Beer bad!
Hehehe. Gotta love the Buffy references. So here's something that I intended for Ghost of the Dawn's 2007 fanfic contest. But I didn't get it finished. Oh well.
Simple Truths
We never told her it would be easy. We never told her that being our friend would mean that she would always be safe, or that she would never know pain or fear or sadness. We never promised that she wouldn’t go hungry because of us, or that she would never lose something she loved at our hands. We never gave her the security that she was denied as a child, and we never showed her that the world was a place full of love and hope.
But only god knew how hard we tried.
She’s curled up in a ball in the corner of the cabin, trying to get some sleep right now. It’s been a rough night. Cye was hurt badly, and it’s especially hard for her to see him in pain. She tried not to cry and we appreciated it. Our choices are tough enough without having to see them reflected in her eyes. Some nights we don’t even look at her. We don’t want to see the truth of ourselves there. Because the truth is that heroes are only heroes in stories. In real life, danger and bravery go hand in hand with sacrifice and sheer desperation. We sink within the protection of our armors and flirt with death like men who have resigned themselves to nothing better for themselves. Like a cruel lover that comes and goes, taking us to the edge before flitting away like a shadow. Always there, watching and waiting, always wanting. She knows this about us, even though she never brings it up. Why should she? It only makes her cry to see that reality and we hate to see her cry.
We love her too much.
We should have let her go years ago. She should have walked away from us, or we should have forced her to go. But we were kids, fearless and sure, and we felt like we could take on anything. With our loved ones at our sides, there was nothing we couldn’t face. We were strong and knowing her made us even stronger. Like our team mascot that cheered us and held us tighter together. But time brings wisdom, and wisdom never comes cheap. I remember the exact moment when wisdom came, as I stared out at the destruction caused by our armors in an attempt to rescue her. I remember the triumph in my enemy’s eyes. They might have lost that fight but they had won something so much more important. We had friends. We had lovers. We had weaknesses, and they knew how to get to us now. My courage slipped that day.
We fight almost every week now. The semblance of a normal life has slipped away from us, replaced by threadbare first aid kits that we don’t have time to restock, replaced by mortgages that can’t be paid because of jobs that are lost. Careers and hope buried beneath injuries and exhaustion, ignored and finally let go. I used to dream of a home of my own, near the ocean where I could spend my days in peace. Now I dream that I will make it one more night without losing my friends. That we might…just might finally win this battle that never ends. I could be happy with that; I could die in peace knowing that she would live in a world that didn’t need people like us to bleed for it. That people like her could finally be safe.
Mia died a year ago today. We didn’t talk about it because there was nothing left to say. We said our goodbyes a year ago and we moved on. It seemed callous but we had no to. Debilitating grief has never been an option for us. We had to choose, her or the world. We chose the way we were supposed to, but that didn’t make it stop feeling like we had destroyed a part of ourselves in the process. We buried her next to her grandfather high on that hill she loved. I wanted to go see her today, but it wasn’t meant to be. Today I had the living to protect.
The living is shivering in the corner, the sheet of red hair not a good blanket in the cold. I catch Rowen’s eye and we stare at each other silently. He looks tired and pale, paler than normal. He’d been the one to sew up Sage’s leg and that always leaves him queasy. Six years ago he would have thrown up. Tonight he had just gritted his teeth and pulled the needle through torn skin as gently as possible. Afterwards he always needs time to recover, but she’s cold and he’s the closest. There’s more to it than that, but I ignore the unacknowledged part regularly. Rowen heaves himself to his feet with a sigh, shuffles to the corner, then drops down beside her. She opens green eyes and looks at him questioningly, to which he just shakes his head and curls around her. Whatever passes between them is their business. We have long stopped trying to convince Rowen that she’s a bad idea for him. Or vice versus, to be honest. Rowen will get her killed, and he’s going to die trying to save her.
We should have let her go.
Cye’s breathing is growing shallow and I close my eyes, listening to the sound. If it gets much worse, Sage will have to heal him. I don’t want that to happen. As cruel as it sounds, I need Sage’s sword arm more than I need a weakened Cye, and Sage is too tired to heal and still fight. The reality is that I need them both, that I might need them any second now if a counter attack comes, and can’t afford the loss of either. I close my eyes and let myself drift back to a different time, when the hard was still easy and the good was standard, not a luxury. I think of sweat without blood, playing soccer in the back practice field at the high school. I hear the laughter of friends who had yet to…see what we have seen. I smell the scent of jasmine shampoo, mingling in our nostrils tantalizingly, reminding us that she was one of us but something even more. I remember brown eyes and the first time soft lips touched mine. I remember how relentlessly I pursued those lips afterwards, despite warnings from my friends and her. I remember slumping on Cye’s front porch, broken hearted two years later, slim arms and red hair around me telling me that everything would be okay, that I would meet someone new. There was never someone new for me. She was wrong. She’s been wrong about a lot of things.
