Getting into the flow.
I was kinda in the mood for writing and so, as I'd not written much for ages, I did. This is a crappy, off the cut little thing... nothing much more than Navel Gazing from Vash the Stampede, but kinda fun. I liked playing about with the language here, so I hope you enjoy it too... I wanted to write something after all this time...
Title: Everything's going to be alright.
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: PG
Auther: Yma2
Sometimes things are good. When he gets up in the morning and is surrounded by the flow of humanity, laughing, talking, working, surviving… When he eats his breakfast whilst chatting to a beautiful woman, loosing himself in her deep eyes. When he plays dodge-ball in the streets with the children and buys fresh doughnuts, tongue swelling from welcome sweetness. These are the lazy days, a paradise of simplicity where in he is cocooned by the kindness of others. Ah, he understands her sacrifice now! For who could not throw away life for a thing so beautiful? And he laughs and cries, joy mingling with the softness of loss… and the air laughs with him and hope blooms in his chest. For he is the man of hope, eternal wanderer or changes the lives of all he meets. He is a hero, a cowboy and he loves it. On days like this he thinks of hope, he thinks that life is good, that everything…
Sometimes it’s harder, too hard, almost. When his gun pushes hard into his hand and the trigger is hot under his finger. When his coat is of blood and the ground is littered with corpses, bone dry sand crunching under feet eternal. Sometimes he can put a name into each empty eye, wonder what they saw and what they’ll never see. And he didn’t do it, he never does it… but he sees it. He’ll see it always, trapped as he is in such limbo. Where blood and pain and death meet and nestle in even the churches of the people, whispering words of loss eternal. It makes him wonder if there’ll ever be true happiness of this world. If love and peace are futile on this horrible planet? If he’s ever going…
Sometimes he wonders what the point is. And he hides this, and hides it well. Days like this call for tailored smiles and shined facades. Each day his coat of blood and courage slips onto his shoulders, a barrier between him and the world. His glasses tint everything yellow and that’s better… much better… for the sky is not so blue then and blood not so red. Only the sand shines though, a brilliant gold… and that is more comforting than courage and eternity. But the eyes of the people still haunt him, for the reflection there does not lie. He cannot lie to himself. For eternity is forever and courage is immutable, he cannot betray either so he must walk on, hoping for an ending where happiness is possible. Comforting himself with the thought that what is to be, will be, will be, will be…
Now he walks on, sand soft under booted heels, a golden plain strung with ruby beads of blood, a crown for the blue haired seraphim. But that does not matter any more. For the world is full of joy and pain, and this will never end for him. But right now the world moves sleepily under his feet, the sun is merciless on his skin and his brother weight comforts his shoulder. He walks on with this burden, eyes towards a horizon full of possibilities. Somewhere there is pain, and somewhere there is joy. Somewhere he will learn to tell the truth to others, as he has learned the truth for himself. Somewhere there is a dark haired girl and a gentle giant… somewhere there is freedom, somewhere there is an empty church and lonely grave… somewhere the body of a man he killed rots into the ground.
But it doesn’t matter because now he believes, now he knows… that everything is going to be alright.
Title: Everything's going to be alright.
Fandom: Trigun
Rating: PG
Auther: Yma2
Sometimes things are good. When he gets up in the morning and is surrounded by the flow of humanity, laughing, talking, working, surviving… When he eats his breakfast whilst chatting to a beautiful woman, loosing himself in her deep eyes. When he plays dodge-ball in the streets with the children and buys fresh doughnuts, tongue swelling from welcome sweetness. These are the lazy days, a paradise of simplicity where in he is cocooned by the kindness of others. Ah, he understands her sacrifice now! For who could not throw away life for a thing so beautiful? And he laughs and cries, joy mingling with the softness of loss… and the air laughs with him and hope blooms in his chest. For he is the man of hope, eternal wanderer or changes the lives of all he meets. He is a hero, a cowboy and he loves it. On days like this he thinks of hope, he thinks that life is good, that everything…
Sometimes it’s harder, too hard, almost. When his gun pushes hard into his hand and the trigger is hot under his finger. When his coat is of blood and the ground is littered with corpses, bone dry sand crunching under feet eternal. Sometimes he can put a name into each empty eye, wonder what they saw and what they’ll never see. And he didn’t do it, he never does it… but he sees it. He’ll see it always, trapped as he is in such limbo. Where blood and pain and death meet and nestle in even the churches of the people, whispering words of loss eternal. It makes him wonder if there’ll ever be true happiness of this world. If love and peace are futile on this horrible planet? If he’s ever going…
Sometimes he wonders what the point is. And he hides this, and hides it well. Days like this call for tailored smiles and shined facades. Each day his coat of blood and courage slips onto his shoulders, a barrier between him and the world. His glasses tint everything yellow and that’s better… much better… for the sky is not so blue then and blood not so red. Only the sand shines though, a brilliant gold… and that is more comforting than courage and eternity. But the eyes of the people still haunt him, for the reflection there does not lie. He cannot lie to himself. For eternity is forever and courage is immutable, he cannot betray either so he must walk on, hoping for an ending where happiness is possible. Comforting himself with the thought that what is to be, will be, will be, will be…
Now he walks on, sand soft under booted heels, a golden plain strung with ruby beads of blood, a crown for the blue haired seraphim. But that does not matter any more. For the world is full of joy and pain, and this will never end for him. But right now the world moves sleepily under his feet, the sun is merciless on his skin and his brother weight comforts his shoulder. He walks on with this burden, eyes towards a horizon full of possibilities. Somewhere there is pain, and somewhere there is joy. Somewhere he will learn to tell the truth to others, as he has learned the truth for himself. Somewhere there is a dark haired girl and a gentle giant… somewhere there is freedom, somewhere there is an empty church and lonely grave… somewhere the body of a man he killed rots into the ground.
But it doesn’t matter because now he believes, now he knows… that everything is going to be alright.