Epilogue for a Dream
A FFX One-shot by Tobu Ishi
*
I do not own FFX. I do own my own words, though I will never publish them for any kind of fiscal gain. Special thanks and uber props go to Rem Saverem for beta'ing this little blurb of mine, and to the judges at Sakuracon 2004 for voting this into the winning spot for Best Short Story in their fanfiction contest. Cheers!
*
They want me to stand witness at their wedding.
I just sat there, staring at them, for so long after they asked that they finally left me to work things out myself. I'm still sitting here, silent, now. What do you say after something like that? I'd like to laugh, or cry, or scream: oh, Yevon, help me, what should I do…but I know by now that whatever might be out there, it isn't Yevon, and it doesn't seem to care what happens to me.
They don't understand how much it hurts. They really don't. After a year, the pain has faded for them, become manageable. It was harder on Wakka, after the way he'd bonded with him, made him into a sort of surrogate brother—yes, I know he denied it to Lulu, but I'm not blind, and neither was she—and then lost him, too. But he had Lulu still, and Besaid to protect, and he survived.
Wakka watched the deaths of a best friend and an idolized hero on that day. For Lulu, it was just the loss of two comrades-in-arms…she'd protected me, her summoner and her sister, and that was enough for poor pragmatic Lulu, still struggling with her guilt.
As for me, my world shattered in that moment along with what was left of the Dream Zanarkand, and though I put up a brave front, behind it the pieces of my heart remain raw and loosely knit, jury-rigged together just enough to survive, bleeding sluggishly through the cracks between.
Sending Auron was bad enough. Somehow I'd taken his acquaintance with my father and subconsciously made him into a shadow of him, a replacement, an uncle to pretend with, and it shocked me to discover that not only was he gone, he had been lost to me long before his oath to be my Guardian. After discovering so many of the paragons of my life and faith to be nothing but lingering shades, I thought I was numbed to it. Discovering Auron's secret cracked open those scabbed wounds again, and Sending him poured salt in them.
Then, still aching, I had to face what came next…
As the months went by, they fell more and more in love. They were maddeningly practical about it; Wakka was never exactly one for poetry and pining, and Lulu is just too down-to-earth to let even romance sweep her off her feet. But I noticed the little things, the breaks in routine, the dropped hints.
The way she would toy with the ends of her braids unconsciously when she talked about him, as if her fingers would drip an overflow of magic if she kept them still.
The time I found him sitting up to his waist in the surf, staring at the sunrise and dreaming, his blitzball lying—forgotten!—in the sand.
The furtive glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking; the hands held under the table; the heads bent together as they sat side by side on a fallen log in the jungle, talking quietly, until suddenly a peal of unfamiliar sound lightened the air and the jaws of everyone in hearing distance hit the ground, because dour, sullen Lulu was laughing…
I cried silently, alone in my room at night, steeping in my own jealousy. The aura of love that rolled off of them would get into my clothes and my hair, and I would dream of him, with his eyes like the ocean sparkling in the sun, and wake heartsore and shivering despite the thick mugginess of the tropical night.
And then in the morning I would splash water on my face to wash away the traces of tears and the envious tinge of green I was superstitiously half-sure would be visible, and I went out and smiled.
They told me yesterday that they're taking the plunge.
They want me to stand witness at their wedding.
Lulu, always the more observant one, suspects that this is hurting me. I heard her talking to him about it the other night; the walls on this island are thin, and it's easy to overhear another person's business, even without meaning to. She wondered aloud if it might not be difficult to watch them together, considering what I'd lost. Who I'd lost.
I could almost hear Wakka's attempt at a smile as he spoke, reassuring her that it would be good for me to know that our lives hadn't ended just because his had. Telling her that they would make sure I shared in their joy as much as possible. Joking that, after all, I would make a much better godmother than, say, Kimahri, and he thought they ought to give me that honor when the time came.
His voice turned so shy, so alarmingly tender, when he brought that up. He almost didn't sound like the Wakka I knew.
I left then. It was too much to listen to.
I know they mean well. I know they just want to be happy, want me to be happy.
I miss him so much, and I don't even have my faith to cry out to, to vent my pain. Even surrounded by friends and admirers, sometimes I feel like I have nothing left inside of me, as if I've become a shell of a victorious hero, my insides scooped out and replaced with emptiness and a faint mist of misery.
There are times when I can't bear to go swimming, times when even laughter itself reminds me of him. There are times when it's all too much, and I long to run down the path and up the hill to the shrine for the lost ones and throw myself down with a offering of half-crushed flowers and sob, the way I did at first, so often that it worried them and they even debated not letting me go anymore.
Those times, I think, are growing more infrequent. They're bottled up, mostly; hidden, so that no one will worry.
A ray of light for Spira. There's your reason to laugh, sweet boy. Even when the doctrine is proven a lie, I'm still going through the motions. Still pasting on a smile to placate the masses.
I never used to be this eloquent. Then again, I never used to be this alone.
Will I always remain this way?
Do I want to?
…would he want me to?
They want me to stand witness at their wedding. More than that, they want me to want to stand witness, to stand tall beside them in my best robes with my arms full of bright flowers and my heart full of light. They want me to laugh again, to dance and smile and live again.
They want me to heal, to remember but not to dwell upon.
And as much as I miss him, I'm tired of emptiness and sorrow, tired of crying in the dark. I have no tears left, and something has to replace them. With their love around me, buoying me up, I think I can try.
I will fill my arms with flowers, open my heart again and air it out along with my old best summoning robes, breathe deep and stand as tall as I can, standing witness to love. To living love, and to love which has died, but still lingers Unsent. Theirs and my own.
It is, at least, a beginning.
