Moon's silent tears [One Shot]
Title: Moon's silent tears
Author: outori
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Hints of Ruki x Uruha, Uruha PoV
Genre: Drama, apathy, loss of a sense of reality
Warnings: Not beta-read. Hints of deaths. Possible madness.
Disclaimer: Not owning anyone in the story, only the story.
Synopsis: Uruha floating in a state of the unreal, being shredded from the inside.
Author’s notes: About 1000 words, not more, and I fear nothing special, but somehow it had to be done. Screw's Lower World had torn at me and somehow it just happened. I guess I just had to get something out. If you want yaoi, you won't get it here. If you want a world-view that has lost sight of reality, that you'll get.
He was seeing deaths again.
Split souls, torn asunder from the inside.
At nights, blood had started to seep out from his pores in his sleep, invisible strings pulling at the insides of his heart, about to burst it open, a pain, consuming him from within, making him scream silently for no particular reason other than the deaths he felt over and over again.
He would wake up with dried tears on his face, pillow and sheets sticky from the various fluids that had leaked out from him during the night.
Sometimes, the skin on his arms would be mangled and burning, his fingernails blood-stained.
Sometimes, there would be dark bruises on his neck.
Sometimes, he would wake up with a start from the feeling of not being able to breath, his body would jerk and start retching, convulsing and shivering, while some part of himself just watched it all from above, observant, uncaring, cold.
The days he walked alone in the midst of flocks of people, and next to him, other selves were sauntering along, never touching anything or anyone, never being touched. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure which one of them he was at present.
All in all, he was just a shadow.
He did not even recognize himself whenever he would happen to glance at a reflection. He never recognized anyone, anywhere anymore. There was just nothing, a venomous void, reflected back from his eyes, reflected back from his whole being.
Neither the reflections, nor himself, were real.
Nothing was real.
Nothing apart from the dreams he had at nights, dreams of long lost places, truths shimmering through from the far off distant life he had lost one night, the life that shunned the light of the day.
Sometimes he would stare at the moon from the window of a train, of a room, from the street he was walking, and lift his hand, as if trying to touch what the common people’s reality had banned. He would close his eyes then, and feel, another life combusting and burning away, leaving nothing but scattered dust once he would open his eyes.
It was happening all the time. Sometimes he would even hear their screams in the wind the moment they were being taken away.
But nothing mattered. Nothing about it mattered. Nothing had ever mattered after that one night, and he knew that whatever was called reality never would ever matter again, to him. His life was not real, not the least bit of fragment of it, not even the pain, the tears, the bloody wounds, the scars, the burning and throbbing of his skin, nothing. They did not belong to the world his body walked during the day.
He did not belong to the world he wandered. He never had.
And all he wanted was to go home.
To the places the faceless did not know.
To the places beyond his dreams, beyond his memories.
To where his soul resided, and to where he was still alive, with every part of his soul, and to where he would never, ever, have to see them dying anymore. Ever.
That was all that kept rotating in his mind, when he opened the metal door and stepped over the threshold, the wind tearing at his hair as he walked across the rooftop, listening to the sounds of his own footsteps, echoing within his mind. He heard other noises around him, but they did not reach through to him. As he approached the edge of the roof, he stepped on the border stone, the very tips of his black boots hovering over the grey rim like apathetic bystanders over a victim, and took a look around.
The night was clean, and fresh, the stars sparkling overhead of him, and the moon’s sad face, illuminated from her own tears as she looked down upon the corrupted souls swarming the planet’s surface. Staring up, he blinked, and feeling the stickiness of the corners of his eyes, he closed them and sucked in the cool air.
A new sound shook him out of his reveries. He opened his eyes while his hand fished for the source in his jeans’ pocket, and pulled out his mobile phone. He stared at it, as if not understanding what the machine was, or how it ever ended up in his pants. Its existence was as far off as anyone’s, and yet, one part of the several selves of him that hovered around his body, made his fingers move over the screen.
The sound had only been a yearning scream for a recharge, he realized, but somehow, something on the hazy screen caught his attention.
Missed calls, and vast numbers of unread mails. His finger moved, and the image scrolled down. Messages, all from the past couple of days, short, and long, and most of them from Ruki.
