30-Jul-2000
ok, so this is a little odd. i just went where it took me. no citrus *at all* this time, sorry! oh, and there's no actual alien, either; it's just a metaphor.
DISCLAIMