FML
A Hayate the Combat Butler Fic
By
EvilFuzzy9
A/N: Cripes, has it really already been three and a half months since I did anything for this? Damn. Well, I dunno how strong my angst muse is at the moment, but I should really at least try to whip something up for this. Even though I should probably be doing something more constructive. Like my tax returns. *Shudder*
To serve is the lot of the butler. To fight is the lot of the soldier. To love is the lot of the lover. ... But to get screwed over by the universe time and again? THAT is the lot of one Hayate Ayasaki, cosmic plaything and full-time woobie.
And this is his story.
I ache.
It has been so long. So long without sleep, and even longer without rest.
My weariness is without limit. I am exhausted beyond comprehension. My body screams. Every fiber of my being aches. I cannot continue like this–I cannot go on without rest. If I try, I will surely die.
That is how it feels, at any rate. But sadly, I have found that I cannot die so easily. No, more than that, it seems like I am simply incapable of dying. No matter how much my body is broken and battered, no matter how long I go without nourishment or rest, I will not die.
And this vexes me terribly. Others may fear death, may abhor the very thought of it, but not I. No, on the contrary. I find myself longing for it. I wish so badly to be taken away by the Grim Reaper, to leave this mortal coil and its suffering behind. Because at least in Hell it is always warm.
Perhaps this line of thinking is unhealthy, perhaps it is the way of cowardice, but I quite frankly cannot bring myself to care. I would rather perish young than live a long life. There is no good for me here, nothing for which I can live. I have no dreams, no friends, and no future. Things will never get any better for me. No, they will only get worse. This is something I have learned in my short life to be an absolute truth.
But it does not matter. Because I simply will not DIE. My body, this damnable husk of skin and bone and little else, refuses to fail, refuses to give up the ghost. No matter how much it wears and tears, no matter how badly it is beaten, crushed, stabbed, sliced, shredded, burned, frozen, or drowned, it will not cease to function. I continue to live, despite the world's damnedest efforts to remedy this. And my own.
But, in the end, I suppose it really does not matter. Live or die, I sincerely doubt that there will ever be any reprieve, save perhaps oblivion. But the intangible substance of self, it seems, is perversely resistant to destruction, and I honestly would not even know where to begin with something like that, so that is not an option.
Who knows? Maybe someday my life will actually get better. Maybe someday I'll truly be happy. And knowing my luck, then–and ONLY then–will I die. Because the Universe hates me, and nothing makes it happier than my suffering.
That is one thing that will never change.
A/N: ... ... ... well, I certainly haven't lost my touch for writing this sort of dark stuff, it would seem. Hope you guys like it.
[This chapter was uploaded Sunday, 3/11/2012]
[Previous chapter was uploaded Saturday, 11/21/2011]
[Fourth chapter was uploaded Monday, 11/12/11]
[Third chapter was uploaded Saturday, 10/29/2011]
[Second chapter was uploaded Monday, 10/24/2011]
TTFN and R&R!