The night was black. In some parts of the
universe, the stars shone brightly enough to actually shed some light, making
the sky navy blue, just enough light for people to fumble their way through
streets and homes, but not here. Here, the sky was a deep black, all the stars
seeming minuscule dots in a blanket of satin, not providing enough light to even
cast shadows. The streets, like the skies, were empty too. Buildings loomed like
imaginary monsters in a child’s fantasy, and concealed among them, in a game of
hide and seek, was a young boy who matched the mood of the world around him. His
hair like ebony, seeming to gleam as if there were actually light in this world.
His figure was lean, cloaked in black silks to try and camouflage himself into
the bleak world around him. His skin was naturally tanned, but darkened by blood
and dirt, similar to the streets on which he walked. And his eyes were like the
sky, for they too were black, but they burned with an intensity that took them
beyond colour itself; emotions within them were like the stars: burnt out,
tired, disappeared into the depths of a grown cold heart. He was collapsed
against a wall, a hand held to his chest as he seemed to wait.
‘Gone…. They’re all gone.. and I know I am next. All those I have
ever made contact with have died. During and before the war were my friends,
family, Meiran and Treize. And then after the war… the real killings began.
First Zechs… unknown cause, I always suspected one of the other Gundam pilots,
as did they, but I soon stopped believing that when the killings continued.
First Heero, the perfect soldier, then Duo, Trowa, Quatre.. all gone.. all slain
in a vicious way.. Was it murder? Of course! It’s as if the world, now a
pacifist nation, no longer needs those tainted by the war, those who still
contain its fire in our hearts. How can I deny that I am next. It’s obvious,
more obvious than anything else in this world. And there’s no point in running,
I am braver than that. I will just have to wait. It’s obviously stronger than I,
stronger than all of us, nothing able to stop it. And all I can do is wait…’
The boy closed his eyes fighting back tears as he realised he had
reached a state of mind where he was actually in fear of his death. It hurt.
When he had been fighting, death was always a possibility, and if he died than
it would just be one of the routes his life as a warrior had grown into. When he
was fighting he had nothing to fear but the enemy, and even then he deducted
that the enemy was not worth fearing if you were going to fight them - if you
feared them than it could only fuel you, and in that case it was not fear, fear
being a hindrance. But now he was actually scared of his death. He was scared
that he wouldn’t be the last one, and these brutal killings would grow out to
slay those who were even weaker than he, and there would be nobody to stop them.
He was scared of dying, because then he could not protect those he had fought
for. He was scared of dying because he would be forgotten. He was scared of
dying because then the war would be forgotten, and history might repeat itself
in the cruel way it does, a vicious circle of fighting, and all their pain,
everyone’s suffering, would be for nothing if it would start again. He closed
his eyes and waited, the knot of fear in his stomach causing him to breathe
heavily. The night seemed to grow more and more silent, the buzz of silence
itself became nothing until all he could hear was his own ragged breath escaping
his lungs. And then the pain shot through him, spreading from his stomach up,
all fear dissolving to be replaced by this infatuation of hurting. He struggled
to open his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of his killer before he died, at
least one little satisfaction before he left this plane of existence.
Struggling, he forced his eyelids open, to be blinded by light reflecting off
the blade of a sword. He forced himself to look up, to see the eyes of his
killer, whose face was hidden by a veil. He couldn’t die without this knowledge.
Open mouthed, he reached out a hand as the hooded figure who had put the katana
blade through his stomach threw away his cloak. Dressed all in white, the blood
that stained the material of it not seeming to take away from its brilliance in
anyway, a smirk on it’s lips, but a tear in its eye, stood the figure of Wufei.
‘Myself.. it makes sense.. we were killed by ourselves… we all fought
for different reasons, but contradicted ourselves in turn, by going against our
will… we killed ourselves.. we were dead from the moment we got blood on our
hands…. ’ The boy smiled, satisfied with the answer. He had no need
to fear anymore, because he had no regrets. Closing his eyes, he let the stars
come back out into the sky. The night was no longer black.