A part of his soul shuddered and reverberated a pain his body remembered with every beat of his heart, making him furrow his brows - the first and only change of his facial expression he had had since then, but with a shake of his hair, it dissolved with another intake of break, and without a single thought spent, he stretched out his hand and let the gadget drop.
He watched calmly, another scream for life echoing up to him as it tumbled downwards.
The moment he lost sight of it, when not even the reflections of the many lights around it reached up to his eyes, the part of him that had acted so unexpectedly, pulled back again and left him blank.
The moment the thousands of memories shattered on the ground, he felt something die, scalding his heart as it did, stirring at something, but whatever it was, did not get through to him.
The moment he looked back down, someone, somewhere, opened another door, and somehow, the sound of the screaming hinges tickled his ears, but he never turned around.
The moment he stepped over the edge, something that sounded familiar, maybe a name, maybe his own, lashed out at him from behind, a voice he somehow was so familiar with, but now it was so far, so far, and he was unattainable, forever, unattainable.
The moment he felt how his weight started to pull him downwards, and the wind engulfed him, he faintly became aware of a familiar presence that used to always be able to reach through to him in the past, but not anymore, not now.
And while the wind turned him around so that he would face the heavens above, the presence became a shape, reaching out an arm way up above, a face screaming, and a voice so desperate, but the sounds shattered before they could reach him, and they were not real.
Nothing ever was.
Nothing ever had been.
And while the buildings around him grew higher as he hurtled down, he even lost sight and memory of the face above him, and the last thing he saw before the world turned black, was a single tear trickling down the side of the moon.
━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─
If I'd try to put in words why and how, I guess this was a "While trying to not have things die on the inside although suffocating slowly, something lashed out and leaked out in words" sort of thing. It's been ages I posted anything, although I have been writing at stories. Just none of them are finished, yay my life.
I'm aware that this isn't really anything special, but since it is done, why not post it *smile*
If you have any thoughts on this, comments, even if they be only a syllable, please go ahead and share them.
Me living off them hasn't really changed, ever. ♥
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Fanfiction Archive
━─━─━─━─━─━─━─
Author: outori
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Hints of Ruki x Uruha, Uruha PoV
Genre: Drama, apathy, loss of a sense of reality
Warnings: Not beta-read. Hints of deaths. Possible madness.
Disclaimer: Not owning anyone in the story, only the story.
Synopsis: Uruha floating in a state of the unreal, being shredded from the inside.
Author’s notes: About 1000 words, not more, and I fear nothing special, but somehow it had to be done. Screw's Lower World had torn at me and somehow it just happened. I guess I just had to get something out. If you want yaoi, you won't get it here. If you want a world-view that has lost sight of reality, that you'll get.
He was seeing deaths again.
Split souls, torn asunder from the inside.
At nights, blood had started to seep out from his pores in his sleep, invisible strings pulling at the insides of his heart, about to burst it open, a pain, consuming him from within, making him scream silently for no particular reason other than the deaths he felt over and over again.
He would wake up with dried tears on his face, pillow and sheets sticky from the various fluids that had leaked out from him during the night.
Sometimes, the skin on his arms would be mangled and burning, his fingernails blood-stained.
Sometimes, there would be dark bruises on his neck.
Sometimes, he would wake up with a start from the feeling of not being able to breath, his body would jerk and start retching, convulsing and shivering, while some part of himself just watched it all from above, observant, uncaring, cold.
The days he walked alone in the midst of flocks of people, and next to him, other selves were sauntering along, never touching anything or anyone, never being touched. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure which one of them he was at present.
All in all, he was just a shadow.
He did not even recognize himself whenever he would happen to glance at a reflection. He never recognized anyone, anywhere anymore. There was just nothing, a venomous void, reflected back from his eyes, reflected back from his whole being.
Neither the reflections, nor himself, were real.
Nothing was real.
Nothing apart from the dreams he had at nights, dreams of long lost places, truths shimmering through from the far off distant life he had lost one night, the life that shunned the light of the day.
Sometimes he would stare at the moon from the window of a train, of a room, from the street he was walking, and lift his hand, as if trying to touch what the common people’s reality had banned. He would close his eyes then, and feel, another life combusting and burning away, leaving nothing but scattered dust once he would open his eyes.
