~Chapter Three~
Part One
He stood there like the lone warrior I had met long ago, standing with the stature of wise men, as if knowing of the pain this world had put restraint upon. But then the tear of loss fell down from his ever-watchful eyes of omnipotence. It was the supremacy that he wore like clothing that made this moment so quaint, for I cried before him like the child that my kin could only remember...
I was ashamed, for all my efforts could be said within one sentence. A sentence that only signified failure, cold and dry.
I tried.
I tried. Like it wasn't of importance, like some frivolous matter that an infant would scream over. No, I lamented over this! My goddess, my father, my friend, and innocent girl now dwelled within their own form of death.
And all I could do was to cry...
__________________________________
It was strange, of wandering interest that I, in that sensation of boredom began to write. I don't know why I wrote this, but it just revealed itself through the little moments of hearing that clank again. Yes, it was Vincent again. Y'know, the guy I call Valentine. It's the thirtieth time, or maybe it's the thirty-fourth... Whatever, that's beside the point. Well, I guess that's how he greets me (I'll never figure him out...), probably why I love him so:
"The clank of a lover's greeting awoke me that morning, that Valentine of mine. The sound of footsteps, sluggishly walking upon the rooftop could only be from he. Who else would walk freely onto property, and in such an odd fashion? Only him, that dark angel that the gods that watch over me now, bestowed unto me. That lover of mine; only such his smile could be so sweet! The darkness that was, only to be now replaced by the light of a lover's innocence. My heart beats on because of that assuring knowledge, for his essence is eternal".
"Even if I am not."
I don't know, every time I read it over, I stare at my hands. Why? Who the hell knew I could write that! Such eloquent, so beautiful--wait. Oh, no it's okay. Never mind, I just keep on reading it over, and then I think I find something wrong, but it isn't...
Why am I telling you this? Do you even care? Uh! He's still walking up there...
I'll write more in you when I get back, I promise...
The book closed, the pen was carelessly eased onto its leather case. Another clank, then another. "Oh damn," the day has begun. The bed had been her asylum, still thinking of that little girl; suffering from the malediction that guilt placed upon her soul. The malign nature of a beast, still remembering the exuding blood from the chest. She was crying surreptitiously, so Vincent wouldn't know of this torment, not of the bale death could inflict.
Or did he?
She'd wonder how much he had known. She did an astounding act of satisfaction when before him, repeatedly telling him of what she loved, which was he. I love you, my Valentine. All these words of relentless love, totally unabated by the restraints her heart made, were indeed true. But, they were extemporized just to hide the tears by changing the conversation. First the 'I love you' and once to the point of marriage! For when she'd think of that little girl, the joy that Vincent had brought would immediately expiate, but nervousness and timidity would remain.
Only leaving her with the tears, like now.
They were disheveled sometimes, especially after a nightmare. But at this moment, they had exuded because of the misery she constantly felt. The tears that sang her woes thrice, speaking of pain and misery with ever drop, would be her last. She knew that today, for the anguish was too hard to bear.
It was the malentendu of the situation; the mixture of emotion that drove her to tears. It just wasn't her fault, yet every voice she heard, every execration from the parents of that girl, still resided within her mind. Never leaving, only releasing their toxin of guilt.
"My child! My child!! You horrid girl, you left her alone to die!" The woman screamed profanities Vincent winced at, warning her husband to watch her closely. Yuffie, who was the victim of pointless anger would continue to repeat her words of apology.
"She died because of you!" Her voice emphasized on the 'you' with a loud scream, "how could you just let this happen!! She did nothing to deserve this!" Yuffie accepted these accusations with total agreement, never defending herself, only listening.
Now it was the bed for her, and the tears of unremitting sorrow. All previous alacrity disappeared when the child screamed, and only existed in the memories of those who cared. Now the plaster walls heard the screams of the dismal, the wooden floor had now already taste those tears of hurt. This wasn't the Yuffie that Vincent had once knew, for he knew nothing...
For she was an illusion of joy, and the adherent of guilt. Two people, only one reality.
Clank. He was calling her intentionally now, wanting some response or indication. She placed her feet before her, and stood on the bed in that white blue gown of silk; her hair fell with every movement she made, shining the light the window held. She gripped her fist, smiling once more, and stood on that bed. She then hit against the ceiling three times, then jumped straight down on the mattress.
