Title: Not the Red Baron
Author: DestatisHaunting
Warnings: None really. Sort of sad, mellow fic. No slash, no pairing...well...at least, as I start this, there are none...I may change my mind halfway through...
Notes: This was written in February of 2003, and it is based on Homura. It's a ficlet, nothing special.
barĀ·on ( P ) Pronunciation Key (brn)
n.
A British nobleman of the lowest rank.
A nobleman of continental Europe, ranked differently in various countries.
A Japanese nobleman of the lowest rank.
Abbr. Bn. Used as the title for such a nobleman.
His eyes were cast to the ground. The green grass surrounding his feet slowly changed to a dull brown. The clear blue sky above him turning black. Birds sitting on the branches of trees were choked, their song abruptly cut off. The trees themselves were losing their color, their leaves. The river became polluted, the air lost its crispness.
And there he stood, the only prevailing life form in a world of seemingly dying things.
What had gone wrong? Why had this happened?
It was all so perfect before. Almost too good to be true. He had ruled over this beauty, he had had all of the power he could ever hope to taste.
He supposed he still had that power. But now, all he had to be proud of was his world full of death.
Everything around him was dying. The trees, once tall and proud, slumped over. The polluted water began to dissolve into nothingness, the animals fell to the ground, struggling for that one last beath.
And still, he stood, unaffected.
He was still as the night for what must have been three hours. The water was completely gone, the trees pitiful, the air beyond control.
A fire broke out amongst the dry, dead lands.
'So this is it,' he hought. 'This is what death is like.'
The flame caught quickly, spreading beyond the trees and where the river had once flowed. It began to lap, gently, at his feet. He stared down at it, fascinated in a sick way, at how they began to burn through his so-called 'fireproof' boots.
'Huh. This it it.'
It was strange that the element he had felt at peace with all of his life was taking life from him. Not only his, but that of his land. His sacred land, at that.
The fire circled around him, stretching across the land, burning every last trace of life to the ground. It appeared to hault before the man, before its master.
He understood now. A strange form of a suicide.
And as the fire grew larger and larger, he knew there would be no escape, not this time. It was time to leave.
'So this is it.'
THE END
