Thump. Thump. Thump. Whether this nerve wrecking sound was the sound of his palpable heart or the sound of a tennis ball colliding with the ground, Ryoma could not tell. All he could see was the blur of yellow in an indistinguishable haze of olive green court.
His nerves were on overdrive, he could feel the sweat tickle his face, teasing his sanity as it beckoned forth an ill-fitting attempt at what appeared to be laughter. Each sensation felt magnified until every sound brought mind numbing pain as it seared through his skull, but that was okay, in fact it was more than okay as long as he was distracted.
The momentary flashes where he could still see her detailed face so clearly hurt even more. Those amber eyes gripped his waking hours, refusing to let go, and in the midst of this cruelty, he wondered how he could still feel a sweet sensation just beyond its edges. That intoxicating warmth hid beneath its caress something far worse, like honey on a razor edge, a crippling agony.
Suddenly he was aware of pressure beneath his feet, and now Ryoma came to realize he was running. He was no longer in control of his body, but then he had to ask himself if he had ever been in control in the first place. Now the race was over, his feet which stood perfectly still, felt foreign to him. In fact he couldn't quite process the scene taking place before him.
A white veil drifted into focus, while tendrils of carmel locks danced lightly in a succession of fine lace. Honey colored light embraced the figure in an auburn glow. Then as if it were an apparition, crimson red spread across the flawless figure, leaving behind its corrupt markings. The crimson trail flowed freely until it tainted the man next to the figure. Slowly the light that had shielded the figure dimmed, until darkness swallowed up the vision before Ryoma.
Now he was standing before a mirror, and staring back at him were a pair of catlike eyes that blazed in golden fury. Those hands held the lifeless brunette still stained crimson red. The man in the mirror was him. Now he was holding the brunette, but his vision still a blur. In a confused gesture Ryoma reached up to touch the tears obstructing his vision.
He knew what appeared before him must be a lie, or maybe a terrible joke played on him by an unforgiving God. Before him was a gray slab, slightly worn down by the unraveling of time, and in delicate little carvings were the words so carefully etched:
In Memory of Ryoma who died May 15th.
This was just a dream, he thought, only an...eternal slumber.
Hmm...someone was in a dreary mood x3 I think this was just one of those confusing rambles I had to get out of my head, even I don't really know what I was driving at..still I felt like I had to write something a little darker, you know? Anyway please review! Reviews make the world go round.