2
It was a dance, a glissade of insobriety that they did. They fell as if intoxicated on their own destruction; the fuel was the impatience. It was insidiously planned, and exactly carried out by gravity's way. Death was smiling at the sight while the lady of Life's Glory mourned in despair, wishing the impossible, dreaming of another day and another sight; a dream of happiness.
Yet, within her algalm of misery and pity, she saw within the twinkling of her eye the sunrise again. In those eyes she cried in happiness, for she saw another day come, and the nightfall. Within the twilight of the gods, she saw the savior ride in his glory, redeeming his broken city once again.
But the nightfall came again, and the world was quiet.
Quiet once again, and the sea of emptiness engulfed the city of the dead once more. The nations of the East looked to the West and praised the heaven's whose hell was among the dead, and the soulless. The finality of the hour was apparent, and the two became one, and the second twilight struck, and death grinned and chuckled. The Norns spoke once more, and fell to their final oblivion.
The world was falling, and the nightfall was here to stay.
My mind was querulous, yet my lips were quiescent. The mantic sky and the stones that were before me held the truth that I could not interpret, a truth not wished to be understood. The quiddity of this night was dissolving before me, as I could not awake from a frightful dream. I was walking, yes, but dreaming of the panic and terror. I was dreaming of Yuffie, of Marlene. Of Barret and where he could be.
People began to see the apocalyptic marvel that the heavens had brought, wondering to themselves, thinking silently, clandestinely little words. Prattle, just talk, yet in the conversing with themselves, the deliberation of this masterdom of beauty, I knew they found it somewhat frightening, yet not taking the fact of it's current course.
It was becoming larger, and with every second, the light of this world began to fade over those hills of green where the cold morning breeze would originate, flowing between the grass of green and the gates of stone. Searching, inspecting the city for it's lovers, its appreciating party. Now, the masquerade was removed, and the hell of violet fire was made apparent. It would manifest itself in the minds of the people, cringing now, thinking the truth, and materializing the actuality of the moment, the sickening truth that escape was impossible.
They were thinking softly, tears forming in the eyes like stones, only maximizing the fate of Midgar, of my Midgar. The fitful home was vanishing in water of the distressed, a plague of fear; a ending so unfitting that would end in quietude. It would end swiftly, yet the fire would burn, the fire would surely incinerate the comfort once felt here, for in my heart I knew that Midgar would never be what it was able to be, and what it should be.
Oh the tears! The outcome of rifts and embankments of abysmal pain, suffering, and loathing were falling on my cheeks like burning fire. Glass, cutting the flesh with their purpose, so sad, so horrid.
I couldn't stand it; I could not overcome the sorrow. It was pain that I didn't want to see, feel, or empathize for. No, I would not to empathize or even try to understand it, for I had been in chains of my own repentance, my own self-pity. I felt a pity that burned my own heart, smoldering it into the ashes, as the tears of glass would wash away.
Those tears started to cut my own eyes now.
A cemetery of the lost, a burrow of unremitting souls, Midgar was becoming a part of myself. The place which the past would dig itself a grave so deep, so far below the surface that the fire that fueled those smoldering flames, burning in the dark, would too, burn the past. Torturing it, as its nails would scratch the coffin, the coffin of my nightmares.
The coffin of a foretime.
The aegis of that foretime was here now, walking with me on those stone steps and amongst the tears of children. Tears I didn't want to see anymore, and steps that I didn't want to walk on.
Not ever again.
It was pattered within my mind, spoken repeatedly without the common hint of a heart. Never again. How long could I repeat them? How long did I want to repeat those words, the vow? This city, damned by the stars and malicious night, was repeating them for me.
Slowly, so slowly, like each stroke on thin brass strings, tightened and tuned to play that monotonous note, continuously enabled for that one simple note by that bow of horsehair and a wooden handle. Yes, it all was engaged, the playing of strings and dull emphasis, yet, it meant so much. Every tear, and every deafening tune released and played was just another signal that I had only begun to understand my plight.
It was a circumstance that had rendered me unhelpful.
With each step came an echo, and out of that echo was the reminding of departing time, a time that I must outrun, supposedly. According to the black silk dress, and black boots of rough leather, the world would end without me.
What significance do I hold to the world? A good question, yet it was never answered. Only the flicker of that black beauty was a sort of mesmerizing thing, something to calm me just a little. It was my appeasement, I suppose, as the volatile surroundings had changed from tranquility to eerie silence.
It was an affinity of a bestial place where the dead sleep, and the mourners' weep.
What was demeritorious and responsible of this dreaded ending? Was it another Sephiroth of simple insanity whose beliefs and trusts were placed in the most inane of things? She would never answer that one question, so informative and quick. I feared that Tifalirani didn't know herself, let alone want that ignorance to be public.
This was all speculation, and perhaps truth, but whatever it was, or classified as didn't matter to me; all that did was Midgar.
Yet, nothing was left for me to do. Nothing could be done to fix the shattered glass, that fragmentalized simulacrum of serenity. The seraphim of sweet serenity would pass me with that night's sky glaze overhead, watching ever intently over the four persons that knew of Fate's decision, of the destined happening.
Of Death.
