(no subject)
Title: I Remember
Fandom: Megaman X
Characters: Zero muse
Genre: Wa ha ha, what's Megaman X without the ANGST.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sappy drabblestuff.
When the fight becomes too hard, too repetitive, I remember him. I remember his drive, his pain, what he's suffered through and how he presses onward, trying his hardest despite the fact that the protective shield he assembles for the humans always collapses in on itself like a feeble house of cards. I remember the way he mourns, but climbs to his feet and, from the scraps of shrapnel, blood and tears, starts all over again, never ceasing. How he works so hard and deligently, how he takes joy in the small successes, how he searches vainly for the brightest spot of light in the dark, dreary and hopeless times we live in.
I remember how he looked when I first saw him; bright and happy. Chipper, and eager to please. I remember how his face looked when I was revived...how he looked exactly the same but so much more haggard. How his voice had lost that cheerful lilt, how he sounded older and wiser and sadder than I had left him. How he was always tense, how his eyes flicked about the room searching for threats and dangers. He was a soldier, rather than a savior, and I don't like to remember that.
I remember how the pale blue light would flicker across his face as he gazed up at his creator, his father with adoration, the first time he saw him. I remember how his face fell when, not encouraging words or even a loving message was left, but a piece of armor, to make him stronger, so he could do what he had to do. I remember how he quietly accepted that mockery of a gift, how he seemed even grateful, despite the underlying meaning. I remember him wondering aloud if that was all he was good for in the end. Fighting.
I remember...and damn it, sometimes I wish I could forget.
Fandom: Megaman X
Characters: Zero muse
Genre: Wa ha ha, what's Megaman X without the ANGST.
Rating: PG
Summary: Sappy drabblestuff.
When the fight becomes too hard, too repetitive, I remember him. I remember his drive, his pain, what he's suffered through and how he presses onward, trying his hardest despite the fact that the protective shield he assembles for the humans always collapses in on itself like a feeble house of cards. I remember the way he mourns, but climbs to his feet and, from the scraps of shrapnel, blood and tears, starts all over again, never ceasing. How he works so hard and deligently, how he takes joy in the small successes, how he searches vainly for the brightest spot of light in the dark, dreary and hopeless times we live in.
I remember how he looked when I first saw him; bright and happy. Chipper, and eager to please. I remember how his face looked when I was revived...how he looked exactly the same but so much more haggard. How his voice had lost that cheerful lilt, how he sounded older and wiser and sadder than I had left him. How he was always tense, how his eyes flicked about the room searching for threats and dangers. He was a soldier, rather than a savior, and I don't like to remember that.
I remember how the pale blue light would flicker across his face as he gazed up at his creator, his father with adoration, the first time he saw him. I remember how his face fell when, not encouraging words or even a loving message was left, but a piece of armor, to make him stronger, so he could do what he had to do. I remember how he quietly accepted that mockery of a gift, how he seemed even grateful, despite the underlying meaning. I remember him wondering aloud if that was all he was good for in the end. Fighting.
I remember...and damn it, sometimes I wish I could forget.