Re: Redemption, Termination (1.3/?)
anonymous
May 20 2012, 05:45:23 UTC
He stared with the look of a cornered animal at the looming form of the Inaba Municipal Hospital, shoulders tense, face pale. His pupils constricted like a pinprick of black as his fight-or-flight instincts screamed at him to get the hell out of there
He'd practically begged and pleaded on his knees for anything but this.
He'd actually asked Dojima if expulsion was an option, to which he'd given the weirdest look, like Kanji had asked him how to fuck, and told him that, no, it wasn't.
"You better take your gifts when you get 'em, Tatsumi, because the world doesn't make a habit of doing favors." he'd told him as soon as his mother had gone out of earshot. "You're lucky; Morooka was actually pretty adament on this whole thing, and tried to fight for you to be put on this program." Kanji scoffed in disbelief. "Threw out some foreign quote about the self being hell, and redemption, and caring about others." Dojima shook his head, looking bewildered. "Either way, you won't get another chance like this, and he kind of made a point. So just go do this and stop being such a burden on your mother, before it's too late."
It seemed simple enough; visit with some terminal kid who was probably going to die before the month was out, every day until the kid signed him off or finally kicked the bucket.
One hour.
Every day.
In.....The hospital.
Kanji felt the tell-tale sign of saliva welling up in his mouth at the very thought, and he had to bend over, willing himself not to throw up, for about ten minutes until it subsided and he could stand again.
He could do this. He was Kanji Tatsumi. He could probably just go in and the kid would get so damn afraid of his appearance alone that he'd sign him right off, and he'd never have to go again.
...Kanji turned his back to the hospital and pulled out a cigarette.
Re: Redemption, Termination (1.4/?)
anonymous
May 20 2012, 05:46:39 UTC
The hospital secretary gave him the most odd of looks when he approached, all nerve coiled up into a tense, angry demeanor that would suggest trouble if he hadn't been shaking in his well-shined boots.
However, that suspicious look she gave him, in which he could almost feel her hand on the hidden security button, drastically changed when he told her what he was here for--he looked down, glancing at the paper he'd been given; grimaced, read out the name hesitantly, as if sealing himself to some unknown fate--into a look of relief and, he thought, warmth?
Well, that was odd.
She made a few hand gestures, gave a few directions, none of which he really committed to memory because, hell, he'd get the kid to sign his damn paper, and they'd be done with this bullshit.
Which was what he told himself all the way to the room, so tense that, when he opened the door, it was almost like cutting a wire on a bomb to diffuse it. He felt like his heart was exploding.
Kanji let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he walked into the room, all white sheets and a smell of sterile chemicals that made him feel sick to his stomach again, and a boy so angelic he thought he'd opened some door to the Heaven he didn't believe in, only to be greeted by an angel that didn't exist.
Or, rather, that's how it should have been, in any different situation, if the boy wasn't terminal and God wasn't dead.
The boy, almost as pale as his sheets, with the only flush to his skin making him look vaguely blue and not unlike a cadaver, seemed to move in slow motion as he turned to face him. His pillow-tousled hair looked like it could have been as gold and lively and brilliant as the sun that had tried to blind him just days ago, but now it was dull and sickly and matted with sweat, just like the rest of him.
The eyes, though, were what haunted him the most.
They were so blue; so hauntingly, painfully, mournfully blue. Kanji knew, just by looking at them, that they'd once (recently?) been pools that he could dive into, sink to the bottom, and just exist, without knowing about the world and all of it's negativity and death and pain. He could live in pure innocence, only knowing happiness.
They'd been the eyes of a child.
Now, all he could see were the eyes of a terminal kid, knowing he was to die, who had resigned himself to fate. The pool had dried up, to a puddle muddied by urban death and decay. It was at once devastating and depressing.
Those eyes looked up at him, wary and maybe a little guarded, but at once widening and becoming, perhaps in a trick of the light, just a little more blue; the matted hair just a little more windswept and golden.
Re: Redemption, Termination (1.4/?)
anonymous
May 21 2012, 04:18:57 UTC
Op!anon here. And oh my god I am LOVING this. This is so much better than I could have imagined. You even made Teddie so humble and fragile. I love you forever. This was a prompt I thought of like two years ago but could never successfully write myself, so to see it being written so beautifully by a wonderful anon is like holding a newborn baby. So. Excited for the continuation.
Re: Redemption, Termination (1.4/?)
anonymous
May 21 2012, 11:46:48 UTC
Oh my god this is more than I possibly imagined. I thought of this prompt years ago for a different game and never posted it anywhere, because frankly I didn't think anyone would be so kind as to fill it, and I am the worst at writing stories. I actually used to have such high hopes for this that I would dream about it, and how different things would become entwined in the story (the patient suddenly getting worse and being in ICU for a couple of days, Kanji struggling not to punch the lights out of anyone who talked about it, and Kanji holding hands with the patient until they both fall asleep.) Such little things really broke my heart when I thought about them being filled, you know? and now there's a wonderful anon here, breaking my heart every time I read this unfinished story. I love it. Thank you so much for filling this, you have no idea how grateful I am. I look forward so much to the continuation. <3
Re: Redemption, Termination (1.4/?)
anonymous
May 21 2012, 22:31:43 UTC
Writer!anon here, and trust me, hun, I know how that feels, to have an idea stuck in your head and to want to see it come to life so badly it hurts haha. Happens to me all the time, and I fancy myself more of an artist than a writer, so sometimes (too often) those ideas just stay these painful little ideas in my head.