So, we left the gates, and still walked onward into the light, from the darkness, or so I thought. Whatever, and wherever I was journeying to, I knew from this moment on, that I would be entirely alone. Yet, the slight clue of blind jollity, and momentary folly wasn't as evident as to Tifalirani – and with that, she broke the silence.
From the smallest footstep, to the loudest cry; this sound was the most inharmonious. The light of the inferno – and discordant distress it brought with it had only become bland truth to her as she saw it shine within her eyes, and in those eyes, I saw the clashing knowledge and sudden fright.
She fell to her knees to the revelation – something not meant to be understood, for no logic dwelled within Death's palms, only the empty darkness, that discordant song of chaos. A chaos that mankind had held within itself; its sin and ultimate diablerie.
She was feeling the outcome of that chaos, the sin of which demons fed from the guilt and emotional distraught. The human condition finally overcame her mind, and knees. Now, here she was, weeping and sobbing in her own hands when all the while the waterfalls disentangled into small brooks and streamlets.
The little streamlets that children would cry; the rivage was her hands, holding the pool of emotions until it overfilled. They were the walls to prevent the outburst, but they fell like so many things do…
Yet, I did nothing but feel the same. The rite of sorrow had fallen upon her and I, and the stars had let the clouds overcome the city on last time.
She was frightened to see him so close to her; he was so close that she could smell him. His fragrance of the windy plains and smoky mountains were appeasing to her fragile nose; his face was a general splendor to her eyes. And the handsome looked upon the fragile, and he held her close.
"Are you alright?" It took her time to respond – she was rather dizzy and unaware. For the past thirty seconds he had been patting her shoulder, waiting for some shift of the eyes, or movement from her small fingers. Yet, only her bosom moved in the sequential steps of exhalation and inhalation.
He looked over her a bit of amazement and superficial love, but then he looked again and saw no lust; neither did he feel its power. He saw her, and loved her. Then her eyes opened, and he gazed into them.
She immediately jumped to her feet, hoping to regain the previous posture she had displayed, but she couldn't. Her hair was messy, her white overcoat was dusty, and she was sneezing.
Sneezing hard, very hard indeed. She was embarrassed, mystified, and somewhat interested in the man all at once. She had to say something, obviously. It was the only thing she could do, and not look so pathetic.
"Who are you?! Huh? Why was I on the floor?" He felt his throat tighten, and his hands clench the sweat that had assembled there. Little drips of salted water formed on his forehead, his hair was pasted to it. Why was he so afraid? How old was he, for God's sake – two? He tried to swallow something, but choked on it, which I think was air.
He choked on air…
She was pretty startled at the outburst of coughing; she stepped back a little. His hands were covering his mouth, and his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. She looked at him shyly, but tried not to flirt with them, yet she couldn't hold her response of looking at something so…lasciviously interesting.
She moved her tongue to two places of her mouth, gathering the spit to lick her lips with. It made a glossy shine, a dumb attempt at looking "sexy". It wasn't like he had noticed; he was a rather clueless person who happened to be of a great place, which she had not seen yet, and hopefully for her sake never will.
"I'm sorry; you fainted but I broke your fall…" A brief silence, but he then opened his mouth as he remembered that crazed doctor. "…There was a man chancing after you."
"And you raised the gun to his face!" She jumped to the surprising remembering of the incident. Then looked to the side, and rubbed her hands. She had to apologize.
"So, I guess I should be thanking you – sorry."
"Why was he chasing you any way?" Somewhat of a awkward question to answer, since she was a bitch. She tried to think of something else, in an actual attempt to make her sound decent. But how could she? She was cruel, bland, and blunt – that's it. Yet, she hadn't seen such a handsome man since her husband died; the source of anguish. Yes, she wasn't over the fact of his death. It was just five months though, he died during the Meteor attack.
A building made him go squish!
To be terse – she loved him beyond belief, yet he treated her like shit. She was a faithful woman, loving and true, however, he had proven to her that men were indeed assholes, and that shit like "true love" and "happily ever after" really was just shit.
He, Mr. Handsome, that is, was a real lover. Not that he had actually loved anyone else but his mother – he was just born a lover. A man made to treat a woman how she'd ought to feel; how she wanted to feel. Not just sex, but the total package. He was the real deal, however, he was really shy.
Not that it is his fault; he isn't really from this world, and his mission was of something greater than finding women and making them feel good – nope.
"Don't worry about it."
"Shouldn't I?"
"Shouldn't I what?"
"Worry about it, y'know? I'm sorry, today just hasn't been the best day and – Oh shit!" She mentally kicked herself for forgetting the bullet victim, and kicked herself twice for screaming the word "shit" in front of a guy she was actually impressed with. She hadn't remember the name of the patient, which is sad because he could possibly be dead by now – or maybe she could be over-reacting… The guy walked slowly behind her, watching her go; laughing slightly to the oblique turns and flippant turns and shifts down those corridors. She didn't waste any time getting there, however, she cursed with five fucks and two shits. But, when she reached down to where she expected him to be; she didn't find him.
She didn't find him, and she was frightened to that knowledge. How could she loose her patient? She didn't jump automatically to that conclusion at first, though. She did, however, freak. And what I mean by "freak", I mean the literal connotation.
