A Funeral Procession (prompt #003 Out of Reach)
Title: A Funeral Procession
Author: Belladonna
Prompt: 003. Out of Reach
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 808
Character: Reborn
Disclaimer: The world of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Slouching beneath the weight of the merciless rain, his body battered, Reborn reflects on his double life as a hitman and a home tutor.
A Funeral Procession
by Belladonna
The rain was drowning him, soaking his battered body. But no matter, he was so numb that he could not feel any pain anymore. Cold was the only sensation he had left in him; and like a blind man clinging to his walking stick, he clung onto the chill that was spreading through every part of his being.
Everything comes to an end for everyone at some point in time -- that was the only truth he ever believed in. And it appeared his end was near. No, he did not have a death wish; he had simply accepted the inevitable, from the very moment he stepped into this brutal world called the Mafia. There was no such thing as a hitman who died of old age, only a hitman who died in the gutter. He held no illusion whatsoever that he could escape from the fate which had befallen those before him.
It was a pity that he could not live for a little while longer, that was all. It was not something worth crying about.
A sliver of regret clouded his hazy mind when the boyish visage of his student resurfaced from the depth of his memory. It was a shame that he would not be able to see Tsuna ascending the throne of the Vongola family. There was so much more Tsuna needed to learn and to master in order to walk upon the thorny path paved out before him.
One supposed he was being unfair to Tsuna, for everyone else was saying how Tsuna had grown into an outstanding boss candidate. Nonetheless, the teacher in him would not allow himself to be easily satisfied. After all, what was he to do if there was nothing more for him to teach, nothing more for him to criticize about?
For a long time, he had been Tsuna's wings; but now, Tsuna had grown his own pair of wings. Those stiff wings of his could no longer take Tsuna beyond the horizon where the blood-red sky awaited, where Tsuna must venture alone, be it to prosperity or to ruin.
Tsuna was destined to be the boss; but he, Reborn, was nothing more than a mere hitman, a temporary, outdated compass to guide Tsuna along for a fleeting distance.
Ah, he chuckled bitterly to himself, I must be getting old to feel so sentimental.
He struggled to sit up from his slouch, and pulled out his cellphone from his pocket; the silver handset felt slippery in his blood-stained hand. With some difficulty he turned on the power, and dialed the first number on the speed dial. No matter how many handsets he had switched to over the years, the first number on his speed dial always remained the same.
It only took two rings before the call was put through.
"Reborn! Where the hell have you been? I've been looking all over for you! I kept calling you but none of the call went through! And what have you been doing? You could've at least called--" Tsuna's frantic exclamation was bellowing through the earpiece of the phone and into his ear.
"You are the boss, Tsuna. Get a grip of yourself." He could not help offering his customary cold reprimand, one final advice from this harsh teacher to his hapless pupil.
And for once Tsuna made no attempt to contradict his reproach. "Are you alright? Where are you? Should I come and get you?" Tsuna's voice was filled with such anxiety that he could easily imagine the way Tsuna's brow wrinkled with worries.
Had Tsuna's hyper-intuition informed him that something was horribly wrong? Or had his voice sounded so weak that Tsuna could not help but notice? He could not decide whether he ought to be annoyed at Tsuna or at himself. But he was too tired to think anymore.
The leaden burden of the phone was weighing his hand down like a rock, reminding him strangely of the first time he ever held a gun in his hand -- had it felt this heavy back then? It took all the effort he could muster to hold the phone to his ear and mutter the address into the speaker.
"I'll come and get you now, okay? Just stay put and--"
He did not hear the rest of Tsuna's words, for the phone slipped out of his grasp and shattered on the cobblestone ground. His strength had departed from him, his body no longer responding to any of his command. Swimming before his eyes was nothing but a sea of misty grey. Instinctively he knew Tsuna would not make it in time. But it was fine, for he did not want to deal with any tearful goodbyes before the end; it was not his style.
He was born alone; therefore it was only befitting that he died alone.
* * * * * * *
Finis.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading. One thing that attracts me to the world of KHR is its Mafia setting. So I wanted to write a piece about Reborn acting like a hitman that he is, with a very faint nod to film-noir. The title, as was as the piece itself, was partly inspired by Shiina Ringo's song Souretsu.
