(no subject)
The thing is, to be a writer, you have to write.
An obvious statement, but writing is more than writing words on a sheet of paper, or on a computer screen, or a typewriter, or whatever. You have to understand the characters--the people you have to use and make.
Well. You don't have to. You can make them as not-them as you like. Out Of Character, even if they're your own characters; it's so easy, so ridiculously easy to make them change into perfect deity-things.
And don't forget the actual writing--making plot, characterization, rhythm-flow. And going back to edit and realizing that what you wrote before actually wasn't that good. At all.
And then you stop writing (did you even start?) saying that you'll get back to it, it's just writer's block, you'll get over it eventua--blah blah blah, et cetera.
[pick a word. any word]
yes
Shinjiro was dead.
His mother's killer was dead.
A random punk (the one that, Ken gathered, most of SEES didn't even know existed until they traveled into a shady alleyway--this alleyway) was dead.
His reason for living was gone, thanks to this. His revenge-fueled life, living for the death of this man (man? he wasn't out of highschool yet).
Shinjiro's blood is everywhere. Ken remembers his visions; seeing a dark figure running, writhing as he caught him and plunged a spear though his heart; hearing him scream, as Ken heard his mother scream as she was crushed--
but he didn't resist and now he's dead and Ken is alive
because Shinji jumped in front of a bullet for him
and although he promised his mother that he would smile on the last day, (before joining her) all he can do is sob and hear his short useless life shatter and just keep howling no.
wish
On Christmas morning, you awaken abruptly to Ryoji standing over your bed, crying.
He does this little flinch when your eyes open--it reminds you of Kyoto and the execution--and you jerk your head to the side in disturbed remembrance. That's still a bad memory.
When you do, though, he flinches again--probably thinks you're going to freak out on him.
Nothing happens for a few moments; the room is still, aside from his tears dripping down onto your sheets.
"Good morning," you say.
Ryoji makes a little sound--a half-formed word interrupted by a sob. You sit up quickly and grab his arm, and he falls onto your bed.
He stared up at you, shocked. "Y-you...I..."
"How are you?" you ask, and a corner of your mind realizes that you've actually spoken more than Ryoji. (For some reason, this amuses you.)
"Minato..." You wait expectantly. "Why...why are you asking me that...?"
You look at him oddly. "Because you're my friend--" that sound again "--and I'd like to know?"
He looks at you like you just handed him the Holy Grail. And then you mentally double-take at the irony of that statement.
"You should hate me. You should want to kill me. I saw your face," he whispered, "when I told you all about Nyx..."
Your small smile does disappear at that, but not at the end-of-the-world reminder. "Ryoji." He looks up at you. "I won't kill you."
"But I--"
"I don't care. If the world will end either way, I'd rather die knowing that I tried to do something with my life."
He stares at you, fingers wrapping around his scarf. His tears aren't stopping. "You're making a mistake," he says, so softly that you read his lips more than truly hear the words.
"Maybe." Carefully, you slide your fingers though his hair, ignoring yet another flinch. You smile again. "I'll be fine. We all will."
Silence. For a long time.
Ryoji takes his hands from his scarf, and slowly places one on the hand you sill have in his hair.
"I..." he looks away. His eyes shut tightly, and he takes your other hand and pulls it to his face, covering it. "Hate me. Hate me," he repeats softly, breath tickling your palm. "Hate me and forget me and let me die knowing you'll be happy."
You brush his tears away with your thumb. You smile sadly, and don't answer.
"I..." he breathes. "I wish..."
You take your hands away and lay beside him. "Ryoji..."
Painfully, he looks you straight in the eyes.
"...I wish too."
An obvious statement, but writing is more than writing words on a sheet of paper, or on a computer screen, or a typewriter, or whatever. You have to understand the characters--the people you have to use and make.
Well. You don't have to. You can make them as not-them as you like. Out Of Character, even if they're your own characters; it's so easy, so ridiculously easy to make them change into perfect deity-things.
And don't forget the actual writing--making plot, characterization, rhythm-flow. And going back to edit and realizing that what you wrote before actually wasn't that good. At all.
And then you stop writing (did you even start?) saying that you'll get back to it, it's just writer's block, you'll get over it eventua--blah blah blah, et cetera.
[pick a word. any word]
yes
Shinjiro was dead.
His mother's killer was dead.
A random punk (the one that, Ken gathered, most of SEES didn't even know existed until they traveled into a shady alleyway--this alleyway) was dead.
His reason for living was gone, thanks to this. His revenge-fueled life, living for the death of this man (man? he wasn't out of highschool yet).
Shinjiro's blood is everywhere. Ken remembers his visions; seeing a dark figure running, writhing as he caught him and plunged a spear though his heart; hearing him scream, as Ken heard his mother scream as she was crushed--
but he didn't resist and now he's dead and Ken is alive
because Shinji jumped in front of a bullet for him
and although he promised his mother that he would smile on the last day, (before joining her) all he can do is sob and hear his short useless life shatter and just keep howling no.
wish
On Christmas morning, you awaken abruptly to Ryoji standing over your bed, crying.
He does this little flinch when your eyes open--it reminds you of Kyoto and the execution--and you jerk your head to the side in disturbed remembrance. That's still a bad memory.
When you do, though, he flinches again--probably thinks you're going to freak out on him.
Nothing happens for a few moments; the room is still, aside from his tears dripping down onto your sheets.
"Good morning," you say.
Ryoji makes a little sound--a half-formed word interrupted by a sob. You sit up quickly and grab his arm, and he falls onto your bed.
He stared up at you, shocked. "Y-you...I..."
"How are you?" you ask, and a corner of your mind realizes that you've actually spoken more than Ryoji. (For some reason, this amuses you.)
"Minato..." You wait expectantly. "Why...why are you asking me that...?"
You look at him oddly. "Because you're my friend--" that sound again "--and I'd like to know?"
He looks at you like you just handed him the Holy Grail. And then you mentally double-take at the irony of that statement.
"You should hate me. You should want to kill me. I saw your face," he whispered, "when I told you all about Nyx..."
Your small smile does disappear at that, but not at the end-of-the-world reminder. "Ryoji." He looks up at you. "I won't kill you."
"But I--"
"I don't care. If the world will end either way, I'd rather die knowing that I tried to do something with my life."
He stares at you, fingers wrapping around his scarf. His tears aren't stopping. "You're making a mistake," he says, so softly that you read his lips more than truly hear the words.
"Maybe." Carefully, you slide your fingers though his hair, ignoring yet another flinch. You smile again. "I'll be fine. We all will."
Silence. For a long time.
Ryoji takes his hands from his scarf, and slowly places one on the hand you sill have in his hair.
"I..." he looks away. His eyes shut tightly, and he takes your other hand and pulls it to his face, covering it. "Hate me. Hate me," he repeats softly, breath tickling your palm. "Hate me and forget me and let me die knowing you'll be happy."
You brush his tears away with your thumb. You smile sadly, and don't answer.
"I..." he breathes. "I wish..."
You take your hands away and lay beside him. "Ryoji..."
Painfully, he looks you straight in the eyes.
"...I wish too."