She freaked. Yet, she couldn't help but blame it on someone else. She didn't like to refer to her problems as her own; she was denying things for as long as she could remember. Faustine Calixte, the girl who always denied the facts, even when the evidence proved otherwise. She was a liar, in other words; stubborn and churlish in more ways than one.
"Max, my patient. Where's the patient?!"
"Patient? What patient?" The man was a new guy; she was stunned to remember his name. "The, um, the, um…"
"The patient was gone before the sub could get to him."
"He left without any treatment?"
"Yeah. Just got up, and left. I think this lady helped him too." She didn't waste any time rushing to the door, still with that guy following him. Running through the bright white lights and on the blue tiles of a cold hospital, she was running to hope to catch up with him. What she found was something bright in the sky, and a bunch of people looking up at it.
It was a bright purple ball, reminiscent of something that she couldn't remember…
It was the gleaming purple amongst the vast black that kept me looking, but I couldn't see amongst the tears and privy emotions that blurred everything. Daylight was simply no more for those moments when leaving, and those gates at the edge of the city weren't as much of a great thing to see from the last time I saw it. There was one similarity, however, and that similarity was what kept me turning my face away.
It was that the gates weren't meant to represent the city in anyway; quite the opposite, indeed. The prodigality that the gates personified was the overshadowing pain that I would feel. The bricks of the gate were bigger than my whole body; massively built to restrain attacks to ever topple it. It stood there with a sinister essence, black like shadow, strong like Sephiroth's hand. I would pass through it like every time before, looking at it's devilish splendor; but this time I could taste the five burns of despondency; I would believe that felicity didn't exist, and that the world had lost its worth for a time. Those were the times of barrenness, the everlastings of unbelievable pain.
It all started here.
It began with one step, and then another; leading me further away from my home, the home that I was accustomed to. It all disappeared within a day's light, from the first sunrise to the fusillade of night's becoming. That was the last night that I would whisper so soft and gentle words of regret; the last moment in which I would furrow in Yuffie's arms and sing in a furor of great joys and moments I had lived within that city.
Interesting to which you cry, Vincent. Crying for something that was never welcoming you. What? What I mean is, that you never realized that things would come to an end. In which all things do. Your past is nothing but toil, just you fumbling over the woes of others and the relentless troubles of yourself. Why?
I thought to myself, knowing that she would know them too. My thoughts were no longer my own, for she had the will to read them – yet, not to understand them. And when she was opening my mind as we walked those plains, I could hear voices from the back of my head. Not whispers, but small things. I didn't understand what it was at first. What is that?
What? The voices within my mind. I can hear small voices. You should not trouble yourself with them. But, it is the mourning of a man. A man? Yes, a man you know of.
I didn't understand. What man? I could hear it more clearly now. Its voice was of a masculine attribute, he was weeping, weeping so hard. Barret?
Yes. Where? Here. "Leigh, stop." That was the rifleman's name, Leigh. "Do you hear it?"
He swiftly turned to her question, walking in another direction, northwest of us. The cool of the night was nothing I wasn't habituated to. Faustine, however, was shivering in the dark, was left to grope in the grass, and cower to the sounds of night's bestial customs. The dark was a small synopsis of what lied ahead to me; I wasn't surprised. Faustine didn't share that, only did what she could do best in such occasions – squirm.
I turned to her, came close as I could while hearing the moans more and more loud. I saw her recoil in fear to my dark image; her face becoming tense and fearful. "It's me, don't worry, it's me."
"Oh – good. I thought you were an animal or something!"
I reassured her while leading her on; she was reluctant to make any more steps. "I'm sorry if you mind me asking – but why are you here?"
"Nah, no problem. I'm trying to get to Niebelhiem, and Leigh said that you wouldn't mind me coming along. Do you?"
"No, not at all. You just don't seem much of a traveler."
"Well, not without a buggy. Now, may I ask you something?"
"Only to be fair, I suppose."
"Do you believe what they are telling us? I mean, seriously."
"Yes, actually. Look at it, and you will have no doubt – to say the least."
"I'm sorry; I've never believed for one second it would happen." She wore a skeptical face; I could only think about what she felt. She looked like a cynical person, and from what I could remember from within the hospital was her screaming voice – my thoughts would only be considered as true. It also was evident that she wasn't much a traveling woman. If she would be a burden to lead, it would be best that she would travel alone.
"Well, when do you suppose it will hit Midgar?" I had no time to reply. "By the sunrise, it will be a horrid sight." Leigh was there right besides me, amazingly enough, I didn't realize his presence. He's waiting for you, Vincent. Go to him.
"What?" I replied hastily, frightening Faustine again. "Go to Tifa – you'll find him." And so I went. The crack of the frost-covered grass, and the accumulation of cold air were becoming brutal. A touch from one the surrounding leaves from trees still falling in natural elegance wasn't noticed as my mind was contemplating what lied beneath the dark. It was something I didn't want to see – for as my hands moved the dark, the leaves and all impediments aside; I felt my legs give away.
I told you what it would do. More pangs of anguish, another day for Vincent the Lonely. Let me be – just let me be. Now that you finally see her, you can do nothing but cry? No. Pay your respects, and go. Never leave the dead with regrets.
