Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.
A/N: *bows humbly* Thank you for the reviews! They are much appreciated, and I look forward to more. *bows again*
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(Today was my birthday.)
Sephiroth lay quietly on his bed, staring vacantly at the shadowed wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. His vision blurred occasionally, glossing over with tears whenever a sudden wave of white-hot Mako pain rippled through his muscles.
(My sixteenth birthday.)
It was late in the evening; eight or nine o'clock, by his estimate. His room was illumined by a single floor lamp that stood at his bedside, casting a subtle white glow over most of the small area. He still heard the throaty hum of distant machinery, and somewhere in the street below his room, a car idled. Hojo was downstairs, no doubt scribbling notes about the day's experiments and devising more ways to torture his son.
(Well, happy birthday to me.)
Sephiroth closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest, feeling the slow, gentle heartbeat beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. (Sixteen years of Mako; it's a wonder this heart even beats anymore.) He clenched one of his hands into a loose fist. (Sometimes…I wish it didn't.)
"Sephiroth! Get down here!"
(Like now.) Sighing noisily, Sephiroth levered himself into a sitting position, pausing momentarily as a flash of fire stung his body. "Ah…bastard," he hissed under his breath, rising from the mattress. "You just won't quit, will you?"
"Sephiroth!! Stop calling me names and get down here!"
(He's not guarded by the devil, he IS the devil.) he thought wryly, starting for the stairs. "I'm coming," he replied. He took slow, deliberate steps, being careful not to stumble as a sharp pressure swelled in his head, no doubt the lingering Mako protesting his movement. Locking his slender fingers around the railing, he headed downstairs, mustering all of his willpower to keep from passing out and tumbling to the floor below.
Hojo was seated at the kitchen table, a mass of papers, folders, and other paraphernalia spread before him. He looked up at his son as the teenager trod wearily down the wood stairs, his tired, but gleaming emerald eyes practically fluorescent in the gray darkness that was softened only by the light of an old, failing desk lamp.
"What is it?" Sephiroth queried, leaning back against the nearby wall. He was exhausted and in a fair deal of pain, but that was as far as he would display it in front of Hojo.
The scientist rose, adjusting the glasses on his narrow nose. "Trying to play a hero now, are you?" he chuckled, noticing Sephiroth's efforts to stifle his discomfort. "You told yourself you wouldn't show me any of your pain and fear, no matter what it took."
"What of it?" Sephiroth spat. "You've gotten enough enjoyment out of my torment, and I decided you didn't deserve to anymore. Not that you ever did. You don't deserve any enjoyment."
"If that's the case, then neither do you," Hojo answered coolly. "Remember what I told you." He tapped a sheaf of papers that was on top of the mess on the table, a deadly serious cast settling onto his face. "You're joining SOLDIER," he solemnly announced after a long pause.
"Tomorrow."
Sephiroth's knees threatened to give way, and he was thankful he was supported by the wall. "Joining…SOLDIER?" (Now I know the whole universe hates me.) "Why?"
"That's none of your business. I've decided you'll join SOLDIER, and that is that. You are in no place to argue with me."
"No place to argue? But…you just decided what was to be done with my life." Sephiroth shakily brushed a few stray strands of hair away from his face. (Damn it…I'm shaking. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it! He is NOT seeing my fear. He cannot. Stop it!) he berated himself.
"Of course I did," the scientist stated matter-of-factly. "I think you've learned by now your life isn't yours to do with as you please. It never has been."
"But I've never even used a sword," Sephiroth protested, striving to keep the tears out of his voice.
"You'll learn. All those other buffoons do." Hojo waggled his hand at the staircase. "Now go to bed."
Since he hadn't wanted to come down here in the first place, Sephiroth had no problem complying. He had to leave before he really did break down and cry. Without another word to his father, he struggled back upstairs and collapsed onto his bed.
(SOLDIER? It's not enough that I'm a cursed Mako guinea pig, now I have to be Shinra cannon fodder?)
He reached up and flicked the lamp off, plunging everything into blackness.
Except his eyes. They were all the more luminescent at night, burning like phosphorescent emeralds buried in the deepest pit of a mine.
(These, too.) he thought. (I hate these, too. I hate my heart for continuing to beat…I hate my eyes for constantly reminding me of that wretched Mako…)
Sephiroth curled into a fetal position, drawing his knees tightly against his chest. (Hate…I hate myself…I hate my father…I hate everything…that hates me.)
Out in the street, someone shouted. Another voice answered with a heartfelt peal of laughter.
(And I especially hate them. Those people that are so happy…when I can't be.)
Sephiroth let his neon orbs drift shut, shivering as another flush of Mako radiated throughout his body. (I've never laughed. I've never had a reason too. And I don't think I ever will, not now.)
There was more laughter outside.
(But…if that's what he…Hojo…wants…then I'll just have to be the best damn SOLDIER there is. I'll become so powerful no one will dare hate me. Maybe then…I'd have a reason to just…smile…)
A/N: *bows humbly* Thank you for the reviews! They are much appreciated, and I look forward to more. *bows again*
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(Today was my birthday.)
