he is not dead, but still feels guilt. But...he would be dead if she had not done such. For the truth...it would have killed them all. And that? That would have been a catostrophic event. She decides it is best to slip away, unnoticed. That way...he will never know...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Consuming, confusing
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
This lack of self control
I fear is never ending
Controlling
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
Confusing what is real...
~0^0~^0^~0^0~
~0^0~^0^~0^0~END~0^0~^0^~0^0~
[unfinished, also o.0]
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there. that is all. sorry for wasting your time. enjoy your day. :)