I wasn't breathing anymore; I didn't want to breathe any longer. The sinuous sight of Barret weeping to his daughter lying there in his arms was suicidal in itself. Her hair was what reminded me, the small body of a girl so sweet, so small. He was just holding her, gripping her, reminding him of the times that passed him by so quickly. The effete moment was of my lowest. The effulgent dark was elaborated in immoral death.
I didn't want to breathe.
"She's gone now. She's left me like her Mom. Like her…" I started to move my hands to my face, for my mourning would come out three-fold. The leaves were swaying to the slow motion of her hair. Moving back and forth like the needle and thread she would use to knit. It was a small hobby of hers, very effervescent was she in her designs.
Let us go. No, I'm not leaving him behind. I could feel my heart suffocate in flames, and my mind bleed to the fact. The blood was the panacea to all hatred that I could ever release. An elixir of hell, you could say; my hand was tensing, my mind was closing. Tifa could understand it, but she wouldn't let me release it. Stop it. You couldn't do anything about it. There was always a way, Tifa. That's the element we are given to stop the supposed inevitable. The thing is, I didn't use it. You didn't know, Vincent! How could you have known?! Don't ask me something that I could never answer. Yuffie died because of me not being there. Stop it. Marlene died because of me. Stop it! And Sheryl, Castolf's sister, she is gone too. And why? Because I wasn't there, and now I'm in the hell of it all. The hell that I've been avoiding so hard – for so long. And it comes to this – to here. And now, I failed again – the relentless failure, the inconceivable dilemma I always leave people in, just death, death, and more death: first Lucrecia, then Yuffie, and now this.
Don't you think that you're the only person to feel as if you ruin everyone else's life, don't be a fool. You didn't do anything, and there was nothing to be done. Don't make this harder than this already is for you. There are reasons to things that happen – that's the component to life, the lack of logic. Every man has felt this way some point in his life, some more extreme than others, but we all know that we must go on.
Yuffie would have wanted that, I suppose.
Yuffie… Yuffie!! I was screaming with both mind and mouth. Screaming so loud, such a savage sound. Her skin was pale, like she was an apparition of her former self. It was sheer vicissitude, just the bland taste of pain, like the life that I once had left me. I was whimpering with each breath, with each blink at her ghostly face.
Her eyes were open. Open like she had seen me every morning. Her dress that was of a coarse brown to keep her warm was drenched with blood. Her bosom, chest, and lower chin wore blood like water was splashed over her like the rain from that empty sky. The vitriolic tears, burning my cheeks like fire and vinegar, fell down like boulders from the highest cliffs.
Her hair wasn't like her original hair. The sheen was gone; the liveliness of it went with her soul. The once sprightly woman was dead, and yet, I couldn't let go of her – and I didn't let go of her. I just wept as I held her so tightly, so forcefully.
I never did let go.
"What do you fuckin' mean? Embargo? Do you know what this shit means for us? Mideel and Kalm is our biggest income provider."
They weren't arguing. This is the way Cid starts a conversation, either by yelling unnecessarily some profanity, or just by yelling period. It's how he got attention, though Shera found him ridiculously loud for his age. In the bedroom was where they usually spoke. Why? To avoid the eavesdropping of crewmen, and little suspicions. That was their way. Plus, Shera liked the room a plenty. From her nice smooth wooden floors to her stone columns on each corner of the room; it would make it look so "interesting".
Cid liked sitting on the nice, plush bed while speaking with her. The deluging comfort of that bed made Cid feel somewhat relaxed, but the cumbrance of this pissy day made the comfort helpless in calming the man down; Shera resented the fact.
"What about Midgar? Niebelhiem?"
"Shera, come on – think about it. They're both fucked up when technology comes along! Midgar is because of the Meteor, and Niebelhiem has always been 'dumbassville'!"
She was getting confused; what did this mean for them? Well, the amount of times Cid had uttered the word 'fuck' had been an inclination towards the state of being in "seriously bad shit". What were they to do? Why did this happen? Why are they refusing business? There were questions, but no fuckin' answer in sight; that pissed her off. "Well, what can we do?"
"I know I can get a meetin' in there; make a big fuss and try to get them to let off but I need to know why first. Do you know anything?"
"No, not really." A sigh.
"Well, who told you about it?"
"Red. Red did because he was at the Grand Assemblage." Another sigh.
"That Ball, right?"
"Yes Cid, the Ball." And another. She was thinking about something. Wondering about what could have triggered this. She tried not to look at Cid's face while thinking; she would only grow more pessimistic, but he was right. Why the hell didn't the say anything to them? Why not contact the biggest importer before making such a big decision?
Wait. She thought. Her daddy said something about tactical measures: yeah, her daddy before his untimely death at what, sixty-two? She would refer to him a lot – but I'll tell you later about him.
Leave no margin for error, especially if you're preparin' for somethin' big. She knew why.
"There's something really big going on; the men in charge already know something." It was blurted. Blurted like she was trying to breathe. Her father would know of these things because of the past war he had been in. "What do they know?"
"Something… We need to get to Cosmo Canyon so I can talk with Red."
"Well, I'm going to leave for Gongaga. I'm gonna talk with the Board about this before I loose any money. By tomorrow I should be there. If not, there's gonna be hell to pay."
