Soft Words Spoken
Right, I wrote this some time ago and it has been on FF.net for quite some time. It's pretty random to say the least and I wrote it with somewhat weird style. Either way, I like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own DGM and I never will. This is just for entertainment.
Warnings: Nothing, I guess? Some mistakes probably. Not probably the happiest thing out there, but not the saddest either.
Soft Words Spoken
*
There is a wind…
…blowing through the hole that covers nearly half of the roof, swirling between the broken pillars, raising the dust from the ruins of a floor. It is a cold wind, one of the Fall and Autumn, messenger of the Winter.
And there is a light…
…shining from the skies, illuminating the devastated scene of the fallen ones, revealing that which is already gone. It is a feeble light, one of the Stars and Moon, healer for those whose scars are yet to be cured.
And there is also a person…
…standing silently next to the last intact column, watching as the time passes by with feather wings, listening to the words that are carved only in the memories. It is a lonely person, one of the Sadness and Sacrifices, martyr that will live.
And for those three there is a moment…
…which will last, as the word has already told, for a moment, an instant from the flow of the time, one passing second that freezes to last until the end of the times. It is a rugged moment, one of the Frigidness and Frost, juvenile of the Netherworld.
But that moment shall not last…
…as there is still one…
…who will come with the steps of the quietest wind, evading neither light nor dark ‘cause they’re just the shadow of each other, seeing only the ruins and the person since there’s no point in seeing something so unimportant as wind or light. It is a somber one of the Duty and Loyalty for different parties.
And that one will shatter the moment, but not the wind, the light or the person…
…because he does not care for the wind, does not mind the light and does not raise his hand against the person when it’s not needed. He, however, has never liked moments as they are the reason and cause for the realization, and realization is often to be blamed for pain and complication.
And he does not tolerate neither one of them, not when the person is involved. Since when he’s with him, everything is already difficult enough.
There is an another moment…
…one that’s not so much a moment as the one that has been broken, does not cease the flow of time like the previous did, is more of a part that had been marked, not cut, from the other parts of ages. It is a moment which lets the person turn his head and see the one who he already knows is there.
And then there are words that will never be said, thoughts that are heard even if not announced and feelings that are shown and accepted. It isn’t always easy but its most definitely as essential as it’s familiar. Without it they might not be here and now.
Much of that they learnt during the hardest of the days when everything was unstable and collapsing around them and everyone else.
Grey eyes hold a question, black ones change just the slightest of fraction and then the questioner closes his eyes, sighing. Another moment that’s not really a moment comes, understanding marking the start of it, acceptance drawing the finishing line. Then it’s gone, forever lost as the time rushes forward.
There is words, a sentence…
"So we’re the only ones…"
Not a question, not quite a sentence either. Half of both and something else.
But does that even matter?
"Komui…?"
The atmosphere becomes more quiet even if this time the darker one answers with voice.
"Still alive." A pause, meaning nothing like is usual. "Physically."
The younger one smiles, an expression that is sad, melancholic, maybe even wistful. It longs with serenity those eyes will hold for the rest of his life. Whether that is a long or short period of time, will only future see, but either way that is not what’s important.
"But for how long?"
A question one does and doesn’t know an answer, ‘cause the answer can be varied or wiped away all together. However, a reply is given. Maybe even the one that will be true.
"So long he needs to."
"He still thinks for others."
"Maybe."
Nothing more is said as the words hold the clarity of the matter which, in fact, isn’t in any way clear. It’s indistinct and hazy, a picture that has been taken too many years ago. There might be no one that knows the answer, even if there is a one that can know it.
And the silence that lingers around the ruins is chased away, just like always. Silences aren’t meant to last.
"Leverrier’s coming."
They’re meant to come and go.
"When… will he be here?"
There’s a shade that’s nearly unsure, it quivers slightly as the shape of the boy stands in the moonlight and stares at the damaged floor. The taller one watches him quietly, unreadable eyes as gentle as they’ll ever get and that expression is far from the amount of care he truly feels.
