The Colour Purple Chapter 44: promesses faites par les hommes, a king of fighters fanfic

The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95

pointblankassassin . com

This (chapter) fanfiction was originally written circa: [XX.96] (Thank you)

"Which Character are you?"

Note to self: Legacy chapter numbering (32- - -), does not match. [Original chapter written 2013]

Even if this place offered you nothing more and nothing less than an escape from where'st you start ~ and even if you were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of a beautiful dream… Even if you wanted it to last forever, when that clock struck 2 AM, those frail, bloody pieces had to fall apart.

…but only just for another day.

When the last of its guests departed from those grand doors and they closed tight.

Heaven would turn away all those who sought refuge, and they would have to fend for themselves come daylight ~ Come again to us, we will welcome you with open arms, with no thought to persecution, prejudice or pain.

To this kingdom, that you need not soar up high in the sky to see again.

When the last of the shutters twisted tight ~ hung up the chairs from their weary night ~

when the glasses that were filled with sweet wine and bitter ale were bid adieu.

Finally, come 3 AM, the light that illuminated that bronze sign outside those lonely walls would flicker and fade into a dim hue.

A reminder of what we could have been, until a tomorrow - not a day more…

This place, with the brick walls that was its façade painted black with hues of red – and in the front was a simple bronze sign that said "L'Amor". In SouthTown. 1984.

…

Chapter 44: promesses faites par les hommes

un monde uniquement destiné à deux –and an epilogue-

-dear, please, do not break my heart-

"Good morning," the little prince said to him. "Your cigarette has gone out."

You probably've forgotten all of this by this time. Like me, you probably thought it not important enough to remember that concept a moment longer than you had to. It was a seemingly inconsequential notion to this boy, and to all of us, this had no meaning.

Because during [that] time, we were far too concerned with beautiful boys and girls. We were more interested in what other people thought of us when we weren't listening. We simply wanted to be praised for nothing. What was important to us – "Matters of consequence" as a French man once wrote as, "I didn't amuse myself with balderdash." Five hundred... and one million… [and one…]

"Five-hundred-and-one million, [and one], what?" repeated the little prince.

"Millions of those little objects," he said, "which one sometimes sees in the sky. Little golden objects that set lazy men to idle dreaming. As for me, I am concerned with matters of consequence. There is no time for idle dreaming in my life."

"Ah! You mean the stars?"

"Yes, that's it. The stars."

(Antione de Saint-Exupery ~ chapter 13 ~ from the GREAT story)

And if there are indeed five hundred – and – one million – and one stars who patiently laid in wait in the cold, lonely night sky, perhaps, maybe, perhaps, for as many wishes left unsung in the hell that eagerly waited below. For as many little baby girls who spent their entire childhood life waiting, waiting, and blindly following the orders of selfish people, when they deluded us with empty promises. For these girls, because it was the RIGHT thing to do, they followed – simply because they wanted to become princesses. For as many hearts that beat faithfully... surely… if he was willing.

Perhaps… for this princess - If I kept my heart pure and wished so hard enough…

Perhaps, one of those stars could belong to me.

(:y8irl)

…

You probably've forgotten this by this time. Like me, you probably never thought it important enough to remember a moment longer than you had to. It was a seemingly inconsequential notion to this one single boy and, as a result, to all of us.

It was called 'The Law of Conservation'. It states, by a half dozen men who had passed before us, they, who were much more intelligent than I, that said – energy cannot be created nor destroyed.

While Robert didn't really understand it back then, when Prince's foot tore through his final attack he immediately felt his once weightless body fall to the will of gravity – when his wish, now unwound, had suddenly returned to him with bitter fervour.

…and when Robert felt those four knuckles of his hit the back of his left shoulder, he sensed a miasma of dread overcome him. As if an audio cable was simply disconnected at its source, he had completely lost feeling in his entire right arm. It flailed freely behind him, and he could only surmise that his bones were now broken in two to three places, and the tendons and ligaments had been mangled and torn apart.

He could no longer reach out – his fingers were no longer in front of him, when he tried in one final, last effort to reach out to his enemy's face, instead, as a mockery it thrust his wish aside. "If you can…" Prince said to Robert. No, it was not the case.

Robert's mouth gasped open in pure disbelief, and once again, in utter denial. He was now going to LOSE sight of those millions of golden objects.

More so, his eyes tensed and his teeth grit against each other when he watched in slow melody, as Prince's toes touched the ground – and, instead of facing him one more time, his enemy turned a cheek and began to walk away from Robert disappointed.

No, don't you dare walk away, was what Robert could muster as his enemy turned to the side and walked away without a care.

NA ME TO NO KA, KORA?! {Are you mocking me again?} he bellowed from the depth of his twisted gut one more, one last time. Again and again.

Don't you dare walk away from me, before this story ends. So he did only the last thing a weak, fucking loser could do.

"Kochi ni!" [Over here], he said, again in his own southern spoken tongue. "KOCHI MI'I, KORA!"

LOOK – AT – ME, you asshole.

Even with his right hand immobile and helpless, somehow, just this once, the boy was able to twist his body the opposite direction before the end of the story. Even with his right arm paralyzed, he twisted his body the other direction and swung his left hand…

The prince couldn't help. It was human nature, as she looked back over her shoulder when he had already decided to walk away with a deep sigh. Only then, when he looked back at the boy who fell down unto the world that waited, she saw [it].

Robert swung his left hand, somehow, fearlessly, up to the sky – and that sudden thunderclap, the hat that once laid peacefully on Prince's head launched itself skyward, swirling, then toppling, easily lost to the darkness beyond. The prince's eyes grew wide, the picture on his face reflected the warm feeling in his gut that suddenly erupted into a wonderful sensation of colours – he felt that numbing spasm right from the back of his neck, in his belly, and it made even the tips of his toes curl. That hat. Flying up - into the shadows, never to be found again.

Robert could only see the ground now accelerate, filling the limits of his vision when he crossed that last horizontal line of sight, a plain black slate that rushed to him. With only lifeless arms, he didn't even have the chance to brace his body when the flat black impacted hit him squarely in the face. The force bludgeonged into his head and rocked the back of his cranium.

Robert couldn't so much as even scream – the entire force brought about by the enormous weight of his entire body ruthlessly decelerated from 60 to 0 miles an hour, into his face. An unbearable, cracking, splitting pain cleaved Robert's brain in half – his brows furrowed and he blinked on instinct, and when his eyes once again opened, he was no longer in a dark place. Instead of the cold floor that he remembered a split second ago, he looked up in carefree manner at an off-white coloured, spackle textured ceiling. Instead of the cold dark, he found himself facing up in a warm room completely illuminated by the sunlight from the thinly draped, open windows. The curtains pulled to the side fluttering playfully in the slight breeze.

There was a slight tingling in the boy's eyes. A searing pain when the light forcefully made his way to pry those crusted eyelids, which were once shut. His body wanted to lay in darkness for a little bit – just for a little bit longer, but the warmth around him was a jester – he was a sadist. Robert Garcia – his body reminded him that this was his name. It would be difficult to stay asleep. The waking wanings kept him alive.

Even when every bit of his battered body longed more sleep, Robert couldn't help but look round his surroundings to see a clearly sun lit room. Above him was an off-white ceiling, and behind his head was a soft leather cushion that eased him to a relaxing comfort. The white sunlight told him he was alive, he lay on a soft leather cushion for the night. What had happened? Robert looked around at the room he was alien to. For a little bit he sensed his gut tense when he realized he had awoken in a place he was unfamiliar with. It was a foreign room, a strange place, but at the very least, he was still breathing. Awoken from a nightmare, he slowly allowed the warmth settle in his body.

Surveying his surroundings, he came to realize that he was now in a much calmer place. A quiet and ordinary room, unlike the one he had been originally trapped in, in what seemed like only seconds ago. An ordinary place – and a fitting punctuation to an otherwise, extraordinary encounter. Robert's vision faded in and out of focus the more he tried to exert himself, but he finally put himself at ease when he saw that the threat was now gone lest he be trampled on again while he laid on his back. There was no movement around him. He pushed his head back on the soft cushion that bolstered the back of his throbbing brain. His body would have much rathered he stayed petrified for another hundred years, but the boy's curiosity got the better of him.

