It's me being cynical and angsty again! I'm sure everyone missed the
angst!! Lol When I wrote this story several years ago, I put "dedicated
to everyone's favorite psycho" beside the title. ^_^ Aww!! You'll figure
it out.
Smile
By Ami-chan
It was cold and the walls were closing in on him. There was no where to go and they were all laughing. They wanted to see him cry, to see him die, to see his life-blood running from his body and staining, tainting everything it touched. They didn't care. No one cared.
Everywhere he turned they were there, enclosing him, following him, haunting him. He couldn't escape. Trapped. He was trapped.
Then it came. Water. And he was drowning as water filled his lungs, filled his soul, washed away his life, his spirit, his very thoughts.
Nothing stayed in his mind; it all drifted out like it had never existed. He was cold, numbingly cold. His legs and arms tingled with lack of sensation; his toes and fingers had long before ceased to feel. If he lived, he doubted he would ever have the use of them again.
He was dying. Maybe he was already dead. Everything was spinning and blurry and dark. Was there nothing around that was familiar, only these harsh faces of strangers in his midst?
There was a pressure on his chest, a burning feeling as if he were about to collapse in on himself. Had he sunk too deep? Was there no more light from the surface? Would he burst like a balloon? Was that even possible? Would it hurt?
He opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't. Something held him back from even that simple relief.
And he was dying.
Dying.
He jerked away, gasping soundlessly. A violent shiver coursed through him and he felt as alone as he always did. Utterly alone.
Leaning over the side of the bed he retrieved the blankets he'd once again managed to kick over the edge. No wonder he was freezing. It happened often enough, these nightmares, so it wasn't that surprising.
He curled himself in the blankets trying, desperately, to get warm again. But warmth wouldn't help and he knew that. It never did. After all, the temperature really had nothing to do with it. It couldn't hurt, though.
He wanted to cry so much that it hurt. That wouldn't do, though. That just wouldn't do.
"Smile," he told himself in a harsh whisper that he had never been able to believe. "Smile though it hurts." Perhaps it was 'smile because it hurts.' If he were smiling than THEY couldn't hurt him, but he hurt himself. It was still better than if they did it.
A cold so strong that it burned settled in his stomach and he closed his eyes against the pain. Just smile, though death and hell and torture and the fiery depths of rage. Only smile, then no one will know anything is wrong.
Strength. That was what he needed: strength. He was so incredibly weak. How could he survive? How HAD he survived any of it?
But, smile. A defense so strong no one could ever, ever break it. His shield, his protection, his only hope.
He felt his icy hands as he curled them against his arms, causing him to shiver. Alone. So alone. Even the sparkling stars mocked him. "Death, death!" they sang. "You will die all alone! No one loves you!"
Ever alone and cold in the darkness. No one to hear him whimper or hear him scream. Who would comfort him? Who would protect him? Was there none to set him free? Oh, but there were some. A few, but what could they do, anyway? They didn't, no they /couldn't/ understand. And he was alone. As always.
He could have chanted, "Don't cry," but instead he whispered, "Live." It soothed him though his eyes watered from the pain; perhaps he couldn't have stopped them, anyway.
Then, impossibly, his lips curled up lightly as his eyes shone with unshed tears that would not fall. He froze his heart and soul again, as before, putting a pause button on his emotions. And he smiled. Only smiled. And there was a complete, burning brightness in his smile that would have made any actor or con artist proud.
He felt the beat of his heart as he told himself, "Live," once more, before slipping into a daze. It wasn't sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept. Truly slept. Nor did he dream anymore, of which he was glad. There was coldness in his dreams that even the cruelest reality was better than. In those dreams, he knew if he whispered, begged, pleaded, for the answer to, "Do you love me?" the only response would he would get would be, "Die."
So he remained still, thinking empty nothingness. There were long white halls that blinded him, fluffy clouds that he drifts amongst. Even the dark expanse welcomed him as long as he didn't sleep.
His room faded in and out of his perception and he imagined puppies nipping at his heels and the greeting mew of kittens. In the end, it was his own icy hands that brought him out of this peaceful state. Such cold hands. His eyes would be as cold had he not trained them otherwise.
No, no, there was something else that had disturbed him, that had brought him from his daze. What was it? Some song? An enchanting melody that pulled him along. It rocked him on waves as the ocean; he could hear the waves rolling and breaking on the shore and as they pummeled themselves against the rocks. There was shelter in that sound. Familiarity.