She was smiling, the smile that could only remind you of what she once was. A smile reminiscent of that thief whose joy was contagious, yet it dissolved as the day would continue, only to be replaced by the malfeasances of humankind, and abnormalities only to be known as monsters.
The previous slumber had indeed insisted the opposite affect on Yuffie, actually inflicting weariness; another obstancy, another problem. As she stood, the floor seemed to deepen, to move farther away from her feet, causing her fall to that cool, wood floor. She let out a small cry, fearing the proximate pain of impact, but she caught herself, luckily.
"Whoa..." She let out thankfully, what was wrong? The sensation was of intoxication, as if she had drank. Wait, did she? She couldn't remember, wait... Yes, she did. That would explain the malodor (vaguely of alcohol), and why she lacked depth perception. But when? And where?
I'm sure you know why...
"Oh yes, Sheryl!" She giggled, "the crazy girl." Crazy girl, indeed. She was like Yuffie of the past, so enthusiastic, so friendly and somewhat crafty. She had that thief mentality, something Yuffie could relate to. Sheryl had lived in Midgar since birth, raised in a home whose wealth could buy half of Midgar! She was humorous, but insipient about what the world truly consisted of.
The blonde haired woman, only to the height of Yuffie, was gorgeous. She was actually a member of the Midgarian Council, very responsible, but far too kind to be a politician, or so Yuffie thought. The reason of her drinking was because of her pointless depression, and Sheryl wasn't the person to let something be, chiefly when it was Yuffie.
"Yuffie?" The knocking was as vociferous as she was, but Yuffie tried to ignore it. Don't look under the mat, don't look under the mat. "I found the key, and I'm coming in!" Oh damn it! She was crying again on that bed of white sheets, the plaster walls and the cold wood floor witnessed it, again.
She could hear the footsteps, slowly made on that cold floor, echoing in every corner of the living room. Why, Sheryl!? Why now? Can't I just cry in peace? Such words wouldn't even uttered with her around, they were best kept unspoken, or a look of shock followed by a 'how could you say that' speech would've unstoppably begun. Please Sheryl, don't make me beg! Another footstep, then another, and so on. Then finally, on the tenth step came a halt; Yuffie heard breathing.
"Didn't you hear me knocking?" If only I had been sleeping. "Hello? Are ya still alive? Hello!?" First came that, then a, "Yuffie! I know you're awake, now sit up and stop being a bitch!" Then came the profanity: Is there a god? I mean, what the fuck!? Then the acceptance, oh well...
And a question never to be answered.
...What did I really expect...
"Oh my god, Yuffie. If you think you're sleeping in--again, you are so wrong." Did I forget she was ditzy? A carefree women, who also was insipient, innoxious, and (a not so complex word) dumb. A dumb side that showed quite rarely, but was obviously existent--Yuffie would agree. But that didn't take decrease the level of enjoyment she shared with her, for childish stupidity only lasts for so long (once again, Yuffie would agree).
"Sheryl! Hi! Oh, I'm so sorry! But I..." Of course she was cut off! "Bullshit. Let me repeat--BULLSHIT!" Laughter arose in the room, softly rising, lifting the tension away, disappearing as it touched the limitation of space.
It was then that Sheryl stopped the laughter, and showed genuine concern, for something Yuffie had been trying for weeks to hold in made itself apparent. "Why are you crying?" Oh no!
"Please don't ask, Sheryl. It's too complicated." Why don't I just tell her, she's not going to kill me. "What is that supposed to mean. Hmm? We're friends, you've got to tell me." No answer, just silence. Awkwardness entered as the silence emptied the room of understanding, leaving the tension behind.
"Yuffie, I'll ask again. What's wrong?" Was that seriousness? That was the most eerie sound that Sheryl had ever made. No, it can't be, she's never serious. "I'm serious." Oh god, the world is ending...
Sarcasm to the bitter end...
"Alright. I'll tell you." Yuffie admitted, gripping the covers and throwing them away from her. She jumped onto that floor, feet placed right besides her boots. She was on the side now, looking at her with a reluctant grin, then suddenly inquisitive. "Wait, how did you know something was wrong?"
"Uh! Yuffie! That is the dumbest question ever! Who knows you better than I do! I mean it's been a few months now of endless conversations and total trust! How can I not know?" She sighed sarcastically, while Yuffie gasped with that feminine glance. "What the hell do you mean 'that's the dumbest question ever? How the hell was I supposed to know, I don't know if you're sad or not!"