Robert stretched out his neck at the slight sounds of a normal everyday bustling that was hidden from view just outside that window that seemed so far away. Like a turtle inching out its head from its shell, Robert peeked out and turned his head round in awkward positions while keeping his unwilling body still, back glued to that dark leather couch. It was as if nothing had happened only seconds ago, and the Earth continued to turn, even when merely just seconds ago Robert was sure the world would simply end without his permission.

Robert peeked up, his vision was blocked by his feet that lay within his line of sight. He tried to look round the one side, but still the window was so far away. All it could offer him was the slight sound of traffic, shuffling feet, and muffled banter.

"Sir," a girl's voice from outside reached Robert's ear when she crossed paths with that window along with her companions. "I don't think this is the right way, sir."

"Stop calling me sir!" A man's voice now tersely replied.

Yet another raspy man's voice interjected. "Do ninjas not like being called 'sir', or is it just 'old ninjas' that don't like that?" the voice said coyly.

"I am not old, you… you old goat."

…and then, the voices were gone, lost in the traffic of indistinct noises from all around. It was okay, Robert reassured himself. The world was all right, and that was much better than the alternative; he let out a relieved sigh. Those people would be another story to tell on their own time.

…

Robert, still trying to control his body, starting by his vision that continued to fade in and out, tried to collect his thoughts. Perhaps he hit his head too hard, or perhaps, he had gotten kicked in the head far too many times, he thought. It was coming back to him. Looking around that motionless room, he saw pale white and grey colours that were sometimes accented in a light khaki tan. Just by his feet, to the side was a very large, plastic hinged suitcase. It was drab olive green, in military fashion, and spray painted on it were large, white bold letters. It said U.K.088 - S.A.S. under an emblazed winged sword badge. Under that were the words PROPERTY OF THE QUEEN. The suitcase was half open, it's lid leaned against the couch, and inside was a vast assortment of bandages, plastic bags filled with clear fluid, bottles of what was likely medicines, horrendous metal tools - saws, scalpels, rubber tubes, forceps and the like. All surrounded by various other materials and sundries that Robert couldn't even guess their purpose. Just outside the fully stocked trauma kit were a few wooden splints, duct tape, and a worrisome translucent red plastic box filled with a handful of spent needles and syringes.

Robert's imagination slowly began to get sucked into a vortex of horror – with so many questions and unknowns around him – he didn't even know where to begin. What was worse, he couldn't move his body - he couldn't run away.

His mind stopped short when he caught a glimpse of a familiar white object just next to the pile. By the far wall he saw his own shoes neatly laid side to side, and even its laces were tucked carefully into itself. By its side was another pair of white shoes that were once pristine and grand – but now…

Now, they were tattered and burned a sooty, darker shade on top at the instep. Slightly shredded at the leather formed toes from his counter attack, a shadow of what they once were, waking from his slumber, Robert recognized them, those shoes were the only last piece of evidence of Robert's final attack. Despite their now ugly and pitiful nature, their owner still put them neatly in their proper place next to Robert's own shoes.

Eventhough they were once a million miles away from each other.

Everything else save for that sight soon became of little consequence to Robert now. He was alive, that much he knew, and there was something he had to do…

Robert made his way to sit up but his body defied him ferociously. When he made the motions his diaphragm wailed in a gut wrenching pain that made his entire being tremble in place as he retreated to his back. The only way he could describe the pain he experienced was that, it was as if he had performed 300 sit-ups just moments ago and was now totally whimpering. Robert bit down on his lip to try to steady his heart, stop himself from cramping all over and falling into what could be a seizure, one from where he would never return. Shifted his look to the right side of his body that was buried deep into the backrest of that couch. He tried to instead roll to the side to regain his bearings, but that too was futile, because eventhough he could have sworn that he was issuing commands, his entire right side was totally numb and unresponsive. He couldn't even wobble to the left side to escape that prison.

Robert examined his body carefully now. He didn't feel the upper right side of his torso at all. His right arm, yes, he recalled, the one that had been shattered previously, was now wrapped in bandages and permanently duct taped onto two long wooden boards shaped in an L totally immobilizing it in a right angle, then the entire structure was then further duct taped to his upper boy in mummified likeness. The cloud of dread that began to overcome him was set aside when he sent out commands to each of his appendages, that, thankfully were still moving. His toes wiggled, his left hand could still make a fist, and he could still move his neck side to side – although now he noticed a short white protective plastic collar that limited its movement somewhat. Luckily for the boy he was still able to move his left arm up and he tried to reach over his body and grip the back of that leather sofa. Slowly and purposely, to ease the demands on his stomach, he used his left arm and shoulder to, bit by bit lift his upper body to sit up straight. When he felt the sensation that felt like a knife cut into his midsection, he would stop, suck his breath in and bite his lip to tame the pain. When that was within bearable control he would start again to scale up that leather wall that now seemed so high and tall like a mountain. Robert's elbows trembled but he would rest, breathe then repeat.

