Rather important little note: This fic is not a fic at all. It is a conglomeration of small drabbles, pieces of stories that do not belong in any fic. These were all challenges, where a phrase and the word count were given to me, and I wrote something in response to the challenge. I like some of them, so I'm posting them here, in this story thing. New drabbles go into new chapters. None of them go together. They're just here.
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Challenge #13
Phrase: "If we all had hearts, there'd be no salvation."
Word Count: 759
Rating: R
Title: Failure by Design
Author: Rydia Highwind
Disclaimer: Metal Gear Solid and Metal Gear Solid 2 and all characters refered to herein belong to Konami. I claim nothing, I'm simply borrowing.
Summary: Raiden reflects. Post MGS2.
Warning: Angst, stream of consciousness, suicidal thoughts, insanity.
--
There's a little boy living in a deep, dank chamber where the door is fitted with too many sorts of locks and chains and wires and bolts to count. He's chained to the wall or confined to a cage, starved half to death, and always a dirty mess. No one knows he's there, and no one would care if they did know. He's always been nothing but a dirty little orphan with no past and no future and a present that was never worth repeating. He's worthless, he's nothing, and his existence is completely unremarkable except for one small thing.
I hate that little boy. I hate him more than I hate anything else in the whole world. I'm the one who chained him up and stored him away where no one could find him. I store him away so far away from myself and yet he still manages to come out and wreck my life. I hate him and I want him dead. I've beaten him and hurt him every way I know how. I've tortured him, locked him away, done everything I can think of, but I can't kill him.
He's part of me, you see. A part of myself I wish had never existed. And that's why I can't kill him.
I was able to forget he existed for a time, and those years were the best years of my life. They were years when I worried about the brand of toothpaste I used and if it tasted good or not rather than whether or not I had enough ammunition to put a hole in the enemy lines big enough for me to get through and get back to the camp. I just thought that I was a natural when it came to pointing a gun. I just thought that everyone experienced that out-of-body feeling when they aimed a gun at a danger without even realizing what they were doing. I just thought I had a strong stomach and that's why the blood sticky and warm all over my hands didn't bother me.
And now I'm stuck in this feeling and I know better now. I know that that little boy is still chained up in there and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it. I'll never be able to be free of him again. There were four years, four years where the only reminders were the nightmares that would throttle me in my sleep and make me realize there was something more to all of this. But I didn't /want/ to know. I didn't /want/ to remember. And so I woke up and took a shower and tried to forget all over again. I'm good at that, you see. Good at forgetting.
That's how I'm able to do this now. I can forget your face when I want to, forget the way your eyes look past me and see into my soul. I always hated that, you know. I hated how you seem to know me better than I know me. I hate feeling transparent. I hate the way you look at me like you know everything about me. Because you do know everything, and I hate that too. Because you don't react correctly. You're supposed to see that little boy and know everything I do to him and hate me for it. You're supposed to shun me, turn me away. That's what you should do. That's what I do.
I think I'm heartless to do this to you. I think I'm heartless to do what I've already done. I think I've always been heartless. Maybe I was born without a heart. But that's okay. If we all had hearts, there'd be no salvation. And heaven knows I could use some salvation. Not that I deserve any. Not that I've ever done anything worthy of your affections, of your help, of your pity. I wish you'd just leave me alone. Leave me alone so that I could die. There is one way to get rid of that little boy, you see. I've found a way to get rid of him for good. But he's a part of me, a piece of me. Do you understand? Do you see? To get rid of him, I need to get rid of me.
You'll never understand this. You won't understand why I needed to leave, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, I never did. I'm insane, I'm irrational, and I'm fucking tired of this. Let me go. Please, just let me go.
--
Challenge #13
Phrase: "If we all had hearts, there'd be no salvation."
Word Count: 759
Rating: R
Title: Failure by Design
Author: Rydia Highwind
Disclaimer: Metal Gear Solid and Metal Gear Solid 2 and all characters refered to herein belong to Konami. I claim nothing, I'm simply borrowing.
Summary: Raiden reflects. Post MGS2.
Warning: Angst, stream of consciousness, suicidal thoughts, insanity.
--
There's a little boy living in a deep, dank chamber where the door is fitted with too many sorts of locks and chains and wires and bolts to count. He's chained to the wall or confined to a cage, starved half to death, and always a dirty mess. No one knows he's there, and no one would care if they did know. He's always been nothing but a dirty little orphan with no past and no future and a present that was never worth repeating. He's worthless, he's nothing, and his existence is completely unremarkable except for one small thing.
I hate that little boy. I hate him more than I hate anything else in the whole world. I'm the one who chained him up and stored him away where no one could find him. I store him away so far away from myself and yet he still manages to come out and wreck my life. I hate him and I want him dead. I've beaten him and hurt him every way I know how. I've tortured him, locked him away, done everything I can think of, but I can't kill him.
He's part of me, you see. A part of myself I wish had never existed. And that's why I can't kill him.
I was able to forget he existed for a time, and those years were the best years of my life. They were years when I worried about the brand of toothpaste I used and if it tasted good or not rather than whether or not I had enough ammunition to put a hole in the enemy lines big enough for me to get through and get back to the camp. I just thought that I was a natural when it came to pointing a gun. I just thought that everyone experienced that out-of-body feeling when they aimed a gun at a danger without even realizing what they were doing. I just thought I had a strong stomach and that's why the blood sticky and warm all over my hands didn't bother me.
And now I'm stuck in this feeling and I know better now. I know that that little boy is still chained up in there and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it. I'll never be able to be free of him again. There were four years, four years where the only reminders were the nightmares that would throttle me in my sleep and make me realize there was something more to all of this. But I didn't /want/ to know. I didn't /want/ to remember. And so I woke up and took a shower and tried to forget all over again. I'm good at that, you see. Good at forgetting.
That's how I'm able to do this now. I can forget your face when I want to, forget the way your eyes look past me and see into my soul. I always hated that, you know. I hated how you seem to know me better than I know me. I hate feeling transparent. I hate the way you look at me like you know everything about me. Because you do know everything, and I hate that too. Because you don't react correctly. You're supposed to see that little boy and know everything I do to him and hate me for it. You're supposed to shun me, turn me away. That's what you should do. That's what I do.
I think I'm heartless to do this to you. I think I'm heartless to do what I've already done. I think I've always been heartless. Maybe I was born without a heart. But that's okay. If we all had hearts, there'd be no salvation. And heaven knows I could use some salvation. Not that I deserve any. Not that I've ever done anything worthy of your affections, of your help, of your pity. I wish you'd just leave me alone. Leave me alone so that I could die. There is one way to get rid of that little boy, you see. I've found a way to get rid of him for good. But he's a part of me, a piece of me. Do you understand? Do you see? To get rid of him, I need to get rid of me.
You'll never understand this. You won't understand why I needed to leave, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you, I never did. I'm insane, I'm irrational, and I'm fucking tired of this. Let me go. Please, just let me go.