disclaimner- I still own the lint, but have since bartered my spoon for a case of ticktacks.

kunzite

I was sick-sick unto death with that long agony; and

when they at lengh unbound me, and I was permitted

to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The

sentance- the dread sentance of death-was the last of

distinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that,

the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in

one dreamy indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul

the idea of revolution- prehaps from it's association in

fancy with the burr of a mill-wheel. This only for a brief

period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, for a while, I

saw; but with how terrible an exageration! I saw the lips

of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me white-

whiter then the sheet upon which I trace these words- and

thin even to grotesqueness; thin with the intensity of their

expression of firmness- of immoveable resolution- of

stern contempt of human torture. I saw the decrees

of what to me was Fate, were still issuing from those

lips. I saw them writhe with a deadly locution. I saw

them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered

because no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few

minutes of delirious horror, the soft, near imperceptible

waving of the sable draperies which enwrapped

the walls of the appartment. And then my vision fell upon

the seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore

the aspect of charity, and seemed white slendor angels

who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a

most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre

in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a

galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaning-

less spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw that from

them there would be no help. And then there stole into

my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what

sweet rest there must be in the grave. The thought came

gently and stealthily, and it seemed long before it at-

tained full appreciation; but just as my spirit came at

lengh properly to feel and entertain it, the figures of the

judges vanished, as if magiclly, from before me; the tall

candles sank into nothingness; their flames went out

utterly; the blackness of darkness supervened; all sensa-

tions appeared swallowed up in a mad rushing descent as

of the soul into Hades. Then silence, and stillness, and

night were the universe.

The Pit and the Pendulum

Edgar Allan Poe

I've never really enjoyed reading. It has no real meaning for me. Comes from too much research, I suppose. But even so, if there's any place you're likely to find me it will be a liberary.

It's never caught me as an outlet for life, like it is for some people. Along with music, and the arts, and talking with people about nothing in general. Just simple, trivial, mindless things.

And yet..

They say, they say that everyone has some thing. That everyone needs some thing to take them outside of themselves and give them a chance to breathe.

I wont deny this.

Everyone seems to have that some thing.

Nephrite has his astrology, his ability to debate, his company and employies. His absolute pig-headedness when it came to things he's passionate about.

Jadeite has his humor, his popularity. His ability to walk up to perfect strangers and within five minutes know their entire life story.

Zoisite has music, and language, and everything that one wouldn't associate with a high-ranking officer of the Dark Kingdom (of any military).

And me.

What do I have.

I've had people tell me I'm elequent. I've had people tell me I'm the epitamy of evil. I believe Jadeite told me once at a banquent that I have a proverbial stick that I needed to pull out of my ass once in a while and learn to let go.

But I hardly know what to think of myself.

The last time I remember having any sort of identity was as a child.

Maybe that's why I picked up this book. It was dark, yes, but it wasn't a history, it was fiction. And that's something I've never read before. At least this damned story had a personality.

If you thought about it enough, it made sense. I was reading a story about a man being slowly driven insane.

Maybe there's more symbolism in me reading this then I'd first thought.

After all, sitting alone mulling over memories such as mine would, to a point, drive any one insane. And hasn't that been what I was doing for the last hour or so? Sitting here moping? Moping enough that the first book I picked up (quite randomly, I might add. To say this was one of the few books that caught my attention would be a lie. A blatent lie. And a bad one at that) would reflect my mood.

The very first book I saw when I'd walked into find the liberary..

I asumed it was a liberary at least, you never know. It could just be a room which happens to have a lot of books in it. For some one who barely ever reads, Nephrite has a surprisingly large collection.. maybe he just has a habit of collecting things he doesn't need or use. That would certinly explain his kitchen.

But if that was the case he'd probably have furnature, ne?

I let my arm slip off the arm rest and dropped the book onto the floor. It's not even like they were organized in any specific order. Strewn about the room, some of the on shelves, some on tables.. I wonder if he did this purposely or if there was a series of earthquakes recently.

I'd half expected it to be remotely organized..

Shows you what I know.

Speaking of Nephrite, how long did it take to go to the store- or where ever he was going. He gave me the impression it wouldn't take more then an hour..

If I didn't know him I might be remotely worried.

But Nephrite was Nephrite. When he finds something of intrest he'll pursue it to the bitter end.. that might be why he's been a bit more successfull then the rest of us..

I wonder if he ran into that mor- that girl, we're mortal now too.. why does that feel so strange- what was her name, Nara, Nari, something like that. For all I know he could be gone the entire day.

Which could be a good or a bad thing.

It gives me time to stew in my thoughts. Not that it did me much good, but one of us should keep them on mind.

even if it hurt

Jadeite had bounced, for lack of a better word, over to me earlier and informed me he was on a mission to fix the kitchen and clear out as much of the yard as posible before the benevolent master of the house returned.

He offered me the honor of accompaning him, which I politely declined, then exited the room in much the same way he'd entered. I'd have to find out later whether or not he'd come anywhere close to finishing his task before losing intrest.

I'd really like to know where he gets that unrelenting supply of engery..

Zoisite was..

Zoisite.

Damn.

I should go check on-

"Kunzite-sama?"

zoisite

He didn't know I was there.

Sitting silently. Not at all his usual composed self. He didn't have to be when no one was watching. One arm hanging limply, the other cradling his forehead. Just sitting. Lost in thought. Whether it was doing him any good, I don't know.. but it was (it seemed to be) a moment of peace.

And if I moved it would disturb everything.

I'd been walking by the liberary when I heard a book drop.

I didn't exactly know what it was at first, but it's really not hard to figure out what room you're in when you open the door and there are books lieing in every possible corner. The noise hadn't even been that loud, a gentle thud, something against carpet.

I probably wouldn't have even noticed it if I was so edgy.

But I was.

And I was alone.

And I hate being alone.

There.. there is always, of course, the chance that I had imagined the entire thing.

That I hadn't heard anything at all. I mean, I'd been looking for the others.. I could have just felt his presence.

Or was I just that desperate..

This wouldn't have been the first time. For sub-conciously making up sounds or actions, I mean. At least, that's what people have told me.

But either way -noise or not- he was there. When I openned the door and saw him my heart lept. All of my thoughts and delerious musings were pushed away. It didn't matter what room we were in, what we had done, what we would go through.. It didn't matter that less then twenty-four hours ago I'd been wishing for death..

I feel I'm repeating myself..

I'd said before that nothing mattered anymore. That nothing had any worth to me. In a way, that still applied.. but I'd found a loop hole. Because I lied. I lied. Because I'd forgotten. Because in my self-loathing and hate, in remembering.. I'd forgotten.

I'd forgotten to be thankfull. For the good memories. For my friends. For the fact that they hadn't abandoned me. The fact that we were together. After all we'd done, we were still together.

For another chance.

And In that brief momment, when I first looked in, I found my strengh.

All that mattered was he was there.

And for that I loved him.