Voices

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, the creators of Gundam Wing own all rights to their ideas, and they are only being used here without permission and without a profit. The lyrics belong to Staind's "It's Been a While" They go in order, save for the very end. They have not otherwise been altered in any way.

1st POV
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Lyrics --------
2nd POV

[setting of the scene]

Notes: The setting of the scene is optional to read. Some say it interrupts the flow of the piece, while I can see why this is so, the descriptions are there to help identify the speaker and to prevent confusion early in the piece. It would seem rather peculiar if I started out with descriptions and did not continue throughout the peace. My apologies for any unnecessary confusion. Read it as a play without stage directions, and you should survive.
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[The air is deadly silent, as if something is being expected, something that might change the course of history--though it's completely contrary to any type of reason to think so. Then, out of the bleak blackness comes a voice as smooth as silk, as dark as some creature out of the Arabian Nights. It rises and falls with the intonation, flowing as if the mellifluous material is being pulled over scattered pearls. The voice itself is saturated with veiled regret and shame that every so often breaks through the outer husk that protects the character, though the speaker seems to be struggling to demonstrate any of the softer emotions.]

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And it's been awhile
Since I could hold my head up high
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Thoughts. Sometimes they cannot be crushed quickly enough and filter into consciousness, and because of weakness, I am tormented. You would not know it upon looking at me. I have carefully schooled myself in ordering the outer world according to importance. Brooding does not seem to be high upon this list. Yet in the quiet nights, when sleep is so elusive that it seems as if it is a millennia away, my consciousness breaks free of the restraints I have placed upon it. The shame. I drown in it. If I were not already dead, I would be.

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And it's been awhile
Since I first saw you
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We never saw each other much; last I remember you were yelling at me for doing something completely stupid--at least you thought so. I betcha you're eating your words now. What I did--it was worth the risk, wasn't it? We won, didn't we? I knew we would, even when everything seemed so hopeless.

I have to say, that look on your face was completely priceless--your expression was always that, priceless. I'd pay anything to see your smile right now instead of these deadly blank walls. 'Course the next time I see you, you'll probably chew me up real good and spit me out. Ah well, it'll be good for a laugh in a year or two--this whole thing will be good for a laugh.

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And it's been awhile
Since I could stand on my own two feet again
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I don't know who I am...I used to. Everything's so hazy, so unclear...almost like I'm swimming with my eyes open. It's shadowy, undefined, even in the brightness of the light. Hurts to see...when will I break the surface? Or will I die before that sweet moment of triumph when I do? Does it matter at all?

I'm not sure of anything these days; I haven't been for a while. It seems that my epiphanies constantly turn out all wrong, and every time I have never acted completely on my own. It has always been for someone else's vision, some one else's dream for the future...never my own. When was the last time I actually thought for myself, free of all these outside pressures? What will happen when I do?

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And it's been awhile
Since I could call you
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I know I won't see you for a while now. Perhaps earlier I would have cared; I would have lamented my loss for days on end. I could always find you, a venture in which your enemy constantly failed in. It is rather humorous if you think about it long enough; you're invisible to a complex, well-developed organization that is intent upon seeing your capture, while a mere teen with a few connections here and there can track you down with surprising ease. Maybe you didn't want to hide--not completely. Perhaps I'm incorrect; perhaps I jumped to a conclusion that was not there to be jumped to. I am not certain.

Perhaps I will understand at a later date, for at the moment I'm drowning in work and the true task has yet to begin. While I sit here staring at a diplomatic motion that must be finished within the hour, my mind drifts, strangely, to you. Were you the cause of all the turmoil and the peace that was contrived afterwards? Surely not. However, I am grateful that it was you. I would not have come as far had I met someone who indulged my childish fantasies, like everyone had before. For all the trials, tribulation and infuriation you caused me, I thank you.

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And everything I can remember
As fucked up as it all may seem
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There are times I can't remember; moments left over from the amnesia. A full recovery would have been near impossible, not everyone can repair themselves back to one hundred percent capacity. Yet every now and then a glimpse of what I have forgotten drifts before my eyes, and it's unnerving not to remember the entire scene. An explosion...outside of the cockpit. Strange. A spy, a traitor...oddly, I didn't hate her, even after all she did.... I'm not even aware as to what that was exactly. These are times when I feel as lost as if I were merely a broken piece of space trash passing through space, without an orbit to follow, without any useful purpose...

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And consequences that are rendered
I stretch myself beyond my means
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He called me kind. I don't know where he got that. His common sense must be here on the floor, drying up to dust as these crimson rivulets desiccate into nothing but stains on the floor--stains that can be forgotten as easily as this war will be. Don't they understand? Don't they see that this carnage is not yet enough? I would gladly pilot my own mobile suit if that would bring about a conclusive end to this eternal conflict.

I'm crying. Drops of diamonds plunge to the floor, they mix with those red rivers, diluting them, washing them away. Is this what pity and horror do to all that war has won, all that it has proven? That sanguine color is gone from the tile--gone forever--and the floor is left as if this entire episode has never happened. It has disappeared, forgotten forever by all. Is this what war's all about? Is this how it's supposed to be? Let the blood of a few light the way to salvation? Could I have been wrong?

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And it's been awhile
Since I can say that I wasn't addicted
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I hafta say that I loved the adrenaline rush. It was the only kickback I ever got for doing everything I did, everything I was prohibited from doing by everyone else who had their head so far up their ass that they could see the light of day, though they didn't understand it. It was for everything that happened because of this shit-ass blight that tails me everywhere, like some sorta mangy stray you can't beat off with a pronged stick.

