Gravitation- Ryuichi's Diary
Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation in anyways
Italics: Diary entry Example: "asdf"
"I want to die."
Papers and pencils cluttered his desktop, as scraps of unwanted paper littered the floor. On the scarred wooden desk, a opened book laid there. A old worn out tattered pink doll sat on the window still in front of the desk. It was old. Cloth was torn here and there, and seams that were old where falling apart. A shimmering object gleamed at the end of the desk.
A knife
It was a clean, green swiss army knife. Maybe one that was untouched. Pure of all it's aspects, but one. Blood. Stained of this sin, it was nothing at all pure.
The journal that laid there opened, held contents written in ink. Black ink. The journal itself was also not in tip top condition, but everything was still intact. Everything except the life that once illuminated from the journal. All that was illuminated from the journal was a gloomy and uneasy feeling. One would say they felt evil, and maybe even cursed. Other would go insane from just the feeling of it.
"Why am I hiding?"
The pink doll that was on the window still had disappeared. Maybe it was just our imagination, but it was gone. Gone, just like him. A small gust of wind entered the disorganized room. It blew past all the paper on the ground, as it made its way towards the opened journal. It carelessly blew the pages of the journal to the very beginning.
"I want to be left alone. I don't want everybody interfering in my life. There all just fools. Blundering fools. Why cant they understand my feelings? Am I just hiding them behind this face? ...Answer me! ... I'm sorry. My emotions are difficult to handle. Maybe this is why I chose to sing, to let my feeling out. To let them be heard. To let myself be heard by my own voice, my own voice of reasoning."
And that was the start of Ryuichi's Diary.
The calm gentle breeze blew by again as it turned the journals rough pages. The next few pages where just taken away by the wind, but then it stopped. Stopped at a page filled with blood. Rips and tears where all over the page. Clumsily patched up paper, and tape where everywhere. Eraser marks and faded pencil lines could also be seen. Black ink was blotched everywhere, as red streaks of blood lined the page.
"The hate me don't they? Why? I didn't do anything wrong... Not yet anyways. Maybe I was the fool too think that Nittle Grasper was going to stay together. I was the one who had the dream to stardom, but they didn't want to share the same dream as me. So there. We fell apart!"
Harmlessly, the wind picked up again, and it brushed itself against the hard coarse paper again turning it to the next page. This time the words were neatly written. Everything was very well organized, and nothing seemed out of place. It was written in colorful items. Maybe markers or gel pens.
"Yes! Nittle Grasper has come back! We've all decided that it was a bad idea to split up. I'm so happy! Everybody is back together, and I can sing again with my beautiful voice! Noriko-chan also said that she would fix up Kumaguro for me! I'm so happy. Tohma said he would also get the lyrics to our new song! This is such a happy day for me... and Kumaguro!"
On the same page something small was scratched into the rugged surface of the page. Something that he thought could not have been read.
"I want to die."
Those words where printed onto the paper. His entry was so filled with happiness, what had ever happened that caused this sudden change?
On the next page of his journal, words where too hard to see. Everything was smeared this way and that. Smeared with salty tears. Salty tears that had rubbed away at his words of misery. Words that were only printed to let his feelings out, and not show the others of his pain. He held everything deep inside of him, and only showed the caring side of him to his friends and family. To everybody he was the most happiest person they had every met.
"Why, why, why! Everybody wants to compete! I don't. I just want a happy music career and be happy... They do hate me... again. I just want to die. They will never understand me. Besides, why am I always hiding behind this face? To make friends? No. They don't know anything. Nothing at all. All I want to do is die, and leave all my secrets behind. Behind. All my lies, and fake happiness. They will die with me."
Maybe he had felt sad,. maybe even angry. Even if words could express one's feelings, what good will that do when one could not see his face. Emotion. Feelings one could never describe in words, no matter how well described. Everything, locked up inside and only showed when one had the courage to tell others. To show others.
"So what if... What if I die? What will you do then? They won't be there for me. Never. Never in my whole pathetic life... Yes, It's a pathetic life. Fake emotions hidden under me. Always hidden."
Hidden behind a face. A face that showed more than what it was suppose to show. Singing. Yes, singing was what he loved. Even his face told a different story at those times, but nobody knew. Nobody ever knew.
"Singing, is like a hobby of mine. It's no more than letting your vocal cords out. Letting them sing freely. If only I had the chance to show more than what I show on the stage, but I don't want to. Sometimes I have a sudden urge to let my emotions out wildly, but I hold it back. Holding it back, so nobody would get hurt, yet... I feel... so... unsatisfied. Why? I don't know. Maybe its just because I feel scared. Scared, so whenever I sing, I feel scared. Scared of myself."
Words scattered along the page. Letters didn't follow the traditional college ruled paper, as the letters where scrambled on the page. Fear. The feeling where one could never conquer. They could only run away from it, and never look back. Only run.
The next few pages were blank. Ghostly white, as if nothing had ever touched it before. Only fingerprints made of oil had touched the blank pages, and those fingerprints all held a story. A story of their own, all printed into this one journal.
