[vii] protection, stopped, & vision
Day 7 of crap for 500themes . 8D
Title: Protection
Author/Artist: souleater411
Rating: All.
Fandom: None.
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 139. Guardian.
Words: 68
Genre/s: Poetry/Lyricism, Gen.
Warnings: None
Worksafe: Yes
Summary: On the streets, you take what you can get.
Disclaimer/Claimer: Mine.
Everything you find can protect you.
Everything.
Wind, The Walls, Darkness,
Lights, Words, Knives.
Life is tender.
When you live like this,
There is no actual guardian.
The Elements are your guardians.
The streets are your guardians.
There is nothing else.
Nothing, except perhaps death.
But as your eyes close here
Won't it be said that death is your guardian?
So then, who then is ever truly alone?
...
Title: Stopped
Author/Artist: souleater411
Rating: 15+
Fandom: None.
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 295. Edge of sanity.
Words: 489
Genre/s: Gen
Warnings: Insanity.
Worksafe: Yes.
Summary: All I want is for those lights to stop flashing in my eyes. Stop it, stop it, stop it.
Disclaimer/Claimer: Mine.
Back, forth.
I wonder if pacing is really okay. Maybe if I pace too much, I'll be looked at oddly. If I'm looked at oddly, I might laugh or cry. I don't want that. I don't want people to see me crying. But if they see me laughing at nothing, they'll think I'm odd. But if they're already looking at me oddly, then what's the point?
I want to curl up and sleep. No I don't, because it's only two o'clock in the afternoon. That's weird. I don't want people to think I'm weird because I went to go curl up in a corner to sleep.
Don't look at me! Stop it! Stop looking at me! There's too many lights. Lights keep clicking in my face. I want to rip their faces off, so they can feel my pain. Maybe if you have no face, you'll stop staring at mine. No, then they'll stare at mine because I'm the only one that has a face. Stop it! STOP LOOKING AT ME!
I'll kill them. No, that's bad. It's illegal. I'll get arrested. They'll think I'm crazy. I was never crazy. I overthink things. That doesn't make me insane. I just want everyone to stop flashing those lights, and to STOP LOOKING AT ME!! I know, I'll kill myself. Then, they can flash those lights at me all day long, because I won't see. Ah, but my eyes have to be closed for that to happen. I don't want that. I have to make sure I die with my eyes closed. STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!!!
Everything's spinning. I want the lights to stop. I want to cry. I want to laugh, because I want to cry. I don't want to do either of those things, because then people might still keep SNAPPING THOSE LIGHTS, and MAKE IT STOP, BECAUSE I MIGHT GO INSANE, AND I DON'T WANT TO GO INSANE.
My mouth opens. I say something. No, maybe I said nothing. More lights! There are more lights! I told you to stop! WHY ISN'T IT STOPPING?!
I ran. Now I'm being followed. Still, the LIGHTS. I wonder if it's because I'm running. Stop following me, stop it, STOP IT!
Up a flight of stairs. I can't calm down. I stand on top of the building. Less lights. But now there's noises. People are yelling at me. Too many voices! I don't want to hear so many things at once. I can't hear it all. Too many voices. The lights are back. I thought I said to STOP.
I start climbing over the edge of the building. Some grabs me, but I pull away. I don't want to be touched. My mouth opens, but I hear no words.
My mouth closes. My eyes close. The wind tickles in my face. I stare below. I see now lights. I hear nothing. My slow fall is blissful.
At last. Everything has...
...
Title: Vision
Author/Artist: souleater411
Rating: 13+
Fandom: KHR
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 59. Through a child's eyes.
Words: 1184
Genre/s: Tragedy-ish
Warnings: None
Worksafe: Yes.
Summary: It was really all their fault in the first place, that he'd become like this. After all, he was but a child. He'd had no choice in the matter.
Disclaimer/Claimer: KHR is Akira Amanos, yadda yadda.
His eyes opened in darkness. His breathing sounded unnatural through the system they had him on. His arms and legs were chained down for the evening, since training had passed, and dinner as well. His half-lidded gaze was filled with both sleep and the air of something deeply disturbed.
He laughed bitterly to no one. It was truly a shame. He'd been sure there was something before, but now? This was the only thing he'd remembered. This place, where they tore him up from the inside and out, and he was chained at every odd hour. It was their fault he'd become like this in the first place, and now they were frightened of their own creation. He supposed it was to be expected. Although he was little more than five, he was dangerous. Even he could tell that he grasped a terrifying sort of power. Every time their eyes slid back like that if only because he'd glared at them sideways with malicious intent, he knew it was also out of control, but there was nothing for that. No one was around to teach him what to do with it.
