-Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep-
My hands shake. I'm afraid that up until now I have been useless, that my whole life is gathering to a great precipice only to fall.
I am twenty-four years old.
My life, a burst of memories and experiences is drawing to a close; after all, my soul is now old, and thus, it is almost spent. I was an experiment - an idea that needed a model to begin it. And when the model was finished, the true project began; and the model was left discarded, to rot, like forgotten remnants of a carefully prepared dish.
I am only twenty-four years old.
Sixteen years ago, he was brought into life, and the end of my life began. I can pinpoint where my memories end and his begin, like a sickening cycle of death that I started and he will perpetuate, until another one of us comes to finish that cycle. But of course, that's not possible. Everything that lies before me lays there because I want it to be there. The crystal that lies before me is pulsating red; I am even redder in color than it is. It was not he who continued the cycle; it was I who broke it.
Today is my "birthday" so to speak; a birthday he and I share. But he is sixteen.
I wonder, if he was to be replaced, would he feel the way that I feel now. Would he, too, on his twenty-fourth birthday, realize that his soul was in danger of being ripped from his body? Would he too, long to insert his nails into the throat of his successor, to feel the life come out of him, to secure his own life? Would he, too, have the terrible desires to kiss his heir?
Yes, I admit that there is nothing more I want other than to kiss him, to feel him submit beneath me and for him to moan and clutch at me - but he is, of course, enamored with his partner in crime, his red-headed blind friend. I see how casually in love he is with him - his tail swings back and forth easily, and he loves to tease him into blushing whenever he can.
But he glares at me, hold his tail rigid in my presence, hates the thought, the very sight of me. I try not to laugh. Me! His older brother.
Zidane, Zidane.don't you understand? This kiss we share; we share it for the benefit of both worlds - me, your angel of death, and you, my angel of life.
-And should I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.-
My hands shake. I'm afraid that up until now I have been useless, that my whole life is gathering to a great precipice only to fall.
I am twenty-four years old.
My life, a burst of memories and experiences is drawing to a close; after all, my soul is now old, and thus, it is almost spent. I was an experiment - an idea that needed a model to begin it. And when the model was finished, the true project began; and the model was left discarded, to rot, like forgotten remnants of a carefully prepared dish.
I am only twenty-four years old.
Sixteen years ago, he was brought into life, and the end of my life began. I can pinpoint where my memories end and his begin, like a sickening cycle of death that I started and he will perpetuate, until another one of us comes to finish that cycle. But of course, that's not possible. Everything that lies before me lays there because I want it to be there. The crystal that lies before me is pulsating red; I am even redder in color than it is. It was not he who continued the cycle; it was I who broke it.
Today is my "birthday" so to speak; a birthday he and I share. But he is sixteen.
I wonder, if he was to be replaced, would he feel the way that I feel now. Would he, too, on his twenty-fourth birthday, realize that his soul was in danger of being ripped from his body? Would he too, long to insert his nails into the throat of his successor, to feel the life come out of him, to secure his own life? Would he, too, have the terrible desires to kiss his heir?
Yes, I admit that there is nothing more I want other than to kiss him, to feel him submit beneath me and for him to moan and clutch at me - but he is, of course, enamored with his partner in crime, his red-headed blind friend. I see how casually in love he is with him - his tail swings back and forth easily, and he loves to tease him into blushing whenever he can.
But he glares at me, hold his tail rigid in my presence, hates the thought, the very sight of me. I try not to laugh. Me! His older brother.
Zidane, Zidane.don't you understand? This kiss we share; we share it for the benefit of both worlds - me, your angel of death, and you, my angel of life.
-And should I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.-