Minna-san! This is just a short series that I spun out in my frustration to update My Immortal. Stupid me for leaving my doodle pad which has an entire chapter written in it inside my locker at the hospital. Stupid, stupid me.
Well anyway, I have to let out some steam and sadly you're at the receiving end. Let's just say it's a post-valentine's day outburst.
This is probably the darkest piece I've ever done…but I need to warn you. This is fragmented because this is based on Fix You...which I don't have the time to update if I wanted to finish My Immortal. It has a little flavor of Will you still love me tomorrow at the beginning but that's where it ends.
YAOI'S NOT DEAD! Hated the femryos and the hets flooding POT section of FF. Sorry guys.
This is written in Ryoma's POV.
As usual, I don't own POT…I treasure it. Wherever, whenever Takeshi Konomi stops, I start. Thanks guys!
IMPORTANT: THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER OF THIS MINI SERIES/DRABBLES! Will Elaborate more on Fix You
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I don't recognize the person in front of me. I don't know who he is and why he's staring back at me with confusion...fear.
I want to ask who he is. I asked who he is but he was asking the same thing.
Who are you?
I tried to move my left arm to swat him away but it limply hung to my side. It won't move...I—I can't make it move. It's just there, pale and lifeless...almost looking like a boneless length of wrapped meat.
When Saitō first found out, he freaked out. The prince of tennis cannot move his left arm. He had doctors after doctors look at it and have my problem diagnosed but no one could. Electrical tests told them my brain still send impulses, albeit weak ones, but that shouldn't hinder movement. Blood was still flowing normally through the veins, keeping it well oxygenated and nourished.
So why do I have a hanging limp, wrapped meatloaf attached to my shoulder?
Three doctors, a neurologist, a psychologist and a psychiatrist, echoed the same theory. It won't move unless I want it to move.
Meaning...I'm a severe nutcase.
Back to the person before me. He looked back at me blankly, a hint of sadness and question in those golden eyes. Are we the same? I asked myself.
They gave me a mantra to keep me grounded in reality. That was supposed to be the first step. They made me repeat these words
"I am Echizen Ryoma, fifteen years old"
"I am first year high school student at Seigaku high.
"I play tennis."
But these words are meaningless. This is not who I am. I remember people, Tezuka, telling me who I really am.
"I am just a boy who has a pretty face who can play tennis."
But these words seem false as well. I cannot move my arm. I cannot play tennis anymore.
I am just a pretty face.
I blinked a couple of times and saw the stranger before me blinked as well. I realized, he's not even pretty. His face was bruised with a busted upper lip. His hair was in disarray, his skin pale and pasty...just like me.
I grabbed the vase sitting on top of the sink with my right hand. I gripped it hard as anger boiled deep inside my chest.
I am worthless. Whatever value I have left, no matter how small it was, has been halved because I cannot play tennis anymore.
I drove the vase hard against the mirror, savoring how the two broke and crumble beneath my fingers. I took deep breaths.
I looked at the stranger in the mirror again and smiled at his fragmented image.
I took a piece of the broken mirror and held it to my face. I pressed the shard against my skin and hissed at the first sight of blood.
"I am Echizen Ryoma."
"And I am nothing."
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A/N: I'm so cruel. I know. I'm that twisted right now. You might get upset with me but this is the end. Will tell more in Fix you…hoping I get to finish My Immortal soon. I love you guys!
Please review!