But I love this prompt, and if I'm to be frank with you now, I think we're definitely on the same page, as I've had some similar plans in store for this. So hopefully I won't disappoint, and even bring you some surprises along the way. <3 (Maybe some art, too, once I get to the juicy bits of the story ahaha.)
I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far; I'll be sure to get the next part up as soon as possible.
Thank you so much! I love angst and drama, and you are absolutely one of the best writers I've seen here, or anywhere for that matter. At work today, I kept thinking of little possible things that could contribute to the story, like "What if Kanji got sick and couldn't visit?" or maybe just Kanji holding Teddie's hand as he falls asleep. Aaaah, gooey romance like that just makes me melt. You're the best. Do you have MSN?
He'd practically begged and pleaded on his knees for anything but this.
He'd actually asked Dojima if expulsion was an option, to which he'd given the weirdest look, like Kanji had asked him how to fuck, and told him that, no, it wasn't.
"You better take your gifts when you get 'em, Tatsumi, because the world doesn't make a habit of doing favors." he'd told him as soon as his mother had gone out of earshot. "You're lucky; Morooka was actually pretty adament on this whole thing, and tried to fight for you to be put on this program." Kanji scoffed in disbelief. "Threw out some foreign quote about the self being hell, and redemption, and caring about others." Dojima shook his head, looking bewildered. "Either way, you won't get another chance like this, and he kind of made a point. So just go do this and stop being such a burden on your mother, before it's too late."
It seemed simple enough; visit with some terminal kid who was probably going to die before the month was out, every day until the kid signed him off or finally kicked the bucket.
One hour.
Every day.
In.....The hospital.
Kanji felt the tell-tale sign of saliva welling up in his mouth at the very thought, and he had to bend over, willing himself not to throw up, for about ten minutes until it subsided and he could stand again.
He could do this. He was Kanji Tatsumi. He could probably just go in and the kid would get so damn afraid of his appearance alone that he'd sign him right off, and he'd never have to go again.
...Kanji turned his back to the hospital and pulled out a cigarette.
This could wait 'til after a smoke.
----
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However, that suspicious look she gave him, in which he could almost feel her hand on the hidden security button, drastically changed when he told her what he was here for--he looked down, glancing at the paper he'd been given; grimaced, read out the name hesitantly, as if sealing himself to some unknown fate--into a look of relief and, he thought, warmth?
Well, that was odd.
She made a few hand gestures, gave a few directions, none of which he really committed to memory because, hell, he'd get the kid to sign his damn paper, and they'd be done with this bullshit.
Which was what he told himself all the way to the room, so tense that, when he opened the door, it was almost like cutting a wire on a bomb to diffuse it. He felt like his heart was exploding.
Kanji let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding when he walked into the room, all white sheets and a smell of sterile chemicals that made him feel sick to his stomach again, and a boy so angelic he thought he'd opened some door to the Heaven he didn't believe in, only to be greeted by an angel that didn't exist.
Or, rather, that's how it should have been, in any different situation, if the boy wasn't terminal and God wasn't dead.
The boy, almost as pale as his sheets, with the only flush to his skin making him look vaguely blue and not unlike a cadaver, seemed to move in slow motion as he turned to face him. His pillow-tousled hair looked like it could have been as gold and lively and brilliant as the sun that had tried to blind him just days ago, but now it was dull and sickly and matted with sweat, just like the rest of him.
The eyes, though, were what haunted him the most.
They were so blue; so hauntingly, painfully, mournfully blue. Kanji knew, just by looking at them, that they'd once (recently?) been pools that he could dive into, sink to the bottom, and just exist, without knowing about the world and all of it's negativity and death and pain. He could live in pure innocence, only knowing happiness.
They'd been the eyes of a child.
Now, all he could see were the eyes of a terminal kid, knowing he was to die, who had resigned himself to fate. The pool had dried up, to a puddle muddied by urban death and decay. It was at once devastating and depressing.
Those eyes looked up at him, wary and maybe a little guarded, but at once widening and becoming, perhaps in a trick of the light, just a little more blue; the matted hair just a little more windswept and golden.
"Hi...I'm Teddie."
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But I love this prompt, and if I'm to be frank with you now, I think we're definitely on the same page, as I've had some similar plans in store for this. So hopefully I won't disappoint, and even bring you some surprises along the way. <3 (Maybe some art, too, once I get to the juicy bits of the story ahaha.)
I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far; I'll be sure to get the next part up as soon as possible.
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Yes I do! It's Toguchee@hotmail.com
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