"Tragic" and the general concept of "Tragic" is completely copyright Orin Drake 2006. All characters contained within and terms like "Organization XIII" are owned by Square-Enix and Disney.

Background: A weird mental image inspired by the song "Without Mythologies" by The Weakerthans. I see the song itself as very... Axel and Roxas. So I kinda played with Axel's point of view a little and... well. Interesting result... though I must say, Axel is determined not to let me understand his thought process. I'm strangely okay with that. And yes, I am obsessed with "wild things". Maybe I'll be able to explain it in another drabble.

Tragic
by Orin Drake

As above, so too below. It's cold on the surface, colder in the ground. But the coldest place is inside. Makes me sound all poetic and shit.

I told you there were tunnels under the castle, but you didn't believe me. And now that I'm leading you down one, you kinda don't seem to appreciate it much. I might just feel an honest laugh coming along if you admitted you were claustrophobic. Ha, phobic! Phobia, fear... yeah, I didn't think you'd do much more than glare at me for mentioning it.

So we walk a little ways. They're just dirt tunnels, lit by the flame in my hand as we wander a little. They're nothing special, all pretty short and going nowhere. Fitting. But I thought they were cool when I first got here, so I thought maybe you'd think so too. You don't, of course. You just glare. But you follow me anyway.

Suddenly I want to dream again. I mean, I usually kinda miss dreaming a little, because I used to have these really hot ones about this chick with these legs... I mean, the dreams were beyond X-rated. So good. But there's just something about these walls, this dark space with you obviously walking closer than you care to admit... I... I don't have a heart, so it doesn't matter. But... it's not really her I'm thinking of anymore. And it ain't exactly X-rated, either. (Not at first, anyway.) And that really kinda freaks me out so I have to think of anything else to get my mind off it.

But it's like you fucking know and you get close enough so I can feel your body heat behind me and it's... really weird. It's like... I don't want to push you away and tell you to stop invading my space or something. It's like I almost... don't mind or...

And I know, I fucking know I hear you--not you as you are now, not the you you ever were or ever will be, but a different you in a different place--say, "True meaning would be dying with you."

I hear it and I don't see your lips move when I glance back and something painful claws through my guts but it doesn't belong there. I want to smile, but I know you'll just look at me like that again and you're a Nobody but you're so fucking scared and so fucking cold at the same time...

I want to free you. You're a wild thing, but you're not free. You're caged here, fooled into not seeing the bars closing in around you. I want to wave my hands and scream at you, tell you to go, kick at you until you get scared enough to leave.

But... if you left... I don't want to think about that. I'm a Nobody, too. I'm a real bastard, but I can't feel. And I sure as hell can't feel fear for the idea you might actually go, or worry about loneliness. That's ridiculous. Moronic. I'm obviously a little smarter than to let myself believe I'm like...

I wonder. I can't ask, but I wonder. Or maybe I know. You don't act like it, but... sometimes I look over, and your eyes... You almost look alive sometimes.

Oh hell no. I'm never saying that shit out loud. That stays as deep inside as I can bury it. Until it fills that empty space. And maybe... maybe...

Heh. Aren't we so fucking tragic.