Gave me a nice buzz afterwards, too; an illusion of pure happiness before damned realization set in. God, I hate reality. I miss those moments; life now seems so out an' out damn dull! I mean, where the hell's the excitement? Where's the danger? Where's the cheap-ass thrills? An' you know what the kicker is? I actually wanted this. Well, if they had told me it would be this damn boring.... No, I didn't fight because it was exciting; I fought because I had to. There was no other way. Sorta the lesser of the two evils, and I made the choice blindfolded. Wonder if I picked the right one...

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And it's been awhile
Since I can say I love myself as well
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I miss him. He made everything have a purpose, everything seem matter of fact. I loved him--that was a constant in this peculiar equation that was fashioned in which one plus one sometime equaled two, and other times it ended up being three. He respected me. No matter how callous or weak I was, he respected me. Did he ever love me? I can't say. I can't say definitely without lying to myself. I promised myself I wouldn't do that anymore... I promised him...

Did I ever love myself? No. No matter what, I was an abhorrent being. Though he failed to realize...though I failed to realize it.

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And it's been awhile
Since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do
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It's over? It's ended? Why do I doubt it? There's no one to say otherwise. No threat. No need. No mistake. It's over. Finally.

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And it's been awhile
But all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you
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I probably should have been doing other things during the war, perhaps using my skill, what little there is of it, to benefit a larger whole. Yet, if I hadn't helped, would you be mere casualties in a war that would never end? My instincts tell me otherwise, and I must agree that I worked with you more for my benefit than yours.

I had to be part of the action; I had to do something... You all made everything so clear-cut, either it was for you, against you or it shouldn't be touched, but at times even these three basic categories blurred. We all make mistakes. I know I have. But you were always so unlike these politicians that rule us now. You were fresh minds with fresh methods of dealing with an age-old problem. A lone gun won't topple a fortified enemy, a single anti-body won't cure the entire disease, but even the strongest things start small, even the most noble outcomes spring from selfish reasons...

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I cannot blame this on my father
He did the best he could for me
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It is hard to think that life can progress much without you, father. It has been almost a year. A year since I last saw you. A year since you passed away, sadly. I tried so hard not to linger upon the lives I cut short when I went about attempting to construct peace. I loathed killing them. Please believe me, I didn't do it because I wished to do so, I only wanted peace, and pacifism would only bring about the deaths of so many more innocent bystanders. I couldn't let them die...

Then I saw you as they shot you down and noble intentions disappeared. I...I...I destroyed everything you sought to protect; I fought for my own selfish causes. What I did was unforgivable, and yet...I beg for forgiveness so that my conscience might be at peace for but a short time. Everything you fought for through diplomatic measures, everything you loved, I desecrated. I apologize, but I...I am not repentful.

Peace--the one ideal you truly cherished--has become reality. Whether or not it would have arisen through the methods you chose, I am afraid I do not know. I am aware that you attempted to instill those ideals within my heart, but I did not heed your numerous admonitions concerning the destruction and devastation of war. Thus, I am forced to live with the consequences of my at-times misguided actions. I am regretful that I disobeyed you and that I never got to express my admiration of your firm beliefs, but more so that I was not able to tell you that I loved you. Nevertheless, I have stained your name with the blood I shed in revenge--that is unforgivable. Please. Pardon me.

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Why must I feel this way?
Just make this go away
Just one more peaceful day
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[The voices swell in crescendo, each speaking independently of the other, and yet they say the same words. Like waves upon a windy day, they surge and crash at different times, speaking louder than the roar of the rest, their voice performing solo against the vocal orchestra before returning to the main body of the sea. They are many intonations crying out in the wilderness, a torrent of darkness that threatens to drown them all, and perhaps knowing this, they speak desperately, demanding to be heard before silence comes for all.]

I hate this confusion. I hate not knowing what is right or wrong. I hate not knowing what I'll be doing tomorrow--or today. Everything made sense, though it was senseless. Everything had a purpose, yet we have none. It was perfect, and perfectly awful. I miss the fighting, but I fought for peace. I reached my goal the best way I knew how, and now it's strange that the screaming shrapnel has finally quieted, that the rivers are not red--I forgot they were once clear blue.

I don't have to worry about living to see the sunrise or spend countless hours counting my bullets, now I count my blessings. But all the same, I miss it. I hate it. I love it. Forever gone are the intricacies of war, the art of strategy, the beauty of battle--but most of all, the sense of purpose. I'm not needed here, but here I'll stay, for there is nowhere else to go, no one else to be but this bloodstained self. I don't regret what I did--it was necessary at the time. I would do it all over again, if need be. Yet this strange peace that I have fought for and won, feels so peculiar, like an ill-fitting glove. I don't crave recognition, I don't want my name in the paper, I don't desire to be anyone but an anonymous being. I never fought for a reward. Peace, as foreign as it may seem at this time, is a reward within itself.

I can only hope that others will cherish what I have given up so much for.

[The voices die out one by own, until there is only one left--alone, muted. One has to strain in order to here the last words as the dark swallows them and their speaker whole.]

I only hope I have not lived in vain...

~Owari~

Many thanks to the nice folks at: StellarSoldiers for pointing me to a place where I could find some sort of enlightenment (whether or not I am enlightened yet remains to be seen), gw-fan for answering my impetuous questions on the basics, as well as GWFanReview, the ML (and nice folk) that started it all. The characterization tips and insight, as well as pointing me in the right direction, are greatly appreciated. Don't think you shall go unthanked.