"What are you doing?"
"Standing. Enjoying a beautiful day."
"It's raining."
"…So?"
He'd been standing out there for some time before I joined him. Just standing. No energetic movements or loud calls. And when I reached him he didn't even turn to look at me. No smirk, no idiotic joke or sarcastic comment. Just silence. And that is eerie coming from him. He is an enigma to me. Something to be in awe of, something so strange and foreign to me that I could never understand him. He is too unpredictable, too independent, too… alive. It has been said before - he claims to be the God of Death, but it is he among us that is the most alive.
"Why does it need to be sunny to be a beautiful day? I never understood that about people. Rain is a beautiful and gratifying thing. Why not go out an enjoy it?"
"You get wet."
"You get wet in a shower."
"It compromises your health."
"How?"
"The rain is cold and cools down your body temperature so that it is more susceptible to -"
"You can have a cold shower without getting sick."
He should be more like Trowa, or even me. The things that have happened to him are things that not just any child could live through and survive as he did. And he has not withdrawn into himself, placed a barrier between himself and the world in an effort not the expose himself to further hurt. Instead, he seems to open himself up to life, emitting a cry for the world to do it's worst because for him, life is worth living. It's easy to forget sometimes that we are only children, played as pawns in this war. Out of the five of us, I was the only one to receive any formal training for this. The only one without a choice. And yet they all chose to be here. He chose to be here. And for what? What will this gain him?
"You believe that standing out in the rain is bad. Why? Because you were told so? Why do we need to follow a society's norm? To be sheep in a mindlessly wandering heard?"
"It is a fact."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
I think a lot of people label him as stupid. I know I did. It's too easy to just slide him into that category because he smiles too much and jokes around. But then, most people never take the time to get to know him. I mean him and not the jester he uses as an easy front. People like the jester because he's simple and easy to get along with. But what's underneath is so much deeper and more meaningful then that front. When I first met him, I thought he was an idiot. He's proved me wrong too many times to count. Every once and a while he tosses out these pieces of genius. And I know they're not just flukes.
"It's been proven."
"By whom? And why do you believe them? We are not mindless lemmings."
"Some things are meant to be accepted. They are there for a reason and there is no point going against them."
I wish I had his faith in life, his energy and willingness to see the best of things. Wish I could be that cheerful and happy about a dark rainy day in September. And I know he tries, more then anyone else has ever bothered too. For this I am grateful, but I do not think that things so deeply embedded can be removed. But I hope he keeps trying, because maybe he can make a difference.
"Oh? All right then. I suppose rain is always bad then. It never brings life to barren ground, it never alleviates the muggy humidity that hangs for days, it never refreshes a weary heart – never allows anyone to actually live for a moment in their life?"
"We're not talking about rain anymore."
"No, we're not, are we?"
He walked off across the grass, water dripping off every part of his body. His thick, golden braid does not swing in it's usual manner, rather hanging heavily down on his back, dyed much darker by the water. His bangs are plastered down on his face, brushed carefully to either side of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed a light pink hue, and his skin fairly radiates the warmth that humans tend to give off when they are wet and cold. There is that sparkle in his eyes though, the one that says that despite this cold, miserable setting, it is a beautiful day and I shouldn't let it get away.
~Owari~
Wow. Obscure much? I dunno if anyone but myself will be able to see what the hell I was trying to write about, but I hope it was okay none the less. This came to me in the car, on a reasonably warm, sunny day. 'A Beautiful Day' by U2 came on the radio and this began to write itself in my head. It took half an hour to write and I haven't changed anything. It's a totally different way of writing then I've ever used, and it didn't come out exactly right (specially the ending) but I don't think it was too bad really. Feedback?
Disclaimer: Don't own, no money, please don't sue?
Oh, to any waiting on Shinigami – I'm writing! I am, I promise! Ch. 3 is half done. Kinda.
"Standing. Enjoying a beautiful day."
"It's raining."
"…So?"
He'd been standing out there for some time before I joined him. Just standing. No energetic movements or loud calls. And when I reached him he didn't even turn to look at me. No smirk, no idiotic joke or sarcastic comment. Just silence. And that is eerie coming from him. He is an enigma to me. Something to be in awe of, something so strange and foreign to me that I could never understand him. He is too unpredictable, too independent, too… alive. It has been said before - he claims to be the God of Death, but it is he among us that is the most alive.
"Why does it need to be sunny to be a beautiful day? I never understood that about people. Rain is a beautiful and gratifying thing. Why not go out an enjoy it?"
"You get wet."
"You get wet in a shower."
"It compromises your health."
"How?"
"The rain is cold and cools down your body temperature so that it is more susceptible to -"
"You can have a cold shower without getting sick."
He should be more like Trowa, or even me. The things that have happened to him are things that not just any child could live through and survive as he did. And he has not withdrawn into himself, placed a barrier between himself and the world in an effort not the expose himself to further hurt. Instead, he seems to open himself up to life, emitting a cry for the world to do it's worst because for him, life is worth living. It's easy to forget sometimes that we are only children, played as pawns in this war. Out of the five of us, I was the only one to receive any formal training for this. The only one without a choice. And yet they all chose to be here. He chose to be here. And for what? What will this gain him?
"You believe that standing out in the rain is bad. Why? Because you were told so? Why do we need to follow a society's norm? To be sheep in a mindlessly wandering heard?"
"It is a fact."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
I think a lot of people label him as stupid. I know I did. It's too easy to just slide him into that category because he smiles too much and jokes around. But then, most people never take the time to get to know him. I mean him and not the jester he uses as an easy front. People like the jester because he's simple and easy to get along with. But what's underneath is so much deeper and more meaningful then that front. When I first met him, I thought he was an idiot. He's proved me wrong too many times to count. Every once and a while he tosses out these pieces of genius. And I know they're not just flukes.
"It's been proven."
"By whom? And why do you believe them? We are not mindless lemmings."
"Some things are meant to be accepted. They are there for a reason and there is no point going against them."
I wish I had his faith in life, his energy and willingness to see the best of things. Wish I could be that cheerful and happy about a dark rainy day in September. And I know he tries, more then anyone else has ever bothered too. For this I am grateful, but I do not think that things so deeply embedded can be removed. But I hope he keeps trying, because maybe he can make a difference.
"Oh? All right then. I suppose rain is always bad then. It never brings life to barren ground, it never alleviates the muggy humidity that hangs for days, it never refreshes a weary heart – never allows anyone to actually live for a moment in their life?"
"We're not talking about rain anymore."
"No, we're not, are we?"
He walked off across the grass, water dripping off every part of his body. His thick, golden braid does not swing in it's usual manner, rather hanging heavily down on his back, dyed much darker by the water. His bangs are plastered down on his face, brushed carefully to either side of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed a light pink hue, and his skin fairly radiates the warmth that humans tend to give off when they are wet and cold. There is that sparkle in his eyes though, the one that says that despite this cold, miserable setting, it is a beautiful day and I shouldn't let it get away.
~Owari~
Wow. Obscure much? I dunno if anyone but myself will be able to see what the hell I was trying to write about, but I hope it was okay none the less. This came to me in the car, on a reasonably warm, sunny day. 'A Beautiful Day' by U2 came on the radio and this began to write itself in my head. It took half an hour to write and I haven't changed anything. It's a totally different way of writing then I've ever used, and it didn't come out exactly right (specially the ending) but I don't think it was too bad really. Feedback?
Disclaimer: Don't own, no money, please don't sue?
Oh, to any waiting on Shinigami – I'm writing! I am, I promise! Ch. 3 is half done. Kinda.