Besides, how could he control what he could not see. There were flashes of something...a different sort of light. Perhaps a flame of some sort? He'd read about it in books, but these people didn't want their altered children to have anything they could use against them in the vicinity. From sun up to sun down, he'd been told that he was 'a precious child', that he would 'serve the family well', and he could only assume it was the truth. But in this hell-hole, there was nothing. Silence, save for the machines pumping liquids into his arms, and his soft breathing. There were no mirrors, once again, for their own safety. There were no tools left lying around. His eyes glanced around the room, still heavily drugged, but he put up a conscious effort to stay awake and look. The same. It was all the same, except for one thing.
He saw a weapon. Whoever had left it would be scolded. But now, in the dead of night, they probably hadn't realized it at all. He sucked in a breath. He suddenly felt wide awake, and a smile broke out on his face underneath the mask. He quietly took his small fingers, trembling with the effort it took under all those drugs, and first reached for the machine behind him. He used his will and that 'feeling' he'd had every day at training to blanket its sound, first, and this made his head throb painfully, but he pressed on. A sweat broke out on his temple as he kept shaking, taking those needles and patches from off of his person, continuing to will those machines to silence. However, whatever he was doing seemed to make the room awfully hot. He didn't care, though, right now. Tenderly, he let the mask fall, and his bob of hair fell softly around his slightly tanned face. He breathed out heavily, but smiled a little bit, proud of his efforts. But he knew it wasn't the end. His legs were wobbly--still exhausted from his training, and on top of that, he wasn't supposed to have been able to move until daybreak. He fell promptly after his weight was on the cool tiles, but he breathed in short gasps and pushed himself up again. He practically crawled to the countertop beside his bed and reached for the glistening metal. It felt nice in his hand, this three-pronged mechanism. He didn't know why, but it was something special. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Maybe this had been created for his use after all, just like everything else in the room.
Curling up with the thing, the boy breathed heavily, lying on the floor. He would wait tiredly for the drugs to wear off a bit more before he continuing to do something about his living situation. A cold smile came across his face.
Two-toned eyes glinted sharply in the darkness as he laughed softly, and when the sun was rising in the sky, he pushed himself, feeling at his best. When three men came in to check up on him, he smiled at them, a welcoming, dangerous smile. They pulled out their guns, but a purple-blue fire glowed around him. "Buongiorno, gentlemen," He whispered before brandishing that short weapon and leaping on them. He raked it across their throats sharply, making no other sound. From the halls, he heard screams of alarm.
"Rokudo's loose!" He heard a man scream, and all of a sudden the boy realized that he was talking about him. He'd almost forgotten that name. It was hardly ever called. "Rokudo Mukuro's turned against us!"
The child smiled. More men in black suits rushed the room with guns and an array of other weapons, but he swiftly took care of them. At last, it seemed there was only one man left. He trembled more than the others, and all of a sudden, the insightful child realized something. "You're my father."
"It was never supposed to end like this," The man whispered, his deep blue eyes glistening. "Listen to me, Mukuro--we'll have to get out of here! If you're found, you'll be sent to the pits of hell!"
He turned around to his father slowly, that blood-splattered visage smiling bitterly at his father. "I've already been there." And without another word, the room turned into the child's playpen, and fires burst out, alongside jungles erupting from the floor that grew to coil around the man until he began to choke. But Mukuro saw nothing. His father begged to be released, cried even, but the room didn't change at all to the child from his eyes.
An illusion, he realized with a bewildered expression. Everything I did was an illusion. When he saw his father, practically dead despite the fact that it had only been mental, he laughed, a dark, soft thing. The footsteps of suddenly freed children, about to go to training, but finding themselves with no one to pick them up, they ran into him. Many didn't even approach the room--they simply fled by themselves. But the two that opened the door to find him standing there, clad in nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt, and wielding that trident, he turned to them slowly with a smile. They at first almost shied away, but awed by his work, they came closer. Their eyes looked at him pleadingly, and he smiled again, holding out the hand that wasn't grasping that weapon to them. "Won't you escape with me?"
Death loomed in the house of the Estraneo, and these three children ran into the deep, dark hills, the forest disguising their path.
On the trek, they stopped for water, both for cleaning their leading child's visage, and to refresh themselves. Catching his reflection, although it was distorted, that red eye glared back him, an everlasting reminder of his father's cruelty. He chuckled lowly to no one.