Sephiroth lay quietly on his bed, staring vacantly at the shadowed wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. His vision blurred occasionally, glossing over with tears whenever a sudden wave of white-hot Mako pain rippled through his muscles.
(My sixteenth birthday.)
It was late in the evening; eight or nine o'clock, by his estimate. His room was illumined by a single floor lamp that stood at his bedside, casting a subtle white glow over most of the small area. He still heard the throaty hum of distant machinery, and somewhere in the street below his room, a car idled. Hojo was downstairs, no doubt scribbling notes about the day's experiments and devising more ways to torture his son.
(Well, happy birthday to me.)
Sephiroth closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest, feeling the slow, gentle heartbeat beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. (Sixteen years of Mako; it's a wonder this heart even beats anymore.) He clenched one of his hands into a loose fist. (Sometimes…I wish it didn't.)
"Sephiroth! Get down here!"
(Like now.) Sighing noisily, Sephiroth levered himself into a sitting position, pausing momentarily as a flash of fire stung his body. "Ah…bastard," he hissed under his breath, rising from the mattress. "You just won't quit, will you?"
"Sephiroth!! Stop calling me names and get down here!"
(He's not guarded by the devil, he IS the devil.) he thought wryly, starting for the stairs. "I'm coming," he replied. He took slow, deliberate steps, being careful not to stumble as a sharp pressure swelled in his head, no doubt the lingering Mako protesting his movement. Locking his slender fingers around the railing, he headed downstairs, mustering all of his willpower to keep from passing out and tumbling to the floor below.
Hojo was seated at the kitchen table, a mass of papers, folders, and other paraphernalia spread before him. He looked up at his son as the teenager trod wearily down the wood stairs, his tired, but gleaming emerald eyes practically fluorescent in the gray darkness that was softened only by the light of an old, failing desk lamp.
"What is it?" Sephiroth queried, leaning back against the nearby wall. He was exhausted and in a fair deal of pain, but that was as far as he would display it in front of Hojo.
The scientist rose, adjusting the glasses on his narrow nose. "Trying to play a hero now, are you?" he chuckled, noticing Sephiroth's efforts to stifle his discomfort. "You told yourself you wouldn't show me any of your pain and fear, no matter what it took."
"What of it?" Sephiroth spat. "You've gotten enough enjoyment out of my torment, and I decided you didn't deserve to anymore. Not that you ever did. You don't deserve any enjoyment."
"If that's the case, then neither do you," Hojo answered coolly. "Remember what I told you." He tapped a sheaf of papers that was on top of the mess on the table, a deadly serious cast settling onto his face. "You're joining SOLDIER," he solemnly announced after a long pause.
"Tomorrow."
Sephiroth's knees threatened to give way, and he was thankful he was supported by the wall. "Joining…SOLDIER?" (Now I know the whole universe hates me.) "Why?"
"That's none of your business. I've decided you'll join SOLDIER, and that is that. You are in no place to argue with me."
"No place to argue? But…you just decided what was to be done with my life." Sephiroth shakily brushed a few stray strands of hair away from his face. (Damn it…I'm shaking. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it! He is NOT seeing my fear. He cannot. Stop it!) he berated himself.
"Of course I did," the scientist stated matter-of-factly. "I think you've learned by now your life isn't yours to do with as you please. It never has been."
"But I've never even used a sword," Sephiroth protested, striving to keep the tears out of his voice.
"You'll learn. All those other buffoons do." Hojo waggled his hand at the staircase. "Now go to bed."
Since he hadn't wanted to come down here in the first place, Sephiroth had no problem complying. He had to leave before he really did break down and cry. Without another word to his father, he struggled back upstairs and collapsed onto his bed.
(SOLDIER? It's not enough that I'm a cursed Mako guinea pig, now I have to be Shinra cannon fodder?)
He reached up and flicked the lamp off, plunging everything into blackness.
Except his eyes. They were all the more luminescent at night, burning like phosphorescent emeralds buried in the deepest pit of a mine.
(These, too.) he thought. (I hate these, too. I hate my heart for continuing to beat…I hate my eyes for constantly reminding me of that wretched Mako…)
Sephiroth curled into a fetal position, drawing his knees tightly against his chest. (Hate…I hate myself…I hate my father…I hate everything…that hates me.)
Out in the street, someone shouted. Another voice answered with a heartfelt peal of laughter.
(And I especially hate them. Those people that are so happy…when I can't be.)
Sephiroth let his neon orbs drift shut, shivering as another flush of Mako radiated throughout his body. (I've never laughed. I've never had a reason too. And I don't think I ever will, not now.)
There was more laughter outside.
(But…if that's what he…Hojo…wants…then I'll just have to be the best damn SOLDIER there is. I'll become so powerful no one will dare hate me. Maybe then…I'd have a reason to just…smile…)