I still don't own anything.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off my furthest Rosses
We foot it my the night.
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight.
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in it's sleep.
Chapter 3
The dreams of humans are the land of the faerie. She carefully reached out into the mind of the child curled up against the world. She brushed his dreams were her vision and saw.
*flash*
He ran. Small legs pumping frantically. As always the voice was there, yelling faster, harder stronger. He was never good enough. Even when he did exactly what he was asked, when he pushed himself as far as he could go. There was still something wrong. He craved the words, would give everything just to hear them. Good boy, acceptable effort. But no matter what he did, it wasn't good enough to be rewarded with something so precious as praise.
He stumbles, his weak, young body betraying his efforts. Struggling to his feet, he almost cried out when he felt the lash against his back. (I'll be good, next time I wont fall, I'm sorry, I almost made it, I tried I really tried, next time I'll be better, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…) but he didn't cry, didn't make a sound. He jut shut out the pain and continued on, ignoring scraped knees, and the pain in his back, never noticing the wetness on his face.
A barrier had formed between him and the world, a wall to protect him from the pain.
*flash*
"I repeat, I surrender but I will not hand over the Gundams!"
A wave of something indescribable washed over him but was quickly supressed (Don't do this, please, you have no right to order this, no right, please don't hurt me again, I don't want to hurt, please nonononono! I'll be better next time….)
The voice with it's implied order cut into his mind. Opening the cockpit he stepped out, hoping no one could see white knuckles on the detonation switch. He would be punished for that, if it was noticed.
He stood there for a moment (I don't want to please don't make me please…)
Inside the frightened child was crying 'forgive me'. Then his hand closed on it's own accord (NO NO NO NO Hurt, pain, don't, please wait, no...) and a wave of agony hit him. There was panic and fear as he flew uncontrolled through the air, waiting to land and the real pain to begin…. And then there was nothingness……
*flash*
It was just as always. He had failed. Stupid idiot, OZ tricked him, he was supposed to be better than that, smarter than that, and not so stupid as to fall for a trick like that. And kill a planeload of people who could have ended the wars. Their blood was on his hands, mingling with the blood of those people who might have lived if the pacifists had lived. (useless, useless. Can't even kill the right people. Pointless, never be good enough, waste of time, my fault, I'm sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it… my fault, sorry… I'm sorry…) People who could have ended the war were dead. It was his fault. How many more people will now die because of what he did?
Accusations repeated over and over in his mind. The wind was cold as it whipped through his clothes. He deserved whatever came now, whatever pain. It would never be enough to repay his debt, but maybe it would show he was trying, always trying… but never enough.
*flash*
He'd noticed the attacker only moments before the man charged. He spun out of the way grabbing for his own gun as the attacker reached for him, but when everything stopped, he was on his knees, looking up past the gun. His leg had given out on him.
The man's eyes were wild under the red shock of hair; the gun was cold against his forehead as he waited on his knees. (Yes, kill me; please pull the trigger, do it! End it please. I'm worthless now, not good enough, never good enough, just let me die, please….)
"Old man!" he had laughed, laughed before he pulled the trigger. The contempt was clear in his voice (past your time, yes, now you can take over, you can deal with the pain… the constant pain… now pull the trigger…)
There was a shot then, but it came from Duo's gun as he saw what was happening. He had 'saved' him. Saved him from the death he wanted. Now he would just fade away… what was the point of a warrior's life if he couldn't even protect himself?
The concern in Duo's eyes burned as he limped off. (They pity because you're weak, flawed, imperfect, useless, you can't even die. How much longer?)
*flash*
She pulled out of his dreams. Tears running freely down her face. He was so sad, and hopeless, and strong.
Always he had striven to be perfection, never satisfied with anything he did. Hoping that perfection would fill the emptiness inside him.
And now, now it pained him to sit idle, to let the world flow by, but he couldn't participate anymore. He was useless, and in his mind, he had yet to pay off his debt to the world.
The last dream, it had happened only a couple of weeks ago. And at that moment he had wanted more than anything to die.
The tears started anew.
How could humans live with such pain?
