Not all windows are set in walls.
The two men had been leaning against the bridge railing for quite some time. Both of them were … not quite drunk, not yet, anyways, but more … happy. That loose, bemused happiness that comes some time after you have waved a cheerful goodbye to the cold world of sobriety but have not quite dived into the fluorescent-pink-and-yellow ocean of true drunkenness. It was that stage when tongues are loosened but not yet given a handful of cash and sent out for a night on the town, when memories come freely but it doesn't seem to matter so much, when you know, without a doubt, that life is suffering and suffering is life and you will never have one without the other, and you look back on your life and realized how undeniably and completely you've fucked it up and it hurts, God it hurts like nothing else but it doesn't matter because the alcohol is so warm and nice, and the bunnies running circles around your head are so much more interesting, and you're just so goddamn mellow …
They were pathetically unprotected, and blissfully uncaring of the fact. Any other night, any other city, and they would have been easy pickings, but people had seen the one before, and if his friend didn't really look like much, well neither had he. Plus, people had seen where they had gone to upon arriving, had seen who greeted them and who the came with – and the past was not so far gone in the minds of those who lived in this area that they could or would ignore what that had meant.
Not all windows have panes.
There was a connection between the two, who leaned/stood in such comfortable silence. It would be recognized by any old war friends, or even two veterans who had never met but were joined by the same, common experience.
'This is what I have gone though,' it said. 'And you have too. People died out there, good people and bad people and people who were just doing what they were told. They didn't die clean, and they didn't die quick, and I couldn't walk out and give them mercy because if I did, then I would die too. So would you. These people they were my friends they were my family I had never met them I knew them better than anyone I think that little boy saved my life what was his name again? He's dead now, they're all dead now and they matter so much more than the people who are alive because no living man ever danced behind my eyeballs and no living man ever had his stomach pouring out like that, with his blood staining the dirt and his intestines trampled into the ground while the soldiers and the little boys fought on him because there was nowhere else to fight, and the street was paved with the dead and the dying and the ones who only whished they were. I was a monster then, and I fought against monsters and we weren't fighting for peace or equality or a new world, we were fighting because if we didn't fight we'd die, and if the choice came to it I would rather kill you than die myself, I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not because I just wanted to stay alive goddamnit. So did you. This is what I have gone through and this is what you have gone through and maybe all those people deserved to die more than we but they probably didn't and maybe we deserved to live more than they but we probably didn't, and it doesn't matter now because they are dead and we are not and that is truth and that is unchanging and all the good intentions in the world can't make up for what we saw. You know. I can stand here wit you and I don't have to lie to myself so no one else will see what's wrong because you know too and you will not blame. I can be here with you and I don't have to pretend that I can hear flies buzzing without smelling the fresh-rotting corpses that always used to come with them, and I can stand here with you and look at this river, this colddarkdeep river, without any light to tell me the truth and I don't have to pretend that I'm not thinking of blood, because I am and you are too and we can just stay here and we won't say anything ,oh no we won't, because we each know that the other is too busy hearing the screaming.
'This is what I have gone through,' that connection said to anyone who could read it. 'You have too. This is what we are and what we were and what we know. Aren't the stars beautiful tonight?'
Not all windows are made of glass.
Golden eyes shinned in the shadows, but not too brightly because that would ruin the whole point of being in the shadows in the first place. They watched the two friends stay in easy silence for a very long time, but it didn't matter to him because it obviously didn't matter to them and he had the whole night anyways, didn't he. When the two righted themselves and started walking along again (not swaying too noticeably), the eyes closed for a moment and then opened. Kyoto was a big city, and it would not do to have either of them come to harm; so he followed.
Just in case.
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April-san:
Too short? Well, they're not up to my usual chapter length, yeah, but what do you want me to do, write a couple ten-page soliloquies every day? *whimpers* I don't even think that's possible for me, not unless I want to cut out on such pleasant luxuries such as eating, sleeping, and being a complete lazy bum because I'm just a teenager so I can.
Hmph. Well, in spite of some absolutely unreasonable demands coming from the peanut gallery, I guess I will keep going then, just out of spite.
How do you like that!
(I'm sorry, but I just can't keep going on like that - *bursts out into uncontrollable laughter*. Seriously? I do try my best but sometimes a scene lasts for a couple pages and sometimes it only lasts for one, so that's all I write. I know that, I know anyone who is a reasonably good author (and, in my opinion, calling you a reasonably good author is like calling a mint-condition set of Neil Gamien's Sandman series for five bucks a reasonably good deal) knows that, no one's offended at all, and I'm actually near-speechless that you are giving me all this encouragement.
I mean, I already know I'm perfect, but you think you'd want to give me a swelled head or something. ^_~
*snicker*
Thanks for reviewing.)