It was a dance, a glissade of insobriety that they did. They fell as if intoxicated on their own destruction; the fuel was the impatience. It was insidiously planned, and exactly carried out by gravity's way. Death was smiling at the sight while the lady of Life's Glory mourned in despair, wishing the impossible, dreaming of another day and another sight; a dream of happiness.
Yet, within her algalm of misery and pity, she saw within the twinkling of her eye the sunrise again. In those eyes she cried in happiness, for she saw another day come, and the nightfall. Within the twilight of the gods, she saw the savior ride in his glory, redeeming his broken city once again.
But the nightfall came again, and the world was quiet.
Quiet once again, and the sea of emptiness engulfed the city of the dead once more. The nations of the East looked to the West and praised the heaven's whose hell was among the dead, and the soulless. The finality of the hour was apparent, and the two became one, and the second twilight struck, and death grinned and chuckled. The Norns spoke once more, and fell to their final oblivion.
The world was falling, and the nightfall was here to stay.
My mind was querulous, yet my lips were quiescent. The mantic sky and the stones that were before me held the truth that I could not interpret, a truth not wished to be understood. The quiddity of this night was dissolving before me, as I could not awake from a frightful dream. I was walking, yes, but dreaming of the panic and terror. I was dreaming of Yuffie, of Marlene. Of Barret and where he could be.
People began to see the apocalyptic marvel that the heavens had brought, wondering to themselves, thinking silently, clandestinely little words. Prattle, just talk, yet in the conversing with themselves, the deliberation of this masterdom of beauty, I knew they found it somewhat frightening, yet not taking the fact of it's current course.
It was becoming larger, and with every second, the light of this world began to fade over those hills of green where the cold morning breeze would originate, flowing between the grass of green and the gates of stone. Searching, inspecting the city for it's lovers, its appreciating party. Now, the masquerade was removed, and the hell of violet fire was made apparent. It would manifest itself in the minds of the people, cringing now, thinking the truth, and materializing the actuality of the moment, the sickening truth that escape was impossible.
They were thinking softly, tears forming in the eyes like stones, only maximizing the fate of Midgar, of my Midgar. The fitful home was vanishing in water of the distressed, a plague of fear; a ending so unfitting that would end in quietude. It would end swiftly, yet the fire would burn, the fire would surely incinerate the comfort once felt here, for in my heart I knew that Midgar would never be what it was able to be, and what it should be.
Oh the tears! The outcome of rifts and embankments of abysmal pain, suffering, and loathing were falling on my cheeks like burning fire. Glass, cutting the flesh with their purpose, so sad, so horrid.
I couldn't stand it; I could not overcome the sorrow. It was pain that I didn't want to see, feel, or empathize for. No, I would not to empathize or even try to understand it, for I had been in chains of my own repentance, my own self-pity. I felt a pity that burned my own heart, smoldering it into the ashes, as the tears of glass would wash away.
Those tears started to cut my own eyes now.
A cemetery of the lost, a burrow of unremitting souls, Midgar was becoming a part of myself. The place which the past would dig itself a grave so deep, so far below the surface that the fire that fueled those smoldering flames, burning in the dark, would too, burn the past. Torturing it, as its nails would scratch the coffin, the coffin of my nightmares.
The coffin of a foretime.
The aegis of that foretime was here now, walking with me on those stone steps and amongst the tears of children. Tears I didn't want to see anymore, and steps that I didn't want to walk on.
Not ever again.
It was pattered within my mind, spoken repeatedly without the common hint of a heart. Never again. How long could I repeat them? How long did I want to repeat those words, the vow? This city, damned by the stars and malicious night, was repeating them for me.
Slowly, so slowly, like each stroke on thin brass strings, tightened and tuned to play that monotonous note, continuously enabled for that one simple note by that bow of horsehair and a wooden handle. Yes, it all was engaged, the playing of strings and dull emphasis, yet, it meant so much. Every tear, and every deafening tune released and played was just another signal that I had only begun to understand my plight.
It was a circumstance that had rendered me unhelpful.
With each step came an echo, and out of that echo was the reminding of departing time, a time that I must outrun, supposedly. According to the black silk dress, and black boots of rough leather, the world would end without me.
What significance do I hold to the world? A good question, yet it was never answered. Only the flicker of that black beauty was a sort of mesmerizing thing, something to calm me just a little. It was my appeasement, I suppose, as the volatile surroundings had changed from tranquility to eerie silence.
It was an affinity of a bestial place where the dead sleep, and the mourners' weep.
What was demeritorious and responsible of this dreaded ending? Was it another Sephiroth of simple insanity whose beliefs and trusts were placed in the most inane of things? She would never answer that one question, so informative and quick. I feared that Tifalirani didn't know herself, let alone want that ignorance to be public.
This was all speculation, and perhaps truth, but whatever it was, or classified as didn't matter to me; all that did was Midgar.
Yet, nothing was left for me to do. Nothing could be done to fix the shattered glass, that fragmentalized simulacrum of serenity. The seraphim of sweet serenity would pass me with that night's sky glaze overhead, watching ever intently over the four persons that knew of Fate's decision, of the destined happening.
Of Death.