Let us both meet again one day in Hell, father.
Title: Protection
Author/Artist: souleater411
Rating: All.
Fandom: None.
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 139. Guardian.
Words: 68
Genre/s: Poetry/Lyricism, Gen.
Warnings: None
Worksafe: Yes
Summary: On the streets, you take what you can get.
Disclaimer/Claimer: Mine.
Everything you find can protect you.
Everything.
Wind, The Walls, Darkness,
Lights, Words, Knives.
Life is tender.
When you live like this,
There is no actual guardian.
The Elements are your guardians.
The streets are your guardians.
There is nothing else.
Nothing, except perhaps death.
But as your eyes close here
Won't it be said that death is your guardian?
So then, who then is ever truly alone?
...
Title: Stopped
Author/Artist: souleater411
Rating: 15+
Fandom: None.
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 295. Edge of sanity.
Words: 489
Genre/s: Gen
Warnings: Insanity.
Worksafe: Yes.
Summary: All I want is for those lights to stop flashing in my eyes. Stop it, stop it, stop it.
Disclaimer/Claimer: Mine.
Back, forth.
I wonder if pacing is really okay. Maybe if I pace too much, I'll be looked at oddly. If I'm looked at oddly, I might laugh or cry. I don't want that. I don't want people to see me crying. But if they see me laughing at nothing, they'll think I'm odd. But if they're already looking at me oddly, then what's the point?
I want to curl up and sleep. No I don't, because it's only two o'clock in the afternoon. That's weird. I don't want people to think I'm weird because I went to go curl up in a corner to sleep.
Don't look at me! Stop it! Stop looking at me! There's too many lights. Lights keep clicking in my face. I want to rip their faces off, so they can feel my pain. Maybe if you have no face, you'll stop staring at mine. No, then they'll stare at mine because I'm the only one that has a face. Stop it! STOP LOOKING AT ME!
I'll kill them. No, that's bad. It's illegal. I'll get arrested. They'll think I'm crazy. I was never crazy. I overthink things. That doesn't make me insane. I just want everyone to stop flashing those lights, and to STOP LOOKING AT ME!! I know, I'll kill myself. Then, they can flash those lights at me all day long, because I won't see. Ah, but my eyes have to be closed for that to happen. I don't want that. I have to make sure I die with my eyes closed. STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!!!
Everything's spinning. I want the lights to stop. I want to cry. I want to laugh, because I want to cry. I don't want to do either of those things, because then people might still keep SNAPPING THOSE LIGHTS, and MAKE IT STOP, BECAUSE I MIGHT GO INSANE, AND I DON'T WANT TO GO INSANE.
My mouth opens. I say something. No, maybe I said nothing. More lights! There are more lights! I told you to stop! WHY ISN'T IT STOPPING?!
I ran. Now I'm being followed. Still, the LIGHTS. I wonder if it's because I'm running. Stop following me, stop it, STOP IT!
Up a flight of stairs. I can't calm down. I stand on top of the building. Less lights. But now there's noises. People are yelling at me. Too many voices! I don't want to hear so many things at once. I can't hear it all. Too many voices. The lights are back. I thought I said to STOP.
I start climbing over the edge of the building. Some grabs me, but I pull away. I don't want to be touched. My mouth opens, but I hear no words.
My mouth closes. My eyes close. The wind tickles in my face. I stare below. I see now lights. I hear nothing. My slow fall is blissful.
At last. Everything has...
...
Title: Vision
Author/Artist: souleater411
Rating: 13+
Fandom: KHR
Pairing/s: None.
Theme: 59. Through a child's eyes.
Words: 1184
Genre/s: Tragedy-ish
Warnings: None
Worksafe: Yes.
Summary: It was really all their fault in the first place, that he'd become like this. After all, he was but a child. He'd had no choice in the matter.
Disclaimer/Claimer: KHR is Akira Amanos, yadda yadda.
His eyes opened in darkness. His breathing sounded unnatural through the system they had him on. His arms and legs were chained down for the evening, since training had passed, and dinner as well. His half-lidded gaze was filled with both sleep and the air of something deeply disturbed.
He laughed bitterly to no one. It was truly a shame. He'd been sure there was something before, but now? This was the only thing he'd remembered. This place, where they tore him up from the inside and out, and he was chained at every odd hour. It was their fault he'd become like this in the first place, and now they were frightened of their own creation. He supposed it was to be expected. Although he was little more than five, he was dangerous. Even he could tell that he grasped a terrifying sort of power. Every time their eyes slid back like that if only because he'd glared at them sideways with malicious intent, he knew it was also out of control, but there was nothing for that. No one was around to teach him what to do with it.