Just a little more and Robert's shaking fingers were able to reach the top of that peak. One more pull and he could sit up and get a better grasp of his surroundings.

"So, you're not dead."

The voice from behind caught Robert totally off guard. He panicked, unconsciously released his grasp and fell once again into the soft cushions – cushions that felt like jagged rocks waiting under a rocky ocean side cliff.

"Uuuurrrgggghhh.." Robert clenched his trembling left fist and pulled his only free arm deep into his chest to stop himself from wailing out loud in pain. He bobbed and tilted side to side pitifully for he didn't even have enough composure to curl into the fetal position.

What seemed like minutes passed before Robert's heart could steady itself. He tried to pry his teary, blurry eyes open, fearfully wondering what was in store for him. When he was finally able to regain his vision, Robert saw a blurry silhouette in front of him, looking down with arms crossed over condescendingly.

Robert furrowed his brows in an effort to command his eyes to focus at the source of the voice. He blinked and shook his head, thinking that would somehow make the cogs and gears somehow fall into place and make him function properly once again.

Perhaps it did, and the silhouette slowly became less hazy and came into a slight focus. The boy's eyebrows were in a place caught between locked and a forced relaxation. His eyelids were still half shut, the look on his face seemed like it was looking into the horizon eventhough he was trying to see only 6 feet in front of him.

Then, when the pure clarity returned to him, Robert's brows immediately relaxed, and his eyes blared completely wide open.

…

Not only his eyes, but Robert's mouth was now hanging agape penduluming side to side involuntarily. He dared not, he could not break away his horrified gaze at the new nemesis that presented itself in front of him. Robert's head was locked to the side and his left arm blindly reached once again across his body in speedy fashion, into the back of the couch once again frantically gripping hold as he forced his body up, quickly as he could this time without snapping his torso in two, to sit up.

Robert lifted his body up in such a sudden impulse that he gasped hungrily, exhaling in pain to the point that he once again had forgotten how to inhale when he was able to finally will himself to sit upright.

In front of the wide mouthed 19 year old boy was a blonde, short haired woman, her left arm folded over her belly, her right hand holding a small steaming cup of coffee, and with nothing on other than a white un-buttoned down polo shirt that barely made it down to the top crease of her thighs.

…and once again, EVERYTHING that transpired prior held little importance to Robert, because now, a blonde haired, barely half dressed woman stood across from him – in this strange room – in this strange place – when sections of splintered memories couldn't be pieced together to make any semblance of logic.

…

"Up here." She reminded Robert as she pointed her left index finger towards her nose.

Robert held his tongue, a million thoughts and possibilities raced across his brain, trying to figure out what had happened, and where his broken body was. It was so dark moments ago, and then he found himself in a bright room again, with a warm radiance and a slight breeze. The end of the world, the sudden desperation was now replaced by this thick layer of silence and confusion that seemed so alien and ever more frightful.

Then there was this woman in front of him whom he had never met before, staring down at his half naked, albeit mummified body without any care for modesty of her own. Robert forced his mind to stay focused, lest he fall off the edge once again. Keep his mind still and vision pointed straight ahead – and in front of him were the ends of her white shirt that teased his brain and invited his imagination in twisted motions. It was so perplexing, as everything that had to be covered was completely concealed. The bottom hem of her shirt dangled down over her thighs, covering just barely enough, at what seemed to be even a more torturous picture than had she walked up to him completely naked. There was nothing really WRONG with him being in that room, Robert convinced himself, and that was not wrong at all – he couldn't see anything, it was fine. Yet he found himself wondering, as if his gaze could reach out – it was unable to break itself from staring at the ends of that shirt that laid on the top of her thighs that just barely, just barely,

"Up HERE!" She commanded more forcefully this time.