"--Well, you should. I've told you almost everything about me!" A glance right back; this was a battle of looks, endless sighs, and the common flinging of hair (a girlfriend brawl). Both Sheryl and Yuffie both possessed that lengthy, silky hair; constantly being swung as if slapping each other. They'd take a great offense to every sentence they would make; for both wished for that last word, determining the winner of this 'brawl of hair.'
"Oh god, I'm not listening to this anymore. It's never going to end." Yuffie retorted, giving her final sigh. "Well, then just tell me, so I might just shut up! For both of our sakes!" She wasn't letting her have the last breath. "You know what? I'm taking you out. There is no way you're telling me here."
"Oh, FINE!" Another angry reply, "FINE, let's go." Then another.
Yes, that was the relationship the two held. Not always in useless squabble, or relenting bickering, but it was usual. Vincent had been trying to understand this nature, always wondering, is there any end to this? For they would argue just for pleasure, an odd classification for pleasure, indeed.
Where the two went after that was a pub, but they headed directly to the bar--at least Sheryl did. "Come on, you can tell me over a shot, okay. It'll calm you down!" And in a whisper, she said; "and I really need one anyway."
She told her, Sheryl then pitied her, and told her to get a grip. Sheryl then flirted with the bartender, unconsciously (though Yuffie would insist she was really 'digging' him), and then they went 'wee, wee, wee' all the way home, drunk. (Sheryl brought the bartender, 'John' home--guess what they did.)
It was hard for anyone to understand her pain, it seemed. For it was unusual to feel guilty for something you didn't do. It was her insidious emotions that did this to her, for she felt this for no purpose. Hence the lack of understanding on Sheryl's part.
Clank. She was on her bed now, ready to fall back asleep, but the 'damn' sun still shined brightly through, nearly blinding her. "Oh Vincent!" With that, she climbed to the side of her bed, there a boot, of brown leather sat there. She picked the left boot up, and threw it against the wall.
"I'm coming! Okay! Just give me a second!" Smiling again as the sun still waited.
Part One
He stood there like the lone warrior I had met long ago, standing with the stature of wise men, as if knowing of the pain this world had put restraint upon. But then the tear of loss fell down from his ever-watchful eyes of omnipotence. It was the supremacy that he wore like clothing that made this moment so quaint, for I cried before him like the child that my kin could only remember...
I was ashamed, for all my efforts could be said within one sentence. A sentence that only signified failure, cold and dry.
I tried.
I tried. Like it wasn't of importance, like some frivolous matter that an infant would scream over. No, I lamented over this! My goddess, my father, my friend, and innocent girl now dwelled within their own form of death.
And all I could do was to cry...
__________________________________
It was strange, of wandering interest that I, in that sensation of boredom began to write. I don't know why I wrote this, but it just revealed itself through the little moments of hearing that clank again. Yes, it was Vincent again. Y'know, the guy I call Valentine. It's the thirtieth time, or maybe it's the thirty-fourth... Whatever, that's beside the point. Well, I guess that's how he greets me (I'll never figure him out...), probably why I love him so:
"The clank of a lover's greeting awoke me that morning, that Valentine of mine. The sound of footsteps, sluggishly walking upon the rooftop could only be from he. Who else would walk freely onto property, and in such an odd fashion? Only him, that dark angel that the gods that watch over me now, bestowed unto me. That lover of mine; only such his smile could be so sweet! The darkness that was, only to be now replaced by the light of a lover's innocence. My heart beats on because of that assuring knowledge, for his essence is eternal".
"Even if I am not."
I don't know, every time I read it over, I stare at my hands. Why? Who the hell knew I could write that! Such eloquent, so beautiful--wait. Oh, no it's okay. Never mind, I just keep on reading it over, and then I think I find something wrong, but it isn't...
Why am I telling you this? Do you even care? Uh! He's still walking up there...
I'll write more in you when I get back, I promise...
The book closed, the pen was carelessly eased onto its leather case. Another clank, then another. "Oh damn," the day has begun. The bed had been her asylum, still thinking of that little girl; suffering from the malediction that guilt placed upon her soul. The malign nature of a beast, still remembering the exuding blood from the chest. She was crying surreptitiously, so Vincent wouldn't know of this torment, not of the bale death could inflict.