He shivered again. The chill remained. It was surrounding him and trying to pull him in again. He choked on a scream. NO!
Bang!
He sat up suddenly, eyes wide as he watched the door swing back from there it had hit the wall.
"- wake up! You've been asleep all morning."
And he stared, quickly forcing a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry." Not music, then. A voice.
Coldness.
Drowning waves...
Falling, falling forever...
There was an odd silence that penetrated him and he looked up into dark, cloudy eyes. A searching glare.
"Is something wrong?"
Translation: What the hell is the matter with you?! He'd heard it enough times, been asked it enough to know it's true meaning. Simply put, he didn't know. He swallowed hard, keeping his bright smile. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."
He received another strange, long look. It looked more concerned to him, softer somehow. "Are you sure?" His eyes spoke as well, saying, "I understand." There was something deep and comforting in his simple words...
Burning lungs. Fighting desperately not to be sucked down into the turning waves. Falling, fighting. Helplessness.
Dying, burning, dying...
And he smiled, softly, closing his eyes to brighten his smile but mostly so that he didn't have to look at him. Concern from others made him feel even weaker than he was. He wasn't weak. Not anymore. Not ever again.
"I'm fine, Wufei. I was just a bit tired."
He nodded. Not assent, but more of a mutual agreement to him that he didn't have to tell him and that he wouldn't press him further. Then he left saying, "Well, you'd better get more sleep then."
Almost he laughed. But it would have been a frightening sound so he did not.
Sleep? Death was much preferable to that. As he looked into a nearby mirror and smiled he could almost have fooled himself. Almost, but he knew his own heart whether he wanted to or not.
"Well, Quatre," he whispered to his image, "Time for another day, so..."
Smile.
~~The End~~ (?)
I did start a part two of this when I wrote this fic, but I think this can stand on it's own. Well, that and I never actually finished the second part (and perhaps I never will; it's in Wufei's perspective and I have no idea where I was going with it). @_@ Now I'm getting into my unfinished fics... OH! And I uncovered a shitload of my old fanfics most of which are Gundam Wing and Ronin Warriors (I am NOT Posting my old Sailor Moon scout fics - those frighten me!!! AH! Maybe I'll do something with the old Kunzy/Zoi fic I found, or maybe not. I don't know yet). So, I'll be posting some of those on my, er, two day break?? *keels over* That's gonna take a while. But, I should get them in now when I have a moment!!
Smile
By Ami-chan
It was cold and the walls were closing in on him. There was no where to go and they were all laughing. They wanted to see him cry, to see him die, to see his life-blood running from his body and staining, tainting everything it touched. They didn't care. No one cared.
Everywhere he turned they were there, enclosing him, following him, haunting him. He couldn't escape. Trapped. He was trapped.
Then it came. Water. And he was drowning as water filled his lungs, filled his soul, washed away his life, his spirit, his very thoughts.
Nothing stayed in his mind; it all drifted out like it had never existed. He was cold, numbingly cold. His legs and arms tingled with lack of sensation; his toes and fingers had long before ceased to feel. If he lived, he doubted he would ever have the use of them again.
He was dying. Maybe he was already dead. Everything was spinning and blurry and dark. Was there nothing around that was familiar, only these harsh faces of strangers in his midst?
There was a pressure on his chest, a burning feeling as if he were about to collapse in on himself. Had he sunk too deep? Was there no more light from the surface? Would he burst like a balloon? Was that even possible? Would it hurt?
He opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't. Something held him back from even that simple relief.
And he was dying.
Dying.
He jerked away, gasping soundlessly. A violent shiver coursed through him and he felt as alone as he always did. Utterly alone.
Leaning over the side of the bed he retrieved the blankets he'd once again managed to kick over the edge. No wonder he was freezing. It happened often enough, these nightmares, so it wasn't that surprising.
He curled himself in the blankets trying, desperately, to get warm again. But warmth wouldn't help and he knew that. It never did. After all, the temperature really had nothing to do with it. It couldn't hurt, though.
He wanted to cry so much that it hurt. That wouldn't do, though. That just wouldn't do.
"Smile," he told himself in a harsh whisper that he had never been able to believe. "Smile though it hurts." Perhaps it was 'smile because it hurts.' If he were smiling than THEY couldn't hurt him, but he hurt himself. It was still better than if they did it.
A cold so strong that it burned settled in his stomach and he closed his eyes against the pain. Just smile, though death and hell and torture and the fiery depths of rage. Only smile, then no one will know anything is wrong.