So, we left the gates, and still walked onward into the light, from the darkness, or so I thought. Whatever, and wherever I was journeying to, I knew from this moment on, that I would be entirely alone. Yet, the slight clue of blind jollity, and momentary folly wasn't as evident as to Tifalirani – and with that, she broke the silence.
From the smallest footstep, to the loudest cry; this sound was the most inharmonious. The light of the inferno – and discordant distress it brought with it had only become bland truth to her as she saw it shine within her eyes, and in those eyes, I saw the clashing knowledge and sudden fright.
She fell to her knees to the revelation – something not meant to be understood, for no logic dwelled within Death's palms, only the empty darkness, that discordant song of chaos. A chaos that mankind had held within itself; its sin and ultimate diablerie.
She was feeling the outcome of that chaos, the sin of which demons fed from the guilt and emotional distraught. The human condition finally overcame her mind, and knees. Now, here she was, weeping and sobbing in her own hands when all the while the waterfalls disentangled into small brooks and streamlets.
The little streamlets that children would cry; the rivage was her hands, holding the pool of emotions until it overfilled. They were the walls to prevent the outburst, but they fell like so many things do…
Yet, I did nothing but feel the same. The rite of sorrow had fallen upon her and I, and the stars had let the clouds overcome the city on last time.
She was frightened to see him so close to her; he was so close that she could smell him. His fragrance of the windy plains and smoky mountains were appeasing to her fragile nose; his face was a general splendor to her eyes. And the handsome looked upon the fragile, and he held her close.
"Are you alright?" It took her time to respond – she was rather dizzy and unaware. For the past thirty seconds he had been patting her shoulder, waiting for some shift of the eyes, or movement from her small fingers. Yet, only her bosom moved in the sequential steps of exhalation and inhalation.
He looked over her a bit of amazement and superficial love, but then he looked again and saw no lust; neither did he feel its power. He saw her, and loved her. Then her eyes opened, and he gazed into them.
She immediately jumped to her feet, hoping to regain the previous posture she had displayed, but she couldn't. Her hair was messy, her white overcoat was dusty, and she was sneezing.
Sneezing hard, very hard indeed. She was embarrassed, mystified, and somewhat interested in the man all at once. She had to say something, obviously. It was the only thing she could do, and not look so pathetic.
"Who are you?! Huh? Why was I on the floor?" He felt his throat tighten, and his hands clench the sweat that had assembled there. Little drips of salted water formed on his forehead, his hair was pasted to it. Why was he so afraid? How old was he, for God's sake – two? He tried to swallow something, but choked on it, which I think was air.
He choked on air…
She was pretty startled at the outburst of coughing; she stepped back a little. His hands were covering his mouth, and his eyes slowly rose to meet hers. She looked at him shyly, but tried not to flirt with them, yet she couldn't hold her response of looking at something so…lasciviously interesting.
She moved her tongue to two places of her mouth, gathering the spit to lick her lips with. It made a glossy shine, a dumb attempt at looking "sexy". It wasn't like he had noticed; he was a rather clueless person who happened to be of a great place, which she had not seen yet, and hopefully for her sake never will.
"I'm sorry; you fainted but I broke your fall…" A brief silence, but he then opened his mouth as he remembered that crazed doctor. "…There was a man chancing after you."
"And you raised the gun to his face!" She jumped to the surprising remembering of the incident. Then looked to the side, and rubbed her hands. She had to apologize.
"So, I guess I should be thanking you – sorry."
"Why was he chasing you any way?" Somewhat of a awkward question to answer, since she was a bitch. She tried to think of something else, in an actual attempt to make her sound decent. But how could she? She was cruel, bland, and blunt – that's it. Yet, she hadn't seen such a handsome man since her husband died; the source of anguish. Yes, she wasn't over the fact of his death. It was just five months though, he died during the Meteor attack.
A building made him go squish!
To be terse – she loved him beyond belief, yet he treated her like shit. She was a faithful woman, loving and true, however, he had proven to her that men were indeed assholes, and that shit like "true love" and "happily ever after" really was just shit.
He, Mr. Handsome, that is, was a real lover. Not that he had actually loved anyone else but his mother – he was just born a lover. A man made to treat a woman how she'd ought to feel; how she wanted to feel. Not just sex, but the total package. He was the real deal, however, he was really shy.
Not that it is his fault; he isn't really from this world, and his mission was of something greater than finding women and making them feel good – nope.
"Don't worry about it."
"Shouldn't I?"
"Shouldn't I what?"
"Worry about it, y'know? I'm sorry, today just hasn't been the best day and – Oh shit!" She mentally kicked herself for forgetting the bullet victim, and kicked herself twice for screaming the word "shit" in front of a guy she was actually impressed with. She hadn't remember the name of the patient, which is sad because he could possibly be dead by now – or maybe she could be over-reacting… The guy walked slowly behind her, watching her go; laughing slightly to the oblique turns and flippant turns and shifts down those corridors. She didn't waste any time getting there, however, she cursed with five fucks and two shits. But, when she reached down to where she expected him to be; she didn't find him.
She didn't find him, and she was frightened to that knowledge. How could she loose her patient? She didn't jump automatically to that conclusion at first, though. She did, however, freak. And what I mean by "freak", I mean the literal connotation.