It was happening all the time. Sometimes he would even hear their screams in the wind the moment they were being taken away.
But nothing mattered. Nothing about it mattered. Nothing had ever mattered after that one night, and he knew that whatever was called reality never would ever matter again, to him. His life was not real, not the least bit of fragment of it, not even the pain, the tears, the bloody wounds, the scars, the burning and throbbing of his skin, nothing. They did not belong to the world his body walked during the day.
He did not belong to the world he wandered. He never had.
And all he wanted was to go home.
To the places the faceless did not know.
To the places beyond his dreams, beyond his memories.
To where his soul resided, and to where he was still alive, with every part of his soul, and to where he would never, ever, have to see them dying anymore. Ever.
That was all that kept rotating in his mind, when he opened the metal door and stepped over the threshold, the wind tearing at his hair as he walked across the rooftop, listening to the sounds of his own footsteps, echoing within his mind. He heard other noises around him, but they did not reach through to him. As he approached the edge of the roof, he stepped on the border stone, the very tips of his black boots hovering over the grey rim like apathetic bystanders over a victim, and took a look around.
The night was clean, and fresh, the stars sparkling overhead of him, and the moon’s sad face, illuminated from her own tears as she looked down upon the corrupted souls swarming the planet’s surface. Staring up, he blinked, and feeling the stickiness of the corners of his eyes, he closed them and sucked in the cool air.
A new sound shook him out of his reveries. He opened his eyes while his hand fished for the source in his jeans’ pocket, and pulled out his mobile phone. He stared at it, as if not understanding what the machine was, or how it ever ended up in his pants. Its existence was as far off as anyone’s, and yet, one part of the several selves of him that hovered around his body, made his fingers move over the screen.
The sound had only been a yearning scream for a recharge, he realized, but somehow, something on the hazy screen caught his attention.
Missed calls, and vast numbers of unread mails. His finger moved, and the image scrolled down. Messages, all from the past couple of days, short, and long, and most of them from Ruki.
A part of his soul shuddered and reverberated a pain his body remembered with every beat of his heart, making him furrow his brows - the first and only change of his facial expression he had had since then, but with a shake of his hair, it dissolved with another intake of break, and without a single thought spent, he stretched out his hand and let the gadget drop.
He watched calmly, another scream for life echoing up to him as it tumbled downwards.
The moment he lost sight of it, when not even the reflections of the many lights around it reached up to his eyes, the part of him that had acted so unexpectedly, pulled back again and left him blank.
The moment the thousands of memories shattered on the ground, he felt something die, scalding his heart as it did, stirring at something, but whatever it was, did not get through to him.
The moment he looked back down, someone, somewhere, opened another door, and somehow, the sound of the screaming hinges tickled his ears, but he never turned around.
The moment he stepped over the edge, something that sounded familiar, maybe a name, maybe his own, lashed out at him from behind, a voice he somehow was so familiar with, but now it was so far, so far, and he was unattainable, forever, unattainable.
The moment he felt how his weight started to pull him downwards, and the wind engulfed him, he faintly became aware of a familiar presence that used to always be able to reach through to him in the past, but not anymore, not now.
And while the wind turned him around so that he would face the heavens above, the presence became a shape, reaching out an arm way up above, a face screaming, and a voice so desperate, but the sounds shattered before they could reach him, and they were not real.
Nothing ever was.
Nothing ever had been.
And while the buildings around him grew higher as he hurtled down, he even lost sight and memory of the face above him, and the last thing he saw before the world turned black, was a single tear trickling down the side of the moon.
━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─
If I'd try to put in words why and how, I guess this was a "While trying to not have things die on the inside although suffocating slowly, something lashed out and leaked out in words" sort of thing. It's been ages I posted anything, although I have been writing at stories. Just none of them are finished, yay my life.
I'm aware that this isn't really anything special, but since it is done, why not post it *smile*
If you have any thoughts on this, comments, even if they be only a syllable, please go ahead and share them.
Me living off them hasn't really changed, ever. ♥
━─━─━─━─━─━─━─
Fanfiction Archive
━─━─━─━─━─━─━─