"Before the dawn."
The head raises until the grey eyes can see the stars and the moon, the pitch black space painting the sky with darkness and peace, cosmos flowing around them like it always does. Nothing is different and yet everything is. All depends on how you look it and no one looks it the same way someone else does. Therefore no one sees the same view you see.
"Before the dawn, huh? That will come soon."
There’s no words even if he can hear the reply. The taller male says a lot more than most of the people and yet he’s more often than not unheard. It’s such a rare gift to be able to listen and that could be a pity. Then again, it might not.
A sigh is heard, one that’s more tired than amused but is both none the less. Lot of things are different than what they were just mere week ago, though many are still the same. In this case, each is true.
"Are you staying?"
And the black eyes gaze at the slim, nearly weak figure. It’s not surprise, the condition of the boy, since he has been closer to death than anyone should ever go and still come back. It’s the truth, maybe, but the man can’t help but feel relieved that he did. Being left behind can hurt more than one would guess.
"Depends. Are you?"
There is a brief laugh…
…that tells much and still nothing if the one hearing it doesn’t know how to listen.
"They’ll probably kill me if I don’t."
And there is the answer…
…which is really only a reply that will be taken as an answer if one doesn’t know how to listen.
"That wasn’t what I asked."
And there is also a note…
…since the one making the question does know how to listen, at least in the most cases.
And because of them, there’s a silence. It won’t last, it never does, but it’s still there.
"You know my answer."
It’s true…
"No, I don’t."
…but so is the response.
‘Cause, how can you know something if it’s not told to you? You may know the meaning of the answer, so it’s true. But you won’t know the words that are used, so it’s not. It might be meaningless, unnecessary - many think it is, too many. What do the words change the result, what’s the difference? And then again, how many mistakes have been done due to the inability to choose right words? Often, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it…
…because the competence to make misunderstanding is the gift nearly everyone has…
…though, is it a good or a bad thing depends on various things.
There is a smile, a look and a soft snort. Then the eyes close and there’s sadness.
"I’ll go, if you go and I’ll stay, if you stay."
It’s a good thing he says it…
…for there is a possibility…
…just a possibility…
…that the other would’ve misunderstood.
And maybe sometimes even the swordsman needs to be told straight that what he’s trusting to be there, really is there.
A snort.
"That’s a good way to get killed."
The boy does not ask if that means the man’s staying. He rarely says something he doesn’t mean and even less often does he say one thing while meaning another. And the thing he never does is to speak riddles. He didn’t say he’ll stay nor did he said he’ll leave…
…he only said it’s a good way to get killed.
He has said that before…
…and by now the white-haired knows what he means without asking.
"Maybe. But so is many other as well."
"Che."
And no one voices the next statement out loud, after all it is due to bad choices of words that things are so often misunderstood. It doesn’t always mean that one forms one’s sentences badly, but more like one chooses a wrong way to say the sentiment, which can also mean no word is said.
There is a breeze swaying the white hair that has been left like it is for days, tugging playfully at the hem of the cloak, reminding the two of several things. It leaves behind a draught of warmth, a lingering shadow that is slowly fading as the dying Summer wanes away. It’s a bittersweet memory, one of the times you’d call better even if they’re full of death and pain. But that’s just the way things are…
…time plates memories with gold and honey…
…and people think that better days will come, ‘cause they once were…
…even if that’s only an illusion.
"There’s nothing left to me here."
The man knows illusions all too well, has seen them for too long to ever forget their essence. Such a sweet net, made of dreams and hopes, built to look like crystal and light, reflecting everything like a house of thousand mirrors and freezing more than permafrost. So strong, yet so fragile.
"The war is over, the Earls is defeated."