Or did he?
She'd wonder how much he had known. She did an astounding act of satisfaction when before him, repeatedly telling him of what she loved, which was he. I love you, my Valentine. All these words of relentless love, totally unabated by the restraints her heart made, were indeed true. But, they were extemporized just to hide the tears by changing the conversation. First the 'I love you' and once to the point of marriage! For when she'd think of that little girl, the joy that Vincent had brought would immediately expiate, but nervousness and timidity would remain.
Only leaving her with the tears, like now.
They were disheveled sometimes, especially after a nightmare. But at this moment, they had exuded because of the misery she constantly felt. The tears that sang her woes thrice, speaking of pain and misery with ever drop, would be her last. She knew that today, for the anguish was too hard to bear.
It was the malentendu of the situation; the mixture of emotion that drove her to tears. It just wasn't her fault, yet every voice she heard, every execration from the parents of that girl, still resided within her mind. Never leaving, only releasing their toxin of guilt.
"My child! My child!! You horrid girl, you left her alone to die!" The woman screamed profanities Vincent winced at, warning her husband to watch her closely. Yuffie, who was the victim of pointless anger would continue to repeat her words of apology.
"She died because of you!" Her voice emphasized on the 'you' with a loud scream, "how could you just let this happen!! She did nothing to deserve this!" Yuffie accepted these accusations with total agreement, never defending herself, only listening.
Now it was the bed for her, and the tears of unremitting sorrow. All previous alacrity disappeared when the child screamed, and only existed in the memories of those who cared. Now the plaster walls heard the screams of the dismal, the wooden floor had now already taste those tears of hurt. This wasn't the Yuffie that Vincent had once knew, for he knew nothing...
For she was an illusion of joy, and the adherent of guilt. Two people, only one reality.
Clank. He was calling her intentionally now, wanting some response or indication. She placed her feet before her, and stood on the bed in that white blue gown of silk; her hair fell with every movement she made, shining the light the window held. She gripped her fist, smiling once more, and stood on that bed. She then hit against the ceiling three times, then jumped straight down on the mattress.
She was smiling, the smile that could only remind you of what she once was. A smile reminiscent of that thief whose joy was contagious, yet it dissolved as the day would continue, only to be replaced by the malfeasances of humankind, and abnormalities only to be known as monsters.
The previous slumber had indeed insisted the opposite affect on Yuffie, actually inflicting weariness; another obstancy, another problem. As she stood, the floor seemed to deepen, to move farther away from her feet, causing her fall to that cool, wood floor. She let out a small cry, fearing the proximate pain of impact, but she caught herself, luckily.
"Whoa..." She let out thankfully, what was wrong? The sensation was of intoxication, as if she had drank. Wait, did she? She couldn't remember, wait... Yes, she did. That would explain the malodor (vaguely of alcohol), and why she lacked depth perception. But when? And where?
I'm sure you know why...
"Oh yes, Sheryl!" She giggled, "the crazy girl." Crazy girl, indeed. She was like Yuffie of the past, so enthusiastic, so friendly and somewhat crafty. She had that thief mentality, something Yuffie could relate to. Sheryl had lived in Midgar since birth, raised in a home whose wealth could buy half of Midgar! She was humorous, but insipient about what the world truly consisted of.
The blonde haired woman, only to the height of Yuffie, was gorgeous. She was actually a member of the Midgarian Council, very responsible, but far too kind to be a politician, or so Yuffie thought. The reason of her drinking was because of her pointless depression, and Sheryl wasn't the person to let something be, chiefly when it was Yuffie.
"Yuffie?" The knocking was as vociferous as she was, but Yuffie tried to ignore it. Don't look under the mat, don't look under the mat. "I found the key, and I'm coming in!" Oh damn it! She was crying again on that bed of white sheets, the plaster walls and the cold wood floor witnessed it, again.
She could hear the footsteps, slowly made on that cold floor, echoing in every corner of the living room. Why, Sheryl!? Why now? Can't I just cry in peace? Such words wouldn't even uttered with her around, they were best kept unspoken, or a look of shock followed by a 'how could you say that' speech would've unstoppably begun. Please Sheryl, don't make me beg! Another footstep, then another, and so on. Then finally, on the tenth step came a halt; Yuffie heard breathing.
"Didn't you hear me knocking?" If only I had been sleeping. "Hello? Are ya still alive? Hello!?" First came that, then a, "Yuffie! I know you're awake, now sit up and stop being a bitch!" Then came the profanity: Is there a god? I mean, what the fuck!? Then the acceptance, oh well...
And a question never to be answered.
...What did I really expect...
"Oh my god, Yuffie. If you think you're sleeping in--again, you are so wrong." Did I forget she was ditzy? A carefree women, who also was insipient, innoxious, and (a not so complex word) dumb. A dumb side that showed quite rarely, but was obviously existent--Yuffie would agree. But that didn't take decrease the level of enjoyment she shared with her, for childish stupidity only lasts for so long (once again, Yuffie would agree).
"Sheryl! Hi! Oh, I'm so sorry! But I..." Of course she was cut off! "Bullshit. Let me repeat--BULLSHIT!" Laughter arose in the room, softly rising, lifting the tension away, disappearing as it touched the limitation of space.
It was then that Sheryl stopped the laughter, and showed genuine concern, for something Yuffie had been trying for weeks to hold in made itself apparent. "Why are you crying?" Oh no!
"Please don't ask, Sheryl. It's too complicated." Why don't I just tell her, she's not going to kill me. "What is that supposed to mean. Hmm? We're friends, you've got to tell me." No answer, just silence. Awkwardness entered as the silence emptied the room of understanding, leaving the tension behind.
"Yuffie, I'll ask again. What's wrong?" Was that seriousness? That was the most eerie sound that Sheryl had ever made. No, it can't be, she's never serious. "I'm serious." Oh god, the world is ending...
Sarcasm to the bitter end...
"Alright. I'll tell you." Yuffie admitted, gripping the covers and throwing them away from her. She jumped onto that floor, feet placed right besides her boots. She was on the side now, looking at her with a reluctant grin, then suddenly inquisitive. "Wait, how did you know something was wrong?"
"Uh! Yuffie! That is the dumbest question ever! Who knows you better than I do! I mean it's been a few months now of endless conversations and total trust! How can I not know?" She sighed sarcastically, while Yuffie gasped with that feminine glance. "What the hell do you mean 'that's the dumbest question ever? How the hell was I supposed to know, I don't know if you're sad or not!"
"--Well, you should. I've told you almost everything about me!" A glance right back; this was a battle of looks, endless sighs, and the common flinging of hair (a girlfriend brawl). Both Sheryl and Yuffie both possessed that lengthy, silky hair; constantly being swung as if slapping each other. They'd take a great offense to every sentence they would make; for both wished for that last word, determining the winner of this 'brawl of hair.'
"Oh god, I'm not listening to this anymore. It's never going to end." Yuffie retorted, giving her final sigh. "Well, then just tell me, so I might just shut up! For both of our sakes!" She wasn't letting her have the last breath. "You know what? I'm taking you out. There is no way you're telling me here."
"Oh, FINE!" Another angry reply, "FINE, let's go." Then another.
Yes, that was the relationship the two held. Not always in useless squabble, or relenting bickering, but it was usual. Vincent had been trying to understand this nature, always wondering, is there any end to this? For they would argue just for pleasure, an odd classification for pleasure, indeed.
Where the two went after that was a pub, but they headed directly to the bar--at least Sheryl did. "Come on, you can tell me over a shot, okay. It'll calm you down!" And in a whisper, she said; "and I really need one anyway."
She told her, Sheryl then pitied her, and told her to get a grip. Sheryl then flirted with the bartender, unconsciously (though Yuffie would insist she was really 'digging' him), and then they went 'wee, wee, wee' all the way home, drunk. (Sheryl brought the bartender, 'John' home--guess what they did.)
It was hard for anyone to understand her pain, it seemed. For it was unusual to feel guilty for something you didn't do. It was her insidious emotions that did this to her, for she felt this for no purpose. Hence the lack of understanding on Sheryl's part.
Clank. She was on her bed now, ready to fall back asleep, but the 'damn' sun still shined brightly through, nearly blinding her. "Oh Vincent!" With that, she climbed to the side of her bed, there a boot, of brown leather sat there. She picked the left boot up, and threw it against the wall.
"I'm coming! Okay! Just give me a second!" Smiling again as the sun still waited.