The boy awoke. Was he dead now?
There was little doubt in his mind that the answer to that question was yes. So
was this Hell, Heaven, or something completely different? He had no conclusion
so far, as he continued falling, the air around him seeming thick, making his
fall slower than it should be, allowing him to digest his surroundings with
ease. Looking down, there didn’t seem to be any ground, there didn’t seem to be
anything but this infinite sea of an obscure colour which couldn’t be identified
in human tongue. Dotted around him were people, all in couples or groups,
beautiful gold and white feathers framing their bodies, creating wings. Angels
perhaps, or maybe just a state all these creatures had reached. The boy was
unaware that he too had wings, but the plumage on his were black and red, a
horrific contrast to the painfully beautiful colour around him and the purity of
the wings attached to all the others. He continued falling, unsure of how to
stop, or if he was supposed to stop. Millions of thoughts went round his head,
only to be interrupted as he passed familiar faces.
Quatre and Trowa sat
together, wings wrapped around each other, protectively. Trowa’s face seemed to
darken as the boy floated past, as did Quatre’s, as if his presence was somehow
hurting them. But their faces softened again as they looked at each other, eyes
locked in a spirit embrace. The boy shook his head, turning away. He did not
wish to watch this, their happiness making him jealous, his own loneliness
magnified by their unity. It occurred to the boy, at this point, that he was the
only creature alone. Perhaps this was why he was falling, perhaps he was going
to keep falling until he found someone to hold him close. Continuing his
downward journey, he looked around him, desperately searching for a soul mate to
stop him from reaching the ground.
A violet gleam caught his eyes, and
he spun round, momentarily slowing down as he saw Duo, whose braid had been let
down, chestnut hair cascading over his shoulders and floating around wildly
behind him. The boy reached out to Duo, mouthing his name. His comrade’s eyes
sparkled, as he tried to reach out also, desperation growing nearer. They were
so close, their hands almost touching, but then Duo was pulled away by a darker
figure. Heero stared at the boy who had distracted Duo’s attention, drawing Duo
towards him as he did, a hand round the American boys throat, bringing him to
his side, possessively, saying nothing but letting the intruder know that Duo
was not his for the taking. The boy looked back down towards nothing. He did not
see Duo stare back at him longingly as Heero led them away.
Depression
crept around Wufei, batted away by the futile flapping of black feathered wings,
as he passed more people, all of whom were already together, not wanting another
soul to join them. Looking back down for a familiar face, the boy saw somebody
he hoped would take him back into their heart. Treize smiled up at him. Was this
a last cause for hope? He realised Treize’s arms were outstretched, ready to
catch him as he fell. The boy smiled back, happy to be wanted at last.
Continuing to fall, he closed his eyes and awaited the feeling of support as
those strong arms would bring it closer. It never came, for when the boy opened
his eyes, he saw he had long passed Treize, who instead grasped Zechs in his
grip. The two shook their head as the Chinese boy fell further. How could they
have saved the boy who didn’t want salvation.
Despair took over the
boy’s vision as he finally realised that he had been rejected by everyone.
Nobody could want him now. Tears blurred his vision and took over everything,
for angels don’t cry - they weep, and the air around him became humid with
bittersweet tears that merged into the gravity that made him fall. He fell
faster, but could not care, feel or see. He passed Meiran, who caught some of
his tears in her hands, clasping it to her chest as she tried to soothe her
broken heart with his own pain. He had not wanted her either, she had been
rejected long ago, but was still feeling the pain, their despair was parallel.
He did not see her figure walk away. The boy fell faster, and faster. He looked
down, amazed for he could finally see the ground on which he would fall. He
spread out his arms, and waited for the impact. It never came. He shuddered in a
mixture of relief, shock and cold, as his eyes never opened but something came
into his vision. A violet glint in the corner of his eyes, a twirl of chestnut
in the air as something swept underneath him, the world finally stayed still.
Author 