Strength. That was what he needed: strength. He was so incredibly weak. How could he survive? How HAD he survived any of it?
But, smile. A defense so strong no one could ever, ever break it. His shield, his protection, his only hope.
He felt his icy hands as he curled them against his arms, causing him to shiver. Alone. So alone. Even the sparkling stars mocked him. "Death, death!" they sang. "You will die all alone! No one loves you!"
Ever alone and cold in the darkness. No one to hear him whimper or hear him scream. Who would comfort him? Who would protect him? Was there none to set him free? Oh, but there were some. A few, but what could they do, anyway? They didn't, no they /couldn't/ understand. And he was alone. As always.
He could have chanted, "Don't cry," but instead he whispered, "Live." It soothed him though his eyes watered from the pain; perhaps he couldn't have stopped them, anyway.
Then, impossibly, his lips curled up lightly as his eyes shone with unshed tears that would not fall. He froze his heart and soul again, as before, putting a pause button on his emotions. And he smiled. Only smiled. And there was a complete, burning brightness in his smile that would have made any actor or con artist proud.
He felt the beat of his heart as he told himself, "Live," once more, before slipping into a daze. It wasn't sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept. Truly slept. Nor did he dream anymore, of which he was glad. There was coldness in his dreams that even the cruelest reality was better than. In those dreams, he knew if he whispered, begged, pleaded, for the answer to, "Do you love me?" the only response would he would get would be, "Die."
So he remained still, thinking empty nothingness. There were long white halls that blinded him, fluffy clouds that he drifts amongst. Even the dark expanse welcomed him as long as he didn't sleep.
His room faded in and out of his perception and he imagined puppies nipping at his heels and the greeting mew of kittens. In the end, it was his own icy hands that brought him out of this peaceful state. Such cold hands. His eyes would be as cold had he not trained them otherwise.
No, no, there was something else that had disturbed him, that had brought him from his daze. What was it? Some song? An enchanting melody that pulled him along. It rocked him on waves as the ocean; he could hear the waves rolling and breaking on the shore and as they pummeled themselves against the rocks. There was shelter in that sound. Familiarity.
He shivered again. The chill remained. It was surrounding him and trying to pull him in again. He choked on a scream. NO!
Bang!
He sat up suddenly, eyes wide as he watched the door swing back from there it had hit the wall.
"- wake up! You've been asleep all morning."
And he stared, quickly forcing a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry." Not music, then. A voice.
Coldness.
Drowning waves...
Falling, falling forever...
There was an odd silence that penetrated him and he looked up into dark, cloudy eyes. A searching glare.
"Is something wrong?"
Translation: What the hell is the matter with you?! He'd heard it enough times, been asked it enough to know it's true meaning. Simply put, he didn't know. He swallowed hard, keeping his bright smile. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."
He received another strange, long look. It looked more concerned to him, softer somehow. "Are you sure?" His eyes spoke as well, saying, "I understand." There was something deep and comforting in his simple words...
Burning lungs. Fighting desperately not to be sucked down into the turning waves. Falling, fighting. Helplessness.
Dying, burning, dying...
And he smiled, softly, closing his eyes to brighten his smile but mostly so that he didn't have to look at him. Concern from others made him feel even weaker than he was. He wasn't weak. Not anymore. Not ever again.
"I'm fine, Wufei. I was just a bit tired."
He nodded. Not assent, but more of a mutual agreement to him that he didn't have to tell him and that he wouldn't press him further. Then he left saying, "Well, you'd better get more sleep then."
Almost he laughed. But it would have been a frightening sound so he did not.
Sleep? Death was much preferable to that. As he looked into a nearby mirror and smiled he could almost have fooled himself. Almost, but he knew his own heart whether he wanted to or not.
"Well, Quatre," he whispered to his image, "Time for another day, so..."
Smile.
~~The End~~ (?)
I did start a part two of this when I wrote this fic, but I think this can stand on it's own. Well, that and I never actually finished the second part (and perhaps I never will; it's in Wufei's perspective and I have no idea where I was going with it). @_@ Now I'm getting into my unfinished fics... OH! And I uncovered a shitload of my old fanfics most of which are Gundam Wing and Ronin Warriors (I am NOT Posting my old Sailor Moon scout fics - those frighten me!!! AH! Maybe I'll do something with the old Kunzy/Zoi fic I found, or maybe not. I don't know yet). So, I'll be posting some of those on my, er, two day break?? *keels over* That's gonna take a while. But, I should get them in now when I have a moment!!