She freaked. Yet, she couldn't help but blame it on someone else. She didn't like to refer to her problems as her own; she was denying things for as long as she could remember. Faustine Calixte, the girl who always denied the facts, even when the evidence proved otherwise. She was a liar, in other words; stubborn and churlish in more ways than one.
"Max, my patient. Where's the patient?!"
"Patient? What patient?" The man was a new guy; she was stunned to remember his name. "The, um, the, um…"
"The patient was gone before the sub could get to him."
"He left without any treatment?"
"Yeah. Just got up, and left. I think this lady helped him too." She didn't waste any time rushing to the door, still with that guy following him. Running through the bright white lights and on the blue tiles of a cold hospital, she was running to hope to catch up with him. What she found was something bright in the sky, and a bunch of people looking up at it.
It was a bright purple ball, reminiscent of something that she couldn't remember…
It was the gleaming purple amongst the vast black that kept me looking, but I couldn't see amongst the tears and privy emotions that blurred everything. Daylight was simply no more for those moments when leaving, and those gates at the edge of the city weren't as much of a great thing to see from the last time I saw it. There was one similarity, however, and that similarity was what kept me turning my face away.
It was that the gates weren't meant to represent the city in anyway; quite the opposite, indeed. The prodigality that the gates personified was the overshadowing pain that I would feel. The bricks of the gate were bigger than my whole body; massively built to restrain attacks to ever topple it. It stood there with a sinister essence, black like shadow, strong like Sephiroth's hand. I would pass through it like every time before, looking at it's devilish splendor; but this time I could taste the five burns of despondency; I would believe that felicity didn't exist, and that the world had lost its worth for a time. Those were the times of barrenness, the everlastings of unbelievable pain.
It all started here.
It began with one step, and then another; leading me further away from my home, the home that I was accustomed to. It all disappeared within a day's light, from the first sunrise to the fusillade of night's becoming. That was the last night that I would whisper so soft and gentle words of regret; the last moment in which I would furrow in Yuffie's arms and sing in a furor of great joys and moments I had lived within that city.
Interesting to which you cry, Vincent. Crying for something that was never welcoming you. What? What I mean is, that you never realized that things would come to an end. In which all things do. Your past is nothing but toil, just you fumbling over the woes of others and the relentless troubles of yourself. Why?
I thought to myself, knowing that she would know them too. My thoughts were no longer my own, for she had the will to read them – yet, not to understand them. And when she was opening my mind as we walked those plains, I could hear voices from the back of my head. Not whispers, but small things. I didn't understand what it was at first. What is that?
What? The voices within my mind. I can hear small voices. You should not trouble yourself with them. But, it is the mourning of a man. A man? Yes, a man you know of.
I didn't understand. What man? I could hear it more clearly now. Its voice was of a masculine attribute, he was weeping, weeping so hard. Barret?
Yes. Where? Here. "Leigh, stop." That was the rifleman's name, Leigh. "Do you hear it?"
He swiftly turned to her question, walking in another direction, northwest of us. The cool of the night was nothing I wasn't habituated to. Faustine, however, was shivering in the dark, was left to grope in the grass, and cower to the sounds of night's bestial customs. The dark was a small synopsis of what lied ahead to me; I wasn't surprised. Faustine didn't share that, only did what she could do best in such occasions – squirm.
I turned to her, came close as I could while hearing the moans more and more loud. I saw her recoil in fear to my dark image; her face becoming tense and fearful. "It's me, don't worry, it's me."
"Oh – good. I thought you were an animal or something!"
I reassured her while leading her on; she was reluctant to make any more steps. "I'm sorry if you mind me asking – but why are you here?"
"Nah, no problem. I'm trying to get to Niebelhiem, and Leigh said that you wouldn't mind me coming along. Do you?"
"No, not at all. You just don't seem much of a traveler."
"Well, not without a buggy. Now, may I ask you something?"
"Only to be fair, I suppose."
"Do you believe what they are telling us? I mean, seriously."
"Yes, actually. Look at it, and you will have no doubt – to say the least."
"I'm sorry; I've never believed for one second it would happen." She wore a skeptical face; I could only think about what she felt. She looked like a cynical person, and from what I could remember from within the hospital was her screaming voice – my thoughts would only be considered as true. It also was evident that she wasn't much a traveling woman. If she would be a burden to lead, it would be best that she would travel alone.
"Well, when do you suppose it will hit Midgar?" I had no time to reply. "By the sunrise, it will be a horrid sight." Leigh was there right besides me, amazingly enough, I didn't realize his presence. He's waiting for you, Vincent. Go to him.
"What?" I replied hastily, frightening Faustine again. "Go to Tifa – you'll find him." And so I went. The crack of the frost-covered grass, and the accumulation of cold air were becoming brutal. A touch from one the surrounding leaves from trees still falling in natural elegance wasn't noticed as my mind was contemplating what lied beneath the dark. It was something I didn't want to see – for as my hands moved the dark, the leaves and all impediments aside; I felt my legs give away.
I told you what it would do. More pangs of anguish, another day for Vincent the Lonely. Let me be – just let me be. Now that you finally see her, you can do nothing but cry? No. Pay your respects, and go. Never leave the dead with regrets.
