Around the Corner
Title: Around The Corner
Characters: Gintoki, Katsura
Pairings: None.
Word count: 675 so far.
Rating: PG-13+, for slightly graphic descriptions of injuries. Also, angst.
Warnings: Death, and probably a lot of tears.
Summary: A promise is broken between two friends, one they had hoped would last forever. And yet...
Notes: The title is taken from a poem by the same name; read it here.
I.
The world below him bled red.
Katsura had always hated that color, especially when it crept this close to him and surrounded him, leaving him with no choice but to look. And yet he couldn’t close his eyes either, not until he remembered what was he doing lying on the ground, accompanied only by the sound of his labored breathing when he had been sure that he had had four companions earlier and it had once been easier to recollect his thoughts.
It hurt him to remember, so he didn’t.
As he remained still against the red soil, Katsura’s thoughts begin to slowly drift towards the many reasons he had to hate the redness that captured his vision so entirely now. While he had never liked its vibrancy and boldness, he had only begun to resent it when he had seen his sensei covered in it, staining his robes in a way that would not allow them to be washed off. He had begun to resent it more when it had stained his own clothes in return, forcing him to scrub and scrub until he had wanted to cry, to see it washing all over the people that mattered to him, one by one, never to be clean again.
They had been the lucky ones. The unlucky ones had been swallowed by the redness, its bright hue then taking on a sickening mixture of crimson and orange, threatening to destroy all in its path. Many of those men had fallen soon after but for one, and that man had been his childhood friend, forever lost to the sea of fire and madness that had severed them from their innocence once and for all.
Much as Katsura had hated that color, he had still stained others with it, promising others that he would someday make the nation pure again. He had lived for that reason alone, to cleanse his country of the stains that threatened to burn and destroy it. If some blood had been what it took to restore Japan to its greatness, then so be it, he had thought. He would make sure that the blood shed would make a difference.
And yet he lay upon the ground now lying in a pool of his own blood, drowning in his own blood, its darkened crimson shade telling him that which he hated the most: That he had failed.
It wasn’t to be for long. The red began to fade away to a shade of darkness, even as his consciousness dulled to the point that he could no longer feel the pain that stabbed through him as he coughed one last time, the resulting hacking making him shift just slightly to the right from the violent spasms it sent through his failing body.
And then he saw it, a single snowflake settling just out of reach from his blood. Katsura thought his eyes might have widened then and yet it was so hard for him to think about how he had or could have reacted when he could no longer feel. He wanted to reach out for the pure and unstained snowflake, but the blood on his own hands made him hesitate, not wanting to dirty it with his hands.
With the snowflake out of his grasp, there was little else that the dying man could do but to close his eyes and wait for death to take him to the hell he deserved. At least you’ll live, right? You’ll live beyond this darkness and this blood... he thought even as the snowflake that had stayed in his vision seemed to take on a form that wore those colors that he hated, in a way that had kept him alive throughout the years.
But even a man that could don both and remain untainted by it could only do so much, especially when he wasn’t there.
I’m sorry, Gintoki. I failed to keep my promise to you...
The world went dark around Katsura shortly after, his blood reflecting the crimson sky he could no longer see.
Characters: Gintoki, Katsura
Pairings: None.
Word count: 675 so far.
Rating: PG-13+, for slightly graphic descriptions of injuries. Also, angst.
Warnings: Death, and probably a lot of tears.
Summary: A promise is broken between two friends, one they had hoped would last forever. And yet...
Notes: The title is taken from a poem by the same name; read it here.
I.
The world below him bled red.
Katsura had always hated that color, especially when it crept this close to him and surrounded him, leaving him with no choice but to look. And yet he couldn’t close his eyes either, not until he remembered what was he doing lying on the ground, accompanied only by the sound of his labored breathing when he had been sure that he had had four companions earlier and it had once been easier to recollect his thoughts.
It hurt him to remember, so he didn’t.
As he remained still against the red soil, Katsura’s thoughts begin to slowly drift towards the many reasons he had to hate the redness that captured his vision so entirely now. While he had never liked its vibrancy and boldness, he had only begun to resent it when he had seen his sensei covered in it, staining his robes in a way that would not allow them to be washed off. He had begun to resent it more when it had stained his own clothes in return, forcing him to scrub and scrub until he had wanted to cry, to see it washing all over the people that mattered to him, one by one, never to be clean again.
They had been the lucky ones. The unlucky ones had been swallowed by the redness, its bright hue then taking on a sickening mixture of crimson and orange, threatening to destroy all in its path. Many of those men had fallen soon after but for one, and that man had been his childhood friend, forever lost to the sea of fire and madness that had severed them from their innocence once and for all.
Much as Katsura had hated that color, he had still stained others with it, promising others that he would someday make the nation pure again. He had lived for that reason alone, to cleanse his country of the stains that threatened to burn and destroy it. If some blood had been what it took to restore Japan to its greatness, then so be it, he had thought. He would make sure that the blood shed would make a difference.
And yet he lay upon the ground now lying in a pool of his own blood, drowning in his own blood, its darkened crimson shade telling him that which he hated the most: That he had failed.
It wasn’t to be for long. The red began to fade away to a shade of darkness, even as his consciousness dulled to the point that he could no longer feel the pain that stabbed through him as he coughed one last time, the resulting hacking making him shift just slightly to the right from the violent spasms it sent through his failing body.
And then he saw it, a single snowflake settling just out of reach from his blood. Katsura thought his eyes might have widened then and yet it was so hard for him to think about how he had or could have reacted when he could no longer feel. He wanted to reach out for the pure and unstained snowflake, but the blood on his own hands made him hesitate, not wanting to dirty it with his hands.
With the snowflake out of his grasp, there was little else that the dying man could do but to close his eyes and wait for death to take him to the hell he deserved. At least you’ll live, right? You’ll live beyond this darkness and this blood... he thought even as the snowflake that had stayed in his vision seemed to take on a form that wore those colors that he hated, in a way that had kept him alive throughout the years.
But even a man that could don both and remain untainted by it could only do so much, especially when he wasn’t there.
I’m sorry, Gintoki. I failed to keep my promise to you...
The world went dark around Katsura shortly after, his blood reflecting the crimson sky he could no longer see.