The infamous questions that asks for the cost is not said, ‘cause the boy knows better than that. It’s a futile attempt to reach humanity again, as hollow as hindsight is for those who have already lost everything. There’s no point in indicating it, for it doesn’t mention anything they don’t already know.
"Therefore your duty doesn’t bound you anymore?"
"Why should it?"
The light dims, a harbinger of the rain covers the moon and one by one the stars disappear behind the layer of clouds. A soft darkness wraps its hair around the man, the boy and the ruins, shadows meddle and the wind slows down.
And then there is a silence…
…that comforts and understands, embeds and floods, weights nothing and lifts the burden from your shoulders. It is a familiar silence, one of the Dreams and Death, a nurse for those who are tired.
The boy smiles feebly.
"No, it shouldn’t. You’re time has been destroyed and mine is nearly gone, there’s nothing more either of us can do."
And it’s true in more than one way. Half of the younger one is dead, sacrificed so the other half could live, and even so his body has been burning too hot for too long. It’s collapsing, breaking slowly apart and no one knows how long does it take for him to reach the end. The swordsman, on the other hand, is free from the chains that has been binding him as long as he can remember. But the life those chains granted with them is now gone, and wounds are leaving scars to his flesh.
"So why the hell do you suggest staying? The only thing Church will give us is execution."
The smiles deepens.
"It’s going to rain."
"Che. It’s been raining since the beginning of the world and that hasn’t ever stopped anyone from going."
And widens.
"They’ll try to find us."
"Let them try. Won’t change the result."
Until it reaches the eyes.
A step is taken, then another. A hand is hold out, for the lone one of the other to grab. A glance is exchanged, telling all that which needs to be told. A run is started, one that will last till the moment the death arrives.
And there is a destination…
…hovering in the distance like the first rays of the dawn, marking the direction which will be taken next, guiding their steps along the way. It is an indefinite destination, one of the Endings and Beginnings, narrator of new lives.
And there is also a hope…
…for without it everything would be all the same, meaningless attempts and struggles that have no reason, wasted journeys and years. It is a practical hope, one of the Necessity and Desire, envoy of the Love.
And finally, there is a rest…
Disclaimer: I don't own DGM and I never will. This is just for entertainment.
Warnings: Nothing, I guess? Some mistakes probably. Not probably the happiest thing out there, but not the saddest either.
Soft Words Spoken
*
There is a wind…
…blowing through the hole that covers nearly half of the roof, swirling between the broken pillars, raising the dust from the ruins of a floor. It is a cold wind, one of the Fall and Autumn, messenger of the Winter.
And there is a light…
…shining from the skies, illuminating the devastated scene of the fallen ones, revealing that which is already gone. It is a feeble light, one of the Stars and Moon, healer for those whose scars are yet to be cured.
And there is also a person…
…standing silently next to the last intact column, watching as the time passes by with feather wings, listening to the words that are carved only in the memories. It is a lonely person, one of the Sadness and Sacrifices, martyr that will live.
And for those three there is a moment…
…which will last, as the word has already told, for a moment, an instant from the flow of the time, one passing second that freezes to last until the end of the times. It is a rugged moment, one of the Frigidness and Frost, juvenile of the Netherworld.
But that moment shall not last…
…as there is still one…
…who will come with the steps of the quietest wind, evading neither light nor dark ‘cause they’re just the shadow of each other, seeing only the ruins and the person since there’s no point in seeing something so unimportant as wind or light. It is a somber one of the Duty and Loyalty for different parties.
And that one will shatter the moment, but not the wind, the light or the person…
…because he does not care for the wind, does not mind the light and does not raise his hand against the person when it’s not needed. He, however, has never liked moments as they are the reason and cause for the realization, and realization is often to be blamed for pain and complication.
And he does not tolerate neither one of them, not when the person is involved. Since when he’s with him, everything is already difficult enough.
There is an another moment…
…one that’s not so much a moment as the one that has been broken, does not cease the flow of time like the previous did, is more of a part that had been marked, not cut, from the other parts of ages. It is a moment which lets the person turn his head and see the one who he already knows is there.