Besides, how could he control what he could not see. There were flashes of something...a different sort of light. Perhaps a flame of some sort? He'd read about it in books, but these people didn't want their altered children to have anything they could use against them in the vicinity. From sun up to sun down, he'd been told that he was 'a precious child', that he would 'serve the family well', and he could only assume it was the truth. But in this hell-hole, there was nothing. Silence, save for the machines pumping liquids into his arms, and his soft breathing. There were no mirrors, once again, for their own safety. There were no tools left lying around. His eyes glanced around the room, still heavily drugged, but he put up a conscious effort to stay awake and look. The same. It was all the same, except for one thing.
He saw a weapon. Whoever had left it would be scolded. But now, in the dead of night, they probably hadn't realized it at all. He sucked in a breath. He suddenly felt wide awake, and a smile broke out on his face underneath the mask. He quietly took his small fingers, trembling with the effort it took under all those drugs, and first reached for the machine behind him. He used his will and that 'feeling' he'd had every day at training to blanket its sound, first, and this made his head throb painfully, but he pressed on. A sweat broke out on his temple as he kept shaking, taking those needles and patches from off of his person, continuing to will those machines to silence. However, whatever he was doing seemed to make the room awfully hot. He didn't care, though, right now. Tenderly, he let the mask fall, and his bob of hair fell softly around his slightly tanned face. He breathed out heavily, but smiled a little bit, proud of his efforts. But he knew it wasn't the end. His legs were wobbly--still exhausted from his training, and on top of that, he wasn't supposed to have been able to move until daybreak. He fell promptly after his weight was on the cool tiles, but he breathed in short gasps and pushed himself up again. He practically crawled to the countertop beside his bed and reached for the glistening metal. It felt nice in his hand, this three-pronged mechanism. He didn't know why, but it was something special. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Maybe this had been created for his use after all, just like everything else in the room.
Curling up with the thing, the boy breathed heavily, lying on the floor. He would wait tiredly for the drugs to wear off a bit more before he continuing to do something about his living situation. A cold smile came across his face.
Two-toned eyes glinted sharply in the darkness as he laughed softly, and when the sun was rising in the sky, he pushed himself, feeling at his best. When three men came in to check up on him, he smiled at them, a welcoming, dangerous smile. They pulled out their guns, but a purple-blue fire glowed around him. "Buongiorno, gentlemen," He whispered before brandishing that short weapon and leaping on them. He raked it across their throats sharply, making no other sound. From the halls, he heard screams of alarm.
"Rokudo's loose!" He heard a man scream, and all of a sudden the boy realized that he was talking about him. He'd almost forgotten that name. It was hardly ever called. "Rokudo Mukuro's turned against us!"
The child smiled. More men in black suits rushed the room with guns and an array of other weapons, but he swiftly took care of them. At last, it seemed there was only one man left. He trembled more than the others, and all of a sudden, the insightful child realized something. "You're my father."
"It was never supposed to end like this," The man whispered, his deep blue eyes glistening. "Listen to me, Mukuro--we'll have to get out of here! If you're found, you'll be sent to the pits of hell!"
He turned around to his father slowly, that blood-splattered visage smiling bitterly at his father. "I've already been there." And without another word, the room turned into the child's playpen, and fires burst out, alongside jungles erupting from the floor that grew to coil around the man until he began to choke. But Mukuro saw nothing. His father begged to be released, cried even, but the room didn't change at all to the child from his eyes.
An illusion, he realized with a bewildered expression. Everything I did was an illusion. When he saw his father, practically dead despite the fact that it had only been mental, he laughed, a dark, soft thing. The footsteps of suddenly freed children, about to go to training, but finding themselves with no one to pick them up, they ran into him. Many didn't even approach the room--they simply fled by themselves. But the two that opened the door to find him standing there, clad in nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt, and wielding that trident, he turned to them slowly with a smile. They at first almost shied away, but awed by his work, they came closer. Their eyes looked at him pleadingly, and he smiled again, holding out the hand that wasn't grasping that weapon to them. "Won't you escape with me?"
Death loomed in the house of the Estraneo, and these three children ran into the deep, dark hills, the forest disguising their path.
On the trek, they stopped for water, both for cleaning their leading child's visage, and to refresh themselves. Catching his reflection, although it was distorted, that red eye glared back him, an everlasting reminder of his father's cruelty. He chuckled lowly to no one.
Let us both meet again one day in Hell, father.