Irrevocable
By
Artistic Suicide
Prologue
Insane: adj. abnormal, crazed, crazy, dilirious, demented, deranged, distracted, lunatic, mad, maniacal, unhealthy, unsound
Are you mad?
Lucrecia, don't you dare walk out that door!
Can't you see she loves me?
I looked those up in the thesaurus on a whim. Am I those things? I know that countless people have called me that and there have been so many times that I've wondered myself, now being one of them. Actually, I've always known. My twitching hands, my violent dreams, they all make a picture of brutal, vicious, sadistic madness. That and the fact that the voices have remained with me for the past thirty years.
Hojo, I love you.
What have you done?
Just let me hold him…
My memories paint my dreams and red is the key colour. I suppose that in the years to come, people will write books about me. I'm not being arrogant, merely logical. At least that trait has not left me. Emotion however…is a thing that happens to other people, I'm afraid. In the books and documentaries to come I suppose that I will not be protrayed as the misunderstood genius.
I will be the Abomination.
I will be the inhuman scientist that never loved, that killed an innocent woman and stole the humanity from her valiant lover. I will be the man that raised his son to be a monster. The poor, innocent, unloved boy. Yes, these future writers will use the biased perspective of the heroes. Cloud, the pathetic clone that he is, will tell the "truth" about me. Valentine will remain silent. It wouldn't make a difference if he doesn't though. I doubt that even he is not ignorant to the truth.
Hojo, please stop this…
Why are you so jealous of him, Hojo?
I've left him for you. There's nothing but us and the experiment.
In these journals that I'm leaving behind, I leave the truth. In these words, which shall most definitely live longer than I, I shall let it be known: I loved. I loved so hard that I thought I would die of it. I felt with every fibre of my being, the strange emotion that starts wars, brings peace and either raises men up or lets them fall. I fell. And. No. One. Cared. No hands were beneath me to catch me.
The pain! Hojo, please make it stop!
Lucrecia!
Vincent, I'm so sorry…
I am free of that drug now, the one that caused me to lose my mind in the first place, that thing called love. Nevertheless, I was not left whole.
This is the story of my past.
Of love.
Of revenge.
Of Seth Hojo.
AN: Well, this is a story that I'd like to work on besides Pulling Off Butterfly Wings (If you read it I'll give you an IOU for a cookie ) but I'd love to receive reveiws, nasty or nice, in order to know whether I should keep on writing, change the way I'm writing or just crawl into a hole and wait until I die. By the way, it would really help if (no matter when you read this story, be it right now or three years from now) anyone could give me any information on Mako. I should stop ranting now. Ciao