And then there are words that will never be said, thoughts that are heard even if not announced and feelings that are shown and accepted. It isn’t always easy but its most definitely as essential as it’s familiar. Without it they might not be here and now.
Much of that they learnt during the hardest of the days when everything was unstable and collapsing around them and everyone else.
Grey eyes hold a question, black ones change just the slightest of fraction and then the questioner closes his eyes, sighing. Another moment that’s not really a moment comes, understanding marking the start of it, acceptance drawing the finishing line. Then it’s gone, forever lost as the time rushes forward.
There is words, a sentence…
"So we’re the only ones…"
Not a question, not quite a sentence either. Half of both and something else.
But does that even matter?
"Komui…?"
The atmosphere becomes more quiet even if this time the darker one answers with voice.
"Still alive." A pause, meaning nothing like is usual. "Physically."
The younger one smiles, an expression that is sad, melancholic, maybe even wistful. It longs with serenity those eyes will hold for the rest of his life. Whether that is a long or short period of time, will only future see, but either way that is not what’s important.
"But for how long?"
A question one does and doesn’t know an answer, ‘cause the answer can be varied or wiped away all together. However, a reply is given. Maybe even the one that will be true.
"So long he needs to."
"He still thinks for others."
"Maybe."
Nothing more is said as the words hold the clarity of the matter which, in fact, isn’t in any way clear. It’s indistinct and hazy, a picture that has been taken too many years ago. There might be no one that knows the answer, even if there is a one that can know it.
And the silence that lingers around the ruins is chased away, just like always. Silences aren’t meant to last.
"Leverrier’s coming."
They’re meant to come and go.
"When… will he be here?"
There’s a shade that’s nearly unsure, it quivers slightly as the shape of the boy stands in the moonlight and stares at the damaged floor. The taller one watches him quietly, unreadable eyes as gentle as they’ll ever get and that expression is far from the amount of care he truly feels.
"Before the dawn."
The head raises until the grey eyes can see the stars and the moon, the pitch black space painting the sky with darkness and peace, cosmos flowing around them like it always does. Nothing is different and yet everything is. All depends on how you look it and no one looks it the same way someone else does. Therefore no one sees the same view you see.
"Before the dawn, huh? That will come soon."
There’s no words even if he can hear the reply. The taller male says a lot more than most of the people and yet he’s more often than not unheard. It’s such a rare gift to be able to listen and that could be a pity. Then again, it might not.
A sigh is heard, one that’s more tired than amused but is both none the less. Lot of things are different than what they were just mere week ago, though many are still the same. In this case, each is true.
"Are you staying?"
And the black eyes gaze at the slim, nearly weak figure. It’s not surprise, the condition of the boy, since he has been closer to death than anyone should ever go and still come back. It’s the truth, maybe, but the man can’t help but feel relieved that he did. Being left behind can hurt more than one would guess.
"Depends. Are you?"
There is a brief laugh…
…that tells much and still nothing if the one hearing it doesn’t know how to listen.
"They’ll probably kill me if I don’t."
And there is the answer…
…which is really only a reply that will be taken as an answer if one doesn’t know how to listen.
"That wasn’t what I asked."
And there is also a note…
…since the one making the question does know how to listen, at least in the most cases.
And because of them, there’s a silence. It won’t last, it never does, but it’s still there.
"You know my answer."
It’s true…
"No, I don’t."
…but so is the response.
‘Cause, how can you know something if it’s not told to you? You may know the meaning of the answer, so it’s true. But you won’t know the words that are used, so it’s not. It might be meaningless, unnecessary - many think it is, too many. What do the words change the result, what’s the difference? And then again, how many mistakes have been done due to the inability to choose right words? Often, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it…
…because the competence to make misunderstanding is the gift nearly everyone has…
…though, is it a good or a bad thing depends on various things.
