Reversed, Flipped, Reflected

Part 1: Reversed

Kind of sickeningly ironic, isn't it, how it's possible to have a subconscious role model influence you more than any person you have expressible admiration for? The other major people in my life- Riddel, Karsh, and General Viper- their virtues are kind of obvious. You've got an angel pacifist whose innocence and beauty compels you to cherish her as a miracle, an upstanding patriot who also happens to be a loving father and father figure, and gruff but supportive neighbor whose always been knocking me down and then helping me back up.

Dario. You're Dario. That's all that my mind can come up with, even though I've had all my life to find that one perfect word that would describe you. Believe me, I've gone down the list. Brave? Nah. You may have looked down your nose at the grim reaper and spat in his face more than once, but spiders (Spiders, for god's sake!) freaked you out. I couldn't call you brave when I had to squash the tiny eight-legged things for you. (No, I'm not calling you a wuss. I was the one that you had to hold until I fell asleep and couldn't see the perilous dark anymore. But, on a hypocritical note- c'mon, I was 5. You still had that phobia when you were 24.)

Smart, then? No, I always found your intellect- well, it was fine, as military geniuses go, but your intelligence, fortified by experience, was dealt a serious blow by your compassion some time ago. There is a level of kindness that leaves you at vulnerable. And every time you had to detain a frail youth for a crime (no matter how serious.) you'd hesitate, which is why you always got kicked, bit, scratched, and stabbed. I don't know when your immunity to softness took a plunge. Maybe when Mom and Dad died. After all, you know what it's like to just old enough to understand the isolation and devastation the world can enforce on you. Yeah, I know it's great to be sensitive, but I don't think they cared much about you suffering when the put one and one together and inserted blade into chest while you were looking away. I could call you nice, but that's not what a little brother remembers about a dead older one when he remembers the uncalled for punching sessions

I've even tried thinking of you as strong, for Christ's sake. That one's hard to refute, isn't it? Greatest warrior of Termina, always kicked my ass in training sessions, packed with muscle. Great support for that attribute. But wait. How did you die? Karsh said. a monster. There should be no shame in that, I know. The beasts in the Isle of Damned are a lot different from the ones here, moderate creature with little brains and even less brawn. They're tough. They've got great elements and more effective attacks. But you wanted to commit suicide.

How the hell did that suddenly pop up, you ask? Simple- Karsh went, came back, not a scratch on him. He wasn't nearly as good at fighting as you were, Dar, and he didn't get mangled, like you did. If you were actually killed by a monster, you must have let one get close enough to you. What was it Dar? Wait. You were engaged. You didn't really love her, or you were too guilty of depriving Karsh of her that you couldn't through with it. No, that doesn't work. Was it your job? They demanded a lot from you, but you hated it but couldn't get out because it's expected of our family. NO!!! NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE!!! WHAT THE HELL WAS SO WRONG WITH YOUR LIFE THAT YOU LET A MOSTER CHEW YOU UP SO BAD THAT COULDN'T EVEN BRING BACK UP THE BODY?!

And now you're gone. I've spent the last 4 years waiting for something new to come into my own existence, something so spectacular that it can take the place of your indefinable, frustratingly vital presence. Love, hate, the end of the world, anything!! I thought I'd come close, when Serge smacked into me at your gravestone, but he's in a bit of a romantic predicament himself and I can't be bothered with looking up at him. (Eh, might as well have. He was younger than me, and finding a kid better than you is really awkward, not to mention degrading.)

I've been stagnant. No, I'm reversed. You left when I was sixteen, just as my character was developing. What the hell was I supposed to be when I didn't have some format to follow? I was something, a while back. But I was cut off right in the middle of learning how to be polite and considerate, and now I'm just a hard -headed jerk who explodes when I feel like it. Right before you turn into an adult, everything feels like such a big deal to you. Maturity is a buffer zone for the emotions that come into play, constantly. And if you don't have anything to stop, it just surges in or you as a tidal wave and engulfs you. You can't help but let your feelings vent.

I'm going backwards. I can't not. I'm still bewildered at how you abruptly stepped out of my life and left me wondering exactly what kind of person you wanted me to be. You didn't want me to be you- be more stoic you said- but you couldn't have wanted me to turn out to be so juvenile and petty either. I got confused- I was deemed old enough to live without a guardian (what's two years, anyway?) and then I just stopped progressing in most things. Actually, everything, except for my training. Every teen needs a vice like grip on his arm, restraining him from falling too far in rebellion and moodiness. And I didn't have one. (Riddel was scared of me when I got angry; she stayed out of my way whenever I was pissed. Which meant she was never around. As for Karsh, he lived where you died. I couldn't help feeling a bit resentful.) I forgot all the chivalry you taught me. Most people I met wondered if I was in my mid-teens when I flipped them off when they stared at my scowl too long. For some reason, even my looks are taking their time in catching up with my real age. Must be a mental=physical thing.

And every time I visit your grave, happen to glance at your various possessions that still clutter up our house because I'm too lazy (or sentimental) to box it up and move it out of the way, I take another step back. In my mind, I can see your face vividly when it's supposed to be going dim, see you grinning and laughing off one of my adolescent tantrums while alternately correcting what I did. And every time I let another one of fate's blows bowl me over and drive me to rage, I fall deeper into the habit. When I snap it's just about the only time that I don't think of how'd you reproach my every impulsive move.

And now I feel so rotten after mulling over this that I've spent at least five minutes putting dents in the wall. The skin on my knuckles has been torn off and I'm leaking red all over the floor and practically slathering it on the walls. I should dress my hands, then scrub it off before Riddel and Karsh come in to check on me like they said they would. But, then, I don't want to. Yeah, I know it should be disgusting for me to have my own blood scrawled over the logs of my house as a messy landscape painting, but it isn't and I'm not about to panic about what Riddel and Karsh think about my state of mind, then spend half- an hour struggling to get the stains out while trying to keep my bandages dry.

Oh yeah. I'm reversed.
***

Gotcha. I bet most people who read my other fics thought Glenn was gong to end up as Reflected. (the whole fortune thing) There's still the other two, though, so let's see..

This is closest the representation of Glenn (how I see him) that I ever wrote. I know, it conflicts with most images of him, but my powers of perception are broken or mutated or something. Actually, the first time I saw Glenn I thought he was the same age or even younger than Serge. When I got him in my party and checked out his background information it took a minute for me to process that 2 and 0 and realize I was way off.

Why did I think he was aged 15-18, you ask? Well there were several things- one, he had big eyes, which made him look really sweet despite the frown he's always sporting. (But I guess it doesn't count, as it is an anime game.) Two, his face was shaped a lot less angular than most of the guys. (makes him look like a kid.) And three, I think he acted like one. Everyone in town appears to think of him as a willful little brother, like the flower-shop lady. Plus, I can vaguely recall him sitting on a wall and getting around by hopping on them. I relate this kind of action to children.

This one as a lot better than the stuff I've been pumping out lately, right? The other things I kind of had to force out me, and this one just came, which is so cool. I've found the secret to writing fics! Choose a topic you like. Even if you spit on my other fics, please review this one, or due to lack of interest, I'll discontinue. (Just kidding. I'm having too much fun!)I know there's a lot of insanity here (courtesy of what that weird brain of mine feeds me), so if you want to talk about something, I'll send you an e-mail if you leave your address. I want to finish this thing within a week, that's all I know.

Next up: Flipped.