Reflection...
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Title: Reflections
Author: Genji
Category: ficlet (border songficlet)
Rating: PG
Pairings: 2 + 1
Disclaimer: I don't own "Reflection" (lyrics by: Matthew Wilder) or
the GW universe. If I owned either, I wouldn't get any work done.
Notes: I was procrastinating during my Euro seminar. I had the Mulan
CD that my kid sis had given me (I love "I'll Make a Man Out of You")
and the final track played, sung by *makes face* Christina Aguilera.
It was the lyrics that got to me, and though I was thinking of doing
that sex change challenge one originally, I realized it would've
already been done.
Duo's POV-musing mostly.
I refrained from names because I felt like it.
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You're as pretty as a girl.
I don't remember who told me that, but it was during the war. And
now, as I stand in front of the mirror brushing my hair, an event
that takes hours and hours, something that no reputable boy would do,
I begin to wonder myself if I were born of the wrong sex.
It's not like I had a say about my build. I'm just not the type
you'd find on the football team--maybe the swim team, or on cross
country, but not the stereotypical guy figure. But hell, none of
those I hang with fit any stereotypes.
You don't expect a war
criminal to be under the age of 20. You don't expect a clown to
never smile. You don't expect a kid to manage a full-fledged
business. You don't expect a scholar to go to war. You don't expect
a street rat to achieve anything.
I suppose the last statement doesn't hold true. What have I
achieved? Nothing much. Saving the world. It sounds like some
kid's fantasy. Falling for your best friend. That's a fairytale to
the core. I'm told it never happens, because both parties are too
scared to ruin what they have, and so they just sit across from each
other and try not to notice that they're playing footsie under the
table. So, if fantasies and fairytales don't exist, what have I done
besides grow a couple feet of hair?
Frankly, I don't know. Nor do I care.
My eyes critique the figure in the mirror again. Bare feet on
smooth, wooden planks. The hem of my jeans sweeps the floor behind
my heel. It's too hot to be wearing them, but I have yet to ferret
out my shorts. My eyes travel up my thighs, which are followed by
hips. The denim hangs low on them, allowing the edge of my cotton
boxers to make their unannounced appearance. Obscuring the view of
the left side of my torso, and further down for that matter, my hair
falls in a torrent of honey-browns and subdued reds. I pull a brush
through the tangles, trying to straighten the disorderly mane. Of
course, with patience, I'll win. Without that, I'll end up pulling
half my hair out and then all those pesky flyaways will dog me to
remind me that 'haste makes waste,' as the good Father always said.
I suppose it's my hair that makes me look feminine, but I don't have
the heart to cut it off, though god knows it would be a helluva a lot
cooler in the summer.
The radio's playing full blast. Just turn it on and let 'er rip.
Don't remember the station. I think it's the one where they play the
hits over and over and over and over until you either want to sing
along with them, or hunt down the singers and kill them simply to
stop their song from ever being played again. Of course, I'm in no
maniacal mood to do that now, so I'll just wait for a good song to
join in with.
"Look at me/You may think you know who I really am/But you'll never know
me," some singer on the radio whines. She doesn't have a bad voice,
but it's not to my taste. Who the hell tuned the radio last? I
betcha Miss Soldier-Girl was here recently, she always liked this
sorta stuff, even though she swears that she would kill to hear Rabid
Men in concert.
Yeah, they're some up and coming contemporary band. I never can
understand the lyrics.
"....ev'ry day/It's as if I play a part..."
God, won't that station cut to commercial or something?
"...now I see/If I wear a mask/I can fool the world/But I cannot fool
my heart..."
Oh, look who's talking. Betcha that singer gal wouldn't know a mask
if it went around and bit her on the ass. Hell, the five of us wore
and still do wear masks.
The clown's is probably the most literal. A costume'll do that to
you, but even when it's off, there's a barrier between him and the
real world. A detachment of sorts, like he's merely a spectator to
our triumphs and failures, and all we're doing is putting on some
fantastic Shakespearean tragedy for his viewing pleasure. Not the
other way 'round.
The justice-seeker hides behind a badge. But I'm not sure if a
Preveter even gets that much. They're on a shoestring budget, and he
simply dies away into the sea of faceless uniforms. He is just part
of the unit--part of the means to keep the peace. At least he has a
purpose after the war.
"...I am now/In a world where I have to hide me heart/And what I
believe in...."
Gah, isn't it over by now?
The businessman masquerades about the world as a do-gooder.
Participating in charity work when his schedule allows it, though he
never answers the question why he does so. He just smiles and shakes
his head. I've got a sneaking suspicion that he's kicking himself
for being the cause of the charities he works so hard to help.
"...must I pretend that I'm/Someone else for all time?/When will my
reflection show/Who I am inside?..."
Yeah, I've gotta admit, there are few times when this mask came offa
my ugly mug. Even now I'm not sure if this is simply another
camouflage for me to fool myself and others with. I roll my eyes and
stick my lower lip out for the mirror. Nimble fingers weave three
strands into a sturdy rope.
Some say I'm bi-polar, or something like that. I beg to differ. I
just have different disguise for different occasions. You don't want
to be approached on the street by a homicidal maniac, right? Plus,
what sort of rallying cry would that be? Every great war had a call
to unite the troops. From "Remember the Alamo!" to "Over there!" I
used a façade to generate that same reaction. Even if it meant
that
I wouldn't be taken seriously, it was worth it, regardless of the
personal costs.
There's no 'i' in death, or combatant, or
struggler. Of course the common ones, like Soldier and Warrior and
Fighter all have an 'i,' which totally defeats my point. I had my
reasons for acting like I did. And so, I laughed.
Maybe that's why he fell for me. Well, more along the lines that he
was hauled down that road. But I'm not saying he was unwilling.
Just hesitant. Even now, homosexuals are looked at askance, like we
are some biological error. I wonder what he'll say when the final
barrier falls. Will he turn away at what he sees, so different from
whom he thinks he knows? I don't want to chance it, so I plaster on
a grin, and make a fool of myself.
And I die a little more each time.
You can only cage a wild bird for so long before it dies. Now I'm
not comparing myself to a bird or any such thing--I'm held captive by
my own doing. One of these days I'm gonna lose this game, and be
left destitute with nothing to my name. My sanity, my emotions, my
sense of self, will all be gone. Of course the latter was never much
to begin with, since even now I'm questioning myself.
What's worse than living a lie?
Loving one.
~owari~
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© 2001 by Genji. Please do not remove without permission.