***to be continued***
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off my furthest Rosses
We foot it my the night.
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight.
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in it's sleep.
The dreams of humans are the land of the faerie. She carefully reached out into the mind of the child curled up against the world. She brushed his dreams were her vision and saw.
*flash*
He ran. Small legs pumping frantically. As always the voice was there, yelling faster, harder stronger. He was never good enough. Even when he did exactly what he was asked, when he pushed himself as far as he could go. There was still something wrong. He craved the words, would give everything just to hear them. Good boy, acceptable effort. But no matter what he did, it wasn't good enough to be rewarded with something so precious as praise.
He stumbles, his weak, young body betraying his efforts. Struggling to his feet, he almost cried out when he felt the lash against his back. (I'll be good, next time I wont fall, I'm sorry, I almost made it, I tried I really tried, next time I'll be better, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…) but he didn't cry, didn't make a sound. He jut shut out the pain and continued on, ignoring scraped knees, and the pain in his back, never noticing the wetness on his face.
A barrier had formed between him and the world, a wall to protect him from the pain.
*flash*
"I repeat, I surrender but I will not hand over the Gundams!"
A wave of something indescribable washed over him but was quickly supressed (Don't do this, please, you have no right to order this, no right, please don't hurt me again, I don't want to hurt, please nonononono! I'll be better next time….)
The voice with it's implied order cut into his mind. Opening the cockpit he stepped out, hoping no one could see white knuckles on the detonation switch. He would be punished for that, if it was noticed.
He stood there for a moment (I don't want to please don't make me please…)
Inside the frightened child was crying 'forgive me'. Then his hand closed on it's own accord (NO NO NO NO Hurt, pain, don't, please wait, no...) and a wave of agony hit him. There was panic and fear as he flew uncontrolled through the air, waiting to land and the real pain to begin…. And then there was nothingness……
*flash*
It was just as always. He had failed. Stupid idiot, OZ tricked him, he was supposed to be better than that, smarter than that, and not so stupid as to fall for a trick like that. And kill a planeload of people who could have ended the wars. Their blood was on his hands, mingling with the blood of those people who might have lived if the pacifists had lived. (useless, useless. Can't even kill the right people. Pointless, never be good enough, waste of time, my fault, I'm sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it… my fault, sorry… I'm sorry…) People who could have ended the war were dead. It was his fault. How many more people will now die because of what he did?
Accusations repeated over and over in his mind. The wind was cold as it whipped through his clothes. He deserved whatever came now, whatever pain. It would never be enough to repay his debt, but maybe it would show he was trying, always trying… but never enough.
*flash*
He'd noticed the attacker only moments before the man charged. He spun out of the way grabbing for his own gun as the attacker reached for him, but when everything stopped, he was on his knees, looking up past the gun. His leg had given out on him.
The man's eyes were wild under the red shock of hair; the gun was cold against his forehead as he waited on his knees. (Yes, kill me; please pull the trigger, do it! End it please. I'm worthless now, not good enough, never good enough, just let me die, please….)
"Old man!" he had laughed, laughed before he pulled the trigger. The contempt was clear in his voice (past your time, yes, now you can take over, you can deal with the pain… the constant pain… now pull the trigger…)
There was a shot then, but it came from Duo's gun as he saw what was happening. He had 'saved' him. Saved him from the death he wanted. Now he would just fade away… what was the point of a warrior's life if he couldn't even protect himself?
The concern in Duo's eyes burned as he limped off. (They pity because you're weak, flawed, imperfect, useless, you can't even die. How much longer?)
*flash*
She pulled out of his dreams. Tears running freely down her face. He was so sad, and hopeless, and strong.
Always he had striven to be perfection, never satisfied with anything he did. Hoping that perfection would fill the emptiness inside him.
And now, now it pained him to sit idle, to let the world flow by, but he couldn't participate anymore. He was useless, and in his mind, he had yet to pay off his debt to the world.
The last dream, it had happened only a couple of weeks ago. And at that moment he had wanted more than anything to die.
The tears started anew.
How could humans live with such pain?
***to be continued***