She’s calmer now, despite the daily trials that we put her through. There’s a hope in her that only grows as ours fades. I know why Rowen hangs on to her so tightly, why he’s always hung onto her since high school. She’s implacable. She doesn’t give up. She has yet to be pushed to her breaking point, close but not quite, and she soldiers on relentlessly. She believes in us as much as she did from the start. She still teases us and pokes fun, like nothing’s changed. She still drives Cye crazy with her recklessness, and bugs Sage with her precociousness. But her personality is milder, quieter, and she is content to merely be a part of our world. I wish she wasn’t, as much as I love her. I pretend sometimes that it’s Rowen that keeps her holding on so tightly to us. That way I’m not responsible for this, for these situation, for her. But I am because I know she’s here for me as much as anyone else. She’s always loved us equally. Differently, maybe, but equally.
That shouldn’t make me feel like crying, but it does.
Rowen’s holding her tighter but his eyes are open and I can tell that he is listening hard. Violet eyes are glued to the door and even Cye has quieted. I feel what they feel. It’s a prickling on the back of my neck, like fingernails of a lover scratching lightly. I shift forward slightly, feeling the energy curl through me as I open myself to my surroundings. I can sense him out there and he’s coming fast. Two more minutes and the fight will be on our doorstep. Two more minutes…I look at Rowen and say nothing. Let her sleep. Two more minutes of peace. I can’t give her much, but I can give her that.
Two. One and a half. One. One half.
I rise smoothly to my feet, seeing the other mirror me. Cye’s on his knees but upright. His eyes gleam in the darkness as he grips his yari. Injured or not he’s ready. She raises her head, blinking tiredly, confused momentarily. Then the door flies open, an orange armored body falling back through. Blood droplets hit the wooden floor, staining them forever, and Kento growls as he shoves the door behind him closed.
“Incoming guys!” he snarls, bracing the door as a horrific roar fills the empty silence. She’s reaching for a knife but she’ll never get a chance to use it as we form a protective ring around her, weapons drawn and faces grim. Us before her. Us before them all.
We never promised we could give her anything. But this much? This we could do.
Simple Truths
We never told her it would be easy. We never told her that being our friend would mean that she would always be safe, or that she would never know pain or fear or sadness. We never promised that she wouldn’t go hungry because of us, or that she would never lose something she loved at our hands. We never gave her the security that she was denied as a child, and we never showed her that the world was a place full of love and hope.
But only god knew how hard we tried.
She’s curled up in a ball in the corner of the cabin, trying to get some sleep right now. It’s been a rough night. Cye was hurt badly, and it’s especially hard for her to see him in pain. She tried not to cry and we appreciated it. Our choices are tough enough without having to see them reflected in her eyes. Some nights we don’t even look at her. We don’t want to see the truth of ourselves there. Because the truth is that heroes are only heroes in stories. In real life, danger and bravery go hand in hand with sacrifice and sheer desperation. We sink within the protection of our armors and flirt with death like men who have resigned themselves to nothing better for themselves. Like a cruel lover that comes and goes, taking us to the edge before flitting away like a shadow. Always there, watching and waiting, always wanting. She knows this about us, even though she never brings it up. Why should she? It only makes her cry to see that reality and we hate to see her cry.
We love her too much.
We should have let her go years ago. She should have walked away from us, or we should have forced her to go. But we were kids, fearless and sure, and we felt like we could take on anything. With our loved ones at our sides, there was nothing we couldn’t face. We were strong and knowing her made us even stronger. Like our team mascot that cheered us and held us tighter together. But time brings wisdom, and wisdom never comes cheap. I remember the exact moment when wisdom came, as I stared out at the destruction caused by our armors in an attempt to rescue her. I remember the triumph in my enemy’s eyes. They might have lost that fight but they had won something so much more important. We had friends. We had lovers. We had weaknesses, and they knew how to get to us now. My courage slipped that day.
We fight almost every week now. The semblance of a normal life has slipped away from us, replaced by threadbare first aid kits that we don’t have time to restock, replaced by mortgages that can’t be paid because of jobs that are lost. Careers and hope buried beneath injuries and exhaustion, ignored and finally let go. I used to dream of a home of my own, near the ocean where I could spend my days in peace. Now I dream that I will make it one more night without losing my friends. That we might…just might finally win this battle that never ends. I could be happy with that; I could die in peace knowing that she would live in a world that didn’t need people like us to bleed for it. That people like her could finally be safe.