"Do you think they will be sad? I don't think so. Maybe Kumaguro will miss me, but the others wont. I don't think so at least. Perhaps they will miss me, but not miss my true self. The only one they ever got to see, was the one that I let free. Maybe I should show them before I go."
More and more pages flipped throughout the journal. The wind was growing impatient as it wanted to reach the end. The end of Ryuichi's journal. But the gust of wind would satisfy no one, as when they reached the end all it saw was nothing. It was blank. Of course a blank ending was common, but something about that page held a mystery. A mystery that was never going to be solved.
A pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway just outside of the old oak door. Footsteps just kept tapping onto the dirty hallway, as the sound of those feet came closer and closer to the once occupied room. A hand shot out of the pocket from a long black trench coat. Its clammy hand extended to the rusty and chipped doorknob. It turned the doorknob and to the mans surprise it was unlocked. Unlocked, just like how he had left it when he came by before.
The man entered the room, stepping carelessly on the defective papers and trash. He walked over the to aged desk, and stopped at the journal. He eyed the room carefully before he grabbed the journal into his hands. He brushed his fingers over the solid leather cover. The cover was also old. The old leather was ripping, as the spine of the journal was falling apart.
His fingers once again traced the leather that covered the journal. He was temped to open the cover with his hands and read details of his life. The journal was almost teasing him, telling him to open the cover and read whatever was held in that journal, but he didn't. He didn't open it, he only took the journal into his trembling hands and left the room. Not a trace was left of him, only that the journal had left its place and was venturing far away from its original spot.
"Tell me I'm dreaming."
The figure slowly walked away from the deserted room. It was something he didn't want to see. It was bringing back so many memories. Painful memories.
The gentle breeze arose again, as it entered the room calmly. It brushed over many items, but it could not find what it was looking for. It was looking for those pages, those pages of what it wanted to caress. The mellow wind started to grow fierce. Somebody had taken away its precious pages, and replaced it with nothing. The wind blew the sheets of paper from the floor across the other side of the room. It was angry, but even though the wind was angry it died down. Nothing could last forever.
"I thought I could keep it forever, but I was wrong."
Finally the echoing footsteps could no longer be heard. Silence was held all around and nothing could be heard. Even the chatter among the bugs was nowhere to be heard. Complete silence.
"I always wondered what would happen if I were to disappear."
Tears of sadness dropped from Tohma's eyes. He carried the worn out leather book in one of his hands as he walked down the damp streets. He had found the journal laying in the dirty streets, just laying there. When he had picked it up, he saw silver letters printed onto the cover.
"Ryuichi's Diary."
It reminded him of too much. He wanted the feelings he had felt to disappear. To disappear into thin air, but he knew that wasn't possible. Too much had already surfaced, and he was already crying.
"Would they cry for me? Or would they just leave me alone?"
Tohma just kept walking along. His hand gripped the black journal tightly as he waved down a taxi. A black cab stopped for him. He jumped into the backseat and told the driver directions to his destination.
"Would you visit my grave if I died?"
The black car sped by slower cars easily. Tohma turned his head to face the window that was before him. Luscious green grass, tall trees, and alluring flowers all passed by him. Just Beautiful. He had dozed off and did not recognize that the cab had stopped for him.
"Would you still love me once I died?"
Tohma got out of the slick black car, as she paied the driver his money. The car drove off, leaving Tohma alone. He walked the pathway to where he would find what he was searching for. Still grasping the tattered journal in his hands, he made his way up the dirt cover path, to a small clearing.
Fields covered in a array of flowers shone beautifully against the shining sun. Tohma walked along the flowers, crushing the ones at his feet. He stopped at small grave stone. It wasn't as clean as the other graves around it. Leaves littered the base of the stone, as overgrown weeds were left unattended. It was a mess.
Tohma cleared the leaves off the stones base, and looked at the name on the stone.
"Would you still be my friend... Even if I died?"
He looked at the journal in his hands. He knew it didn't belong to him, so maybe if he gave it to his respective owner, he would feel somewhat better. Tohma took the journal that was in his hands and placed it in front of the grave. He starred at it for a moment, then rose up from his position.
"Good-bye"
Tohma left the battered journal there for him. He didn't want it, or need it in anyway. It was only for Ryuichi's eyes. Only for his eyes, never for his.
The wind blew by softly. Its soft breeze grazed against the books hard black surface. The wind blew again, but this time a little harder. It grabbed the cover and whipped it open. Pages fluttered against the wind, and there right next to the journal was a pink doll. The same pink doll that had disappeared.
Hey guys! This is like my best piece of writing.. well angsttype or writing anyways.Yes. Its almost all Angst. I hope all you liked it! Its my first one-shot too ya know.
I'll leave you to guess on who that mystery person was who entered Ryuichi's house. (It's sort of obvious though)
Thanks you for reading this!
(Please comment on this story (review) anything to suggestions or... anything)
Poi Poi