I wasn't breathing anymore; I didn't want to breathe any longer. The sinuous sight of Barret weeping to his daughter lying there in his arms was suicidal in itself. Her hair was what reminded me, the small body of a girl so sweet, so small. He was just holding her, gripping her, reminding him of the times that passed him by so quickly. The effete moment was of my lowest. The effulgent dark was elaborated in immoral death.
I didn't want to breathe.
"She's gone now. She's left me like her Mom. Like her…" I started to move my hands to my face, for my mourning would come out three-fold. The leaves were swaying to the slow motion of her hair. Moving back and forth like the needle and thread she would use to knit. It was a small hobby of hers, very effervescent was she in her designs.
Let us go. No, I'm not leaving him behind. I could feel my heart suffocate in flames, and my mind bleed to the fact. The blood was the panacea to all hatred that I could ever release. An elixir of hell, you could say; my hand was tensing, my mind was closing. Tifa could understand it, but she wouldn't let me release it. Stop it. You couldn't do anything about it. There was always a way, Tifa. That's the element we are given to stop the supposed inevitable. The thing is, I didn't use it. You didn't know, Vincent! How could you have known?! Don't ask me something that I could never answer. Yuffie died because of me not being there. Stop it. Marlene died because of me. Stop it! And Sheryl, Castolf's sister, she is gone too. And why? Because I wasn't there, and now I'm in the hell of it all. The hell that I've been avoiding so hard – for so long. And it comes to this – to here. And now, I failed again – the relentless failure, the inconceivable dilemma I always leave people in, just death, death, and more death: first Lucrecia, then Yuffie, and now this.
Don't you think that you're the only person to feel as if you ruin everyone else's life, don't be a fool. You didn't do anything, and there was nothing to be done. Don't make this harder than this already is for you. There are reasons to things that happen – that's the component to life, the lack of logic. Every man has felt this way some point in his life, some more extreme than others, but we all know that we must go on.
Yuffie would have wanted that, I suppose.
Yuffie… Yuffie!! I was screaming with both mind and mouth. Screaming so loud, such a savage sound. Her skin was pale, like she was an apparition of her former self. It was sheer vicissitude, just the bland taste of pain, like the life that I once had left me. I was whimpering with each breath, with each blink at her ghostly face.
Her eyes were open. Open like she had seen me every morning. Her dress that was of a coarse brown to keep her warm was drenched with blood. Her bosom, chest, and lower chin wore blood like water was splashed over her like the rain from that empty sky. The vitriolic tears, burning my cheeks like fire and vinegar, fell down like boulders from the highest cliffs.
Her hair wasn't like her original hair. The sheen was gone; the liveliness of it went with her soul. The once sprightly woman was dead, and yet, I couldn't let go of her – and I didn't let go of her. I just wept as I held her so tightly, so forcefully.
I never did let go.
"What do you fuckin' mean? Embargo? Do you know what this shit means for us? Mideel and Kalm is our biggest income provider."
They weren't arguing. This is the way Cid starts a conversation, either by yelling unnecessarily some profanity, or just by yelling period. It's how he got attention, though Shera found him ridiculously loud for his age. In the bedroom was where they usually spoke. Why? To avoid the eavesdropping of crewmen, and little suspicions. That was their way. Plus, Shera liked the room a plenty. From her nice smooth wooden floors to her stone columns on each corner of the room; it would make it look so "interesting".
Cid liked sitting on the nice, plush bed while speaking with her. The deluging comfort of that bed made Cid feel somewhat relaxed, but the cumbrance of this pissy day made the comfort helpless in calming the man down; Shera resented the fact.
"What about Midgar? Niebelhiem?"
"Shera, come on – think about it. They're both fucked up when technology comes along! Midgar is because of the Meteor, and Niebelhiem has always been 'dumbassville'!"
She was getting confused; what did this mean for them? Well, the amount of times Cid had uttered the word 'fuck' had been an inclination towards the state of being in "seriously bad shit". What were they to do? Why did this happen? Why are they refusing business? There were questions, but no fuckin' answer in sight; that pissed her off. "Well, what can we do?"
"I know I can get a meetin' in there; make a big fuss and try to get them to let off but I need to know why first. Do you know anything?"
"No, not really." A sigh.
"Well, who told you about it?"
"Red. Red did because he was at the Grand Assemblage." Another sigh.
"That Ball, right?"
"Yes Cid, the Ball." And another. She was thinking about something. Wondering about what could have triggered this. She tried not to look at Cid's face while thinking; she would only grow more pessimistic, but he was right. Why the hell didn't the say anything to them? Why not contact the biggest importer before making such a big decision?
Wait. She thought. Her daddy said something about tactical measures: yeah, her daddy before his untimely death at what, sixty-two? She would refer to him a lot – but I'll tell you later about him.
Leave no margin for error, especially if you're preparin' for somethin' big. She knew why.
"There's something really big going on; the men in charge already know something." It was blurted. Blurted like she was trying to breathe. Her father would know of these things because of the past war he had been in. "What do they know?"
"Something… We need to get to Cosmo Canyon so I can talk with Red."
"Well, I'm going to leave for Gongaga. I'm gonna talk with the Board about this before I loose any money. By tomorrow I should be there. If not, there's gonna be hell to pay."