Author: Belladonna
Prompt: 003. Out of Reach
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 808
Character: Reborn
Disclaimer: The world of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Slouching beneath the weight of the merciless rain, his body battered, Reborn reflects on his double life as a hitman and a home tutor.
A Funeral Procession
by Belladonna
The rain was drowning him, soaking his battered body. But no matter, he was so numb that he could not feel any pain anymore. Cold was the only sensation he had left in him; and like a blind man clinging to his walking stick, he clung onto the chill that was spreading through every part of his being.
Everything comes to an end for everyone at some point in time -- that was the only truth he ever believed in. And it appeared his end was near. No, he did not have a death wish; he had simply accepted the inevitable, from the very moment he stepped into this brutal world called the Mafia. There was no such thing as a hitman who died of old age, only a hitman who died in the gutter. He held no illusion whatsoever that he could escape from the fate which had befallen those before him.
It was a pity that he could not live for a little while longer, that was all. It was not something worth crying about.
A sliver of regret clouded his hazy mind when the boyish visage of his student resurfaced from the depth of his memory. It was a shame that he would not be able to see Tsuna ascending the throne of the Vongola family. There was so much more Tsuna needed to learn and to master in order to walk upon the thorny path paved out before him.
One supposed he was being unfair to Tsuna, for everyone else was saying how Tsuna had grown into an outstanding boss candidate. Nonetheless, the teacher in him would not allow himself to be easily satisfied. After all, what was he to do if there was nothing more for him to teach, nothing more for him to criticize about?
For a long time, he had been Tsuna's wings; but now, Tsuna had grown his own pair of wings. Those stiff wings of his could no longer take Tsuna beyond the horizon where the blood-red sky awaited, where Tsuna must venture alone, be it to prosperity or to ruin.
Tsuna was destined to be the boss; but he, Reborn, was nothing more than a mere hitman, a temporary, outdated compass to guide Tsuna along for a fleeting distance.
Ah, he chuckled bitterly to himself, I must be getting old to feel so sentimental.
He struggled to sit up from his slouch, and pulled out his cellphone from his pocket; the silver handset felt slippery in his blood-stained hand. With some difficulty he turned on the power, and dialed the first number on the speed dial. No matter how many handsets he had switched to over the years, the first number on his speed dial always remained the same.
It only took two rings before the call was put through.
"Reborn! Where the hell have you been? I've been looking all over for you! I kept calling you but none of the call went through! And what have you been doing? You could've at least called--" Tsuna's frantic exclamation was bellowing through the earpiece of the phone and into his ear.
"You are the boss, Tsuna. Get a grip of yourself." He could not help offering his customary cold reprimand, one final advice from this harsh teacher to his hapless pupil.
And for once Tsuna made no attempt to contradict his reproach. "Are you alright? Where are you? Should I come and get you?" Tsuna's voice was filled with such anxiety that he could easily imagine the way Tsuna's brow wrinkled with worries.
Had Tsuna's hyper-intuition informed him that something was horribly wrong? Or had his voice sounded so weak that Tsuna could not help but notice? He could not decide whether he ought to be annoyed at Tsuna or at himself. But he was too tired to think anymore.
The leaden burden of the phone was weighing his hand down like a rock, reminding him strangely of the first time he ever held a gun in his hand -- had it felt this heavy back then? It took all the effort he could muster to hold the phone to his ear and mutter the address into the speaker.
"I'll come and get you now, okay? Just stay put and--"
He did not hear the rest of Tsuna's words, for the phone slipped out of his grasp and shattered on the cobblestone ground. His strength had departed from him, his body no longer responding to any of his command. Swimming before his eyes was nothing but a sea of misty grey. Instinctively he knew Tsuna would not make it in time. But it was fine, for he did not want to deal with any tearful goodbyes before the end; it was not his style.
He was born alone; therefore it was only befitting that he died alone.
* * * * * * *
Finis.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading. One thing that attracts me to the world of KHR is its Mafia setting. So I wanted to write a piece about Reborn acting like a hitman that he is, with a very faint nod to film-noir. The title, as was as the piece itself, was partly inspired by Shiina Ringo's song Souretsu.