Mia died a year ago today. We didn’t talk about it because there was nothing left to say. We said our goodbyes a year ago and we moved on. It seemed callous but we had no to. Debilitating grief has never been an option for us. We had to choose, her or the world. We chose the way we were supposed to, but that didn’t make it stop feeling like we had destroyed a part of ourselves in the process. We buried her next to her grandfather high on that hill she loved. I wanted to go see her today, but it wasn’t meant to be. Today I had the living to protect.
The living is shivering in the corner, the sheet of red hair not a good blanket in the cold. I catch Rowen’s eye and we stare at each other silently. He looks tired and pale, paler than normal. He’d been the one to sew up Sage’s leg and that always leaves him queasy. Six years ago he would have thrown up. Tonight he had just gritted his teeth and pulled the needle through torn skin as gently as possible. Afterwards he always needs time to recover, but she’s cold and he’s the closest. There’s more to it than that, but I ignore the unacknowledged part regularly. Rowen heaves himself to his feet with a sigh, shuffles to the corner, then drops down beside her. She opens green eyes and looks at him questioningly, to which he just shakes his head and curls around her. Whatever passes between them is their business. We have long stopped trying to convince Rowen that she’s a bad idea for him. Or vice versus, to be honest. Rowen will get her killed, and he’s going to die trying to save her.
We should have let her go.
Cye’s breathing is growing shallow and I close my eyes, listening to the sound. If it gets much worse, Sage will have to heal him. I don’t want that to happen. As cruel as it sounds, I need Sage’s sword arm more than I need a weakened Cye, and Sage is too tired to heal and still fight. The reality is that I need them both, that I might need them any second now if a counter attack comes, and can’t afford the loss of either. I close my eyes and let myself drift back to a different time, when the hard was still easy and the good was standard, not a luxury. I think of sweat without blood, playing soccer in the back practice field at the high school. I hear the laughter of friends who had yet to…see what we have seen. I smell the scent of jasmine shampoo, mingling in our nostrils tantalizingly, reminding us that she was one of us but something even more. I remember brown eyes and the first time soft lips touched mine. I remember how relentlessly I pursued those lips afterwards, despite warnings from my friends and her. I remember slumping on Cye’s front porch, broken hearted two years later, slim arms and red hair around me telling me that everything would be okay, that I would meet someone new. There was never someone new for me. She was wrong. She’s been wrong about a lot of things.
She’s calmer now, despite the daily trials that we put her through. There’s a hope in her that only grows as ours fades. I know why Rowen hangs on to her so tightly, why he’s always hung onto her since high school. She’s implacable. She doesn’t give up. She has yet to be pushed to her breaking point, close but not quite, and she soldiers on relentlessly. She believes in us as much as she did from the start. She still teases us and pokes fun, like nothing’s changed. She still drives Cye crazy with her recklessness, and bugs Sage with her precociousness. But her personality is milder, quieter, and she is content to merely be a part of our world. I wish she wasn’t, as much as I love her. I pretend sometimes that it’s Rowen that keeps her holding on so tightly to us. That way I’m not responsible for this, for these situation, for her. But I am because I know she’s here for me as much as anyone else. She’s always loved us equally. Differently, maybe, but equally.
That shouldn’t make me feel like crying, but it does.
Rowen’s holding her tighter but his eyes are open and I can tell that he is listening hard. Violet eyes are glued to the door and even Cye has quieted. I feel what they feel. It’s a prickling on the back of my neck, like fingernails of a lover scratching lightly. I shift forward slightly, feeling the energy curl through me as I open myself to my surroundings. I can sense him out there and he’s coming fast. Two more minutes and the fight will be on our doorstep. Two more minutes…I look at Rowen and say nothing. Let her sleep. Two more minutes of peace. I can’t give her much, but I can give her that.
Two. One and a half. One. One half.
I rise smoothly to my feet, seeing the other mirror me. Cye’s on his knees but upright. His eyes gleam in the darkness as he grips his yari. Injured or not he’s ready. She raises her head, blinking tiredly, confused momentarily. Then the door flies open, an orange armored body falling back through. Blood droplets hit the wooden floor, staining them forever, and Kento growls as he shoves the door behind him closed.
“Incoming guys!” he snarls, bracing the door as a horrific roar fills the empty silence. She’s reaching for a knife but she’ll never get a chance to use it as we form a protective ring around her, weapons drawn and faces grim. Us before her. Us before them all.
We never promised we could give her anything. But this much? This we could do.