*
A FFX One-shot by Tobu Ishi
*
I do not own FFX. I do own my own words, though I will never publish them for any kind of fiscal gain. Special thanks and uber props go to Rem Saverem for beta'ing this little blurb of mine, and to the judges at Sakuracon 2004 for voting this into the winning spot for Best Short Story in their fanfiction contest. Cheers!
*
They want me to stand witness at their wedding.
I just sat there, staring at them, for so long after they asked that they finally left me to work things out myself. I'm still sitting here, silent, now. What do you say after something like that? I'd like to laugh, or cry, or scream: oh, Yevon, help me, what should I do…but I know by now that whatever might be out there, it isn't Yevon, and it doesn't seem to care what happens to me.
They don't understand how much it hurts. They really don't. After a year, the pain has faded for them, become manageable. It was harder on Wakka, after the way he'd bonded with him, made him into a sort of surrogate brother—yes, I know he denied it to Lulu, but I'm not blind, and neither was she—and then lost him, too. But he had Lulu still, and Besaid to protect, and he survived.
Wakka watched the deaths of a best friend and an idolized hero on that day. For Lulu, it was just the loss of two comrades-in-arms…she'd protected me, her summoner and her sister, and that was enough for poor pragmatic Lulu, still struggling with her guilt.
As for me, my world shattered in that moment along with what was left of the Dream Zanarkand, and though I put up a brave front, behind it the pieces of my heart remain raw and loosely knit, jury-rigged together just enough to survive, bleeding sluggishly through the cracks between.
Sending Auron was bad enough. Somehow I'd taken his acquaintance with my father and subconsciously made him into a shadow of him, a replacement, an uncle to pretend with, and it shocked me to discover that not only was he gone, he had been lost to me long before his oath to be my Guardian. After discovering so many of the paragons of my life and faith to be nothing but lingering shades, I thought I was numbed to it. Discovering Auron's secret cracked open those scabbed wounds again, and Sending him poured salt in them.
Then, still aching, I had to face what came next…
As the months went by, they fell more and more in love. They were maddeningly practical about it; Wakka was never exactly one for poetry and pining, and Lulu is just too down-to-earth to let even romance sweep her off her feet. But I noticed the little things, the breaks in routine, the dropped hints.
The way she would toy with the ends of her braids unconsciously when she talked about him, as if her fingers would drip an overflow of magic if she kept them still.
The time I found him sitting up to his waist in the surf, staring at the sunrise and dreaming, his blitzball lying—forgotten!—in the sand.
The furtive glances exchanged when they thought no one was looking; the hands held under the table; the heads bent together as they sat side by side on a fallen log in the jungle, talking quietly, until suddenly a peal of unfamiliar sound lightened the air and the jaws of everyone in hearing distance hit the ground, because dour, sullen Lulu was laughing…
I cried silently, alone in my room at night, steeping in my own jealousy. The aura of love that rolled off of them would get into my clothes and my hair, and I would dream of him, with his eyes like the ocean sparkling in the sun, and wake heartsore and shivering despite the thick mugginess of the tropical night.
And then in the morning I would splash water on my face to wash away the traces of tears and the envious tinge of green I was superstitiously half-sure would be visible, and I went out and smiled.
They told me yesterday that they're taking the plunge.
They want me to stand witness at their wedding.
Lulu, always the more observant one, suspects that this is hurting me. I heard her talking to him about it the other night; the walls on this island are thin, and it's easy to overhear another person's business, even without meaning to. She wondered aloud if it might not be difficult to watch them together, considering what I'd lost. Who I'd lost.
I could almost hear Wakka's attempt at a smile as he spoke, reassuring her that it would be good for me to know that our lives hadn't ended just because his had. Telling her that they would make sure I shared in their joy as much as possible. Joking that, after all, I would make a much better godmother than, say, Kimahri, and he thought they ought to give me that honor when the time came.
His voice turned so shy, so alarmingly tender, when he brought that up. He almost didn't sound like the Wakka I knew.
I left then. It was too much to listen to.
I know they mean well. I know they just want to be happy, want me to be happy.
I miss him so much, and I don't even have my faith to cry out to, to vent my pain. Even surrounded by friends and admirers, sometimes I feel like I have nothing left inside of me, as if I've become a shell of a victorious hero, my insides scooped out and replaced with emptiness and a faint mist of misery.
There are times when I can't bear to go swimming, times when even laughter itself reminds me of him. There are times when it's all too much, and I long to run down the path and up the hill to the shrine for the lost ones and throw myself down with a offering of half-crushed flowers and sob, the way I did at first, so often that it worried them and they even debated not letting me go anymore.
Those times, I think, are growing more infrequent. They're bottled up, mostly; hidden, so that no one will worry.
A ray of light for Spira. There's your reason to laugh, sweet boy. Even when the doctrine is proven a lie, I'm still going through the motions. Still pasting on a smile to placate the masses.
I never used to be this eloquent. Then again, I never used to be this alone.
Will I always remain this way?
Do I want to?
…would he want me to?
They want me to stand witness at their wedding. More than that, they want me to want to stand witness, to stand tall beside them in my best robes with my arms full of bright flowers and my heart full of light. They want me to laugh again, to dance and smile and live again.
They want me to heal, to remember but not to dwell upon.
And as much as I miss him, I'm tired of emptiness and sorrow, tired of crying in the dark. I have no tears left, and something has to replace them. With their love around me, buoying me up, I think I can try.
I will fill my arms with flowers, open my heart again and air it out along with my old best summoning robes, breathe deep and stand as tall as I can, standing witness to love. To living love, and to love which has died, but still lingers Unsent. Theirs and my own.
It is, at least, a beginning.
*