. bleeding black x
auron drabbles
written by; me.♥
--x---x---x---x---x--
oo1 (oh oh one) the end
He is walking walking walking, put one foot in front of the other until he is so numb he cannot remember what walking entails and he doesn't have the strength to try, the dizziness overtakes him (somebody help him!) and he is bleeding black all over the snow, staining the (purcleanuntainted) white (corruptdeathguilt) crimson. (can somebody help him?)
This is the end of his story, and what an ending it is.
It ends with fire and ruin and black crimson blood, sewn together into a tangle of deceitful lies that he wears around his shoulders, a burden he seeks to be free of. (help him.)
His story is over and this is the epilogue.
-
oo2 (oh oh two) blood
He's not quite sure whether or not he has any more blood he could possibly bleed, and he's not quite sure it matters anyway because he's dead and really shouldn't be here as it is.
Spira is a spiral, a never-ending cycle of birth and death and blood and lies and red. Birth and death and blood and lies and red. Blood and lies and red.
He does not have any more blood he could possibly bleed.
-
oo3 (oh oh three) the bottle
No one knows exactly what is in the jug ever present at his hip, not even him, not any more.
He knows it used to hold sake, it used to, but now the liquid is bland and tasteless and certainly does not get him properly drunk, and he questions sometimes whether it holds anything at all anymore. Maybe it's been empty these ten years of death, maybe it's been empty and he never noticed.
(come, share a drink of nothing with a man whose heart does not beat in a land of blood and lies and red)
He pulls the cork out of the bottle and pours its non-contents on the mountain where his story ended and he once stained the white snow with crimson blood, a tiny quirk of the lips toward the blue-gray sky.
In the distance, the sun sets on the horizon of Zanarkand, the city of dreams where no one ever sleeps.
-
oo4 (oh oh four) pyreflies
Sin is gone and Yuna is dancing, jumpspintwirl and it's so beautiful, beautiful and graceful and wonderful, he thinks. What a cliché.
(go on, go on, don't stop now, finish it.)
Sin is gone and the burden is no longer his to bear, the tangle combed through just enough and now the whole web is unraveling and the cycle is broken, and maybe it isn't perfect but it was never perfect and Sin is gone and maybe there's no such thing as perfect but this is as close as it's ever gotten and this fact alone is more than enough for them.
Sin is gone and the world might finally heal.
Sin is gone and so is he, and his story doesn't end with fire and ruin and black crimson blood after all, it ends with dancing and almost-perfect and smiles and he smiles too because
-
oo5 (oh oh five) dream
He can finally rest.
--x---x---x---x---x--
xxx ---- fin.
;D hehe, what a cliché.
I tried to make it decently longish...
well, that didn't work. :P