Disclaimer: I will not be rude...I will not be rude...I will not be rude...Hello.
I know perfectly well that Sunrise, Bandai and other assorted corporate
assh-associations own the characters and setting of Gundam Wing. However
this f--particular storyline belongs to me. I wrote this piece of..literature,
however warped it might be. I respect your claims. You respect mine. Fair
Warnings: ANGST. Dark, creepy story. Blood. Violence. Warped-ness. Shounen
Ai. Language. (or that's what I'm hoping for anyway...) POV Not for the
very religious...including myself..
Pairings: Tis a surprise. A surprise darn it! Even I don't know yet. I
assure my 1x2 and 3x4 readers there will be at some point some of each.
And I am fairly certain there will be no orgies here, unless the author-ess
really loses it. (stop looking so disappointed!)
Rating: Drama/Horror-R (just to be on the safe side)
Whispers To Me + Part 1
If I listen carefully, I can truly hear them. The screaming and crying
rings through my ears, even when others hear silence. They do not end
when consciousness is no more. Those cries of terror echo on forever,
trapped in a far more twisted purgatory than anything Hell's demons could
create, terrified by the one thing more evil than Hell, more tainted than
Satan himself. What is a more painful fate than being sealed within limbo?
What could possibly be worse than awaiting the choice between Heaven and
Hell in that chamber of spirits tortured for lifetimes, generations...eternities?
What is worse? The human mind, of course. Mine, to be specific. Although
I hold on to their memories with an iron grip now, I left those I cared
the most about to a fate worse than death long ago. They've haunted me
for five years, their final shrieks of anguish on my mind day after day.
I knew, and always have known that they could never forgive me. Even as
I cling to childhood memories, I am condemned by their pain and suffering
to receive such ten thousand fold until the end of time. What forgiveness?
What grace? There was none and I knew it. I had always know it.
Mostly, I do not think of them. Only in the hours between moon-rise and
dawn do they visit me. During the night, when all is still, my fellow
murderers silenced by rest after a long day's work, then I hear the moans
and wails of those in pain. A hurt I had caused them. And every night,
feigning sleep, I relive the bloodiest, most tragic mistake of my life.
Bloody. Tragic. To think that those words are enough to describe the carnage.
Mere adjectives will never be enough to tell the tale of those dying there.
Scavengers pulling apart the bodies of those who'd been my friends, kin
only hours before. The flies. The stench of death, old blood an odor I
wish I'd never came in contact with. It seems I can never be clean of
that stink, no matter how many times I scrub my skin raw. I left the massacre
on my own two feet.
Yet I am still standing there, alone in the ruin of a church, seeing it,
breathing it. Everyday I fight I am there. And every morning I wake to
that place, I find I am too late. So I rise from "rest" each
time the sun touches the sky, knowing I cannot cease to fight while I
remain unable to fix that one mistake that ended everything, that began
something totally different. Began purgatory for those living and deceased.
Waking up alone in my Gundam is the safest way to deal with these visions,
that everlasting presence in the back of my mind. It is death completely,
something you can taste, smell, hear, see...feel in the air around you.
I find it best for me to wake there. I may find a way to calm my pulse,
rid my brow of the cold sweat that dream always brings. There is no one
to worry or care. No living being to realize I'm just as fucked up as
they think I am. Alone, with my last friend in the world, my only ally,
Shinigami, then I can be safe from prying eyes. But sometimes there's
no way for me to remain with the Gundanium giant that had become home
and savior to me. It was a dark cavern that no one could reach, where
there was just me and the guilt whispering in my ear, that oppressive
guilt that could never mercifully destroy me, only serving to bring more
Yet, in the safehouses, when I am separated from the benevolent God of
Death's protection, the very walls have eyes and I cannot hide so easily.
A grin, easy mask, cheerful laugh was placed for all to see, remaining
happy and carefree more of a chore than being gloomy had ever been. Among
them, I must assume a part in this performance of Treize's where we are
but minor actors. The part of the jester or clown suits me well. Since
the battles began, none suspected a thing. The dreams, scenes from a past
too bloody and torn to be a figment of my subconsciousness, continue.
As long as I linger with the others, my secret is in danger of being discovered,
their pity not something I can afford in this costly war. During those
missions, where we work as one, I tried to lock myself a single, private
room. Yet even one who had dodged death many times could not keep always
his luck. I planned for my privacy to remain impenetrable, so that the
ghosts lurking in my shadow might've stayed a mystery. I hoped...I prayed
for this to be so. I really did.....
[part 2] [back
to Lyssira's fic]