Robert shook his head amidst the haze, pulled his eyeballs back into its sockets and looked up to his host, now face to face. "A," Robert said.

She looked down at him once again, without a word she locked her hip to one side and slouched with her cup of coffee – and her peeking through her deshelved dirty blonde bangs, eyes gazed down at Robert, her one brow twitching annoyingly, as if she was waiting for an answer, something, anything from the boy. You have to… those are the rules.

The boy has to say it first. Those were the rules.

The silence that transpired was ever so painful, so agonizing that they both could hear the third hand of the clock tick steadily.. tick, tock… tick… like a hammer driving itself into its anvil where it was destined to meet.

"A." Robert said out loud, but then retreated back into silence.

She didn't move and continued to stare him down, pounding his spirit, beating him down without even moving a muscle. Testing him, trying him…

Robert absentmindedly made motion to reach out with his right arm but stopped, confused when nothing happened. He looked at his right arm that was splint and permanently bonded to his chest. "Ah.." Robert began, calmly reminded now, "Were you the one who patched me up?" He asked.

"I wouldn't even bother trying to move if I were you," she replied, her eyes wandering off to the trauma suitcase next to Robert with the small red box of spent sharps. "Your entire right side is doped up, you won't feel anything for a day or so."

"How long have I been unconscious?" Robert asked.

"It's 2 PM now," she replied. "You've been asleep almost 24 hours…"

"Ookini." He said, not even listening to a word she said. The woman broke her thoughts and looked back at the boy who now stared at her squarely eye to eye. "Thank you for helping me, Miss."

She didn't bother uttering a reply, but merely closed her eyes, nodded once half way and sipped her coffee silently.

"…but," Robert leaned over and began to make motion to valiantly try to come to a stand. "You HAVE to take me to Prince. It's NOT over yet... not..." Robert, despite his most pure efforts couldn't muster even a hair of strength in his wobbling knees to even begin to lock them, let alone stand upright on his own power.

"What?! You haven't given up yet?" She mocked when Robert's plea was but left with remnants of despair when he fell back into that couch like the leaper he was.

"NO, there is... there's still something I still need to do." Robert said. The fuel in his voice started to roar at first but half way through it sputtered and died out in smoldering embers when his shoulders relaxed and he finally came to grips at his DISGUSTING helplessness – at the cruel finality of the matter.

"I…" Robert bit down into his now bleeding lip, trying to hold his pain close, his sadness, his disappointment, his disemboweling shame inside. So his downcast gaze wouldn't break from the kingdom of dreams he had set his sights upon, and he would fall, and be swept away by the raging current of tears he tried to hold back, he did so much.

That woman that stood a few steps from him so far away, said nothing, not a word to that boy who disemboweled himself, and left himself sifting through his own world of putrid, a disgusting world of shit; she mocked all the men in the world with her silence.

Because he couldn't… that promise, drenched in a pool of bile, piss and shit.

"I…" Robert stammered. "…it's not over yet – there's still… something... I have to do," he said when he looked sadly to the side at his crippled right arm that was permanently bonded to his body like a veil of shame…

There's still something I have to do.

Very well then, if you can BEAT me today. Then I PROMISE you, Prince, that I will serve you as a bouncer for as long as I'm alive. As long as my heart beats true.

Even if five hundred one million and one existed – golden sparking dreams. I was sure that one of them would save a place for the wishes that lay dormant in my heart of hearts. I waited [forever] for a star like you to enter my life – but perhaps I just never realized it.

For as many golden dreams hung in the night sky – those that sent idle princesses to peaceful, and listless dreaming. True, there would be those that grew larger, there would be those that soared higher, and there would be those that glittered brighter…

…and while our friendship may one day lose its luster, maybe for just one day, we will stop in our tracks, break our gaze from the cold cement and remember just this one time. This time when I chose you, no, when you instead, chose ME to be your star.

"I promised... that if [he] fought me – THAT if he gave me just even one CHANCE at greatness… I PROMISED that I would serve him. Proudly." Robert whimpered in a dry gasp. "But without this arm, he's left me like this, my body crippled, and even the last bit of my sad life that I have left to offer, is now meaningless." He cried in that brightly lit room which was now no different to Robert than had he been enveloped in total darkness.

"I waited, forever. In this disgusting, goddamn fucking world… Just for you."

…