There is a smile, a look and a soft snort. Then the eyes close and there’s sadness.
"I’ll go, if you go and I’ll stay, if you stay."
It’s a good thing he says it…
…for there is a possibility…
…just a possibility…
…that the other would’ve misunderstood.
And maybe sometimes even the swordsman needs to be told straight that what he’s trusting to be there, really is there.
A snort.
"That’s a good way to get killed."
The boy does not ask if that means the man’s staying. He rarely says something he doesn’t mean and even less often does he say one thing while meaning another. And the thing he never does is to speak riddles. He didn’t say he’ll stay nor did he said he’ll leave…
…he only said it’s a good way to get killed.
He has said that before…
…and by now the white-haired knows what he means without asking.
"Maybe. But so is many other as well."
"Che."
And no one voices the next statement out loud, after all it is due to bad choices of words that things are so often misunderstood. It doesn’t always mean that one forms one’s sentences badly, but more like one chooses a wrong way to say the sentiment, which can also mean no word is said.
There is a breeze swaying the white hair that has been left like it is for days, tugging playfully at the hem of the cloak, reminding the two of several things. It leaves behind a draught of warmth, a lingering shadow that is slowly fading as the dying Summer wanes away. It’s a bittersweet memory, one of the times you’d call better even if they’re full of death and pain. But that’s just the way things are…
…time plates memories with gold and honey…
…and people think that better days will come, ‘cause they once were…
…even if that’s only an illusion.
"There’s nothing left to me here."
The man knows illusions all too well, has seen them for too long to ever forget their essence. Such a sweet net, made of dreams and hopes, built to look like crystal and light, reflecting everything like a house of thousand mirrors and freezing more than permafrost. So strong, yet so fragile.
"The war is over, the Earls is defeated."
The infamous questions that asks for the cost is not said, ‘cause the boy knows better than that. It’s a futile attempt to reach humanity again, as hollow as hindsight is for those who have already lost everything. There’s no point in indicating it, for it doesn’t mention anything they don’t already know.
"Therefore your duty doesn’t bound you anymore?"
"Why should it?"
The light dims, a harbinger of the rain covers the moon and one by one the stars disappear behind the layer of clouds. A soft darkness wraps its hair around the man, the boy and the ruins, shadows meddle and the wind slows down.
And then there is a silence…
…that comforts and understands, embeds and floods, weights nothing and lifts the burden from your shoulders. It is a familiar silence, one of the Dreams and Death, a nurse for those who are tired.
The boy smiles feebly.
"No, it shouldn’t. You’re time has been destroyed and mine is nearly gone, there’s nothing more either of us can do."
And it’s true in more than one way. Half of the younger one is dead, sacrificed so the other half could live, and even so his body has been burning too hot for too long. It’s collapsing, breaking slowly apart and no one knows how long does it take for him to reach the end. The swordsman, on the other hand, is free from the chains that has been binding him as long as he can remember. But the life those chains granted with them is now gone, and wounds are leaving scars to his flesh.
"So why the hell do you suggest staying? The only thing Church will give us is execution."
The smiles deepens.
"It’s going to rain."
"Che. It’s been raining since the beginning of the world and that hasn’t ever stopped anyone from going."
And widens.
"They’ll try to find us."
"Let them try. Won’t change the result."
Until it reaches the eyes.
A step is taken, then another. A hand is hold out, for the lone one of the other to grab. A glance is exchanged, telling all that which needs to be told. A run is started, one that will last till the moment the death arrives.
And there is a destination…
…hovering in the distance like the first rays of the dawn, marking the direction which will be taken next, guiding their steps along the way. It is an indefinite destination, one of the Endings and Beginnings, narrator of new lives.
And there is also a hope…
…for without it everything would be all the same, meaningless attempts and struggles that have no reason, wasted journeys and years. It is a practical hope, one of the Necessity and Desire, envoy of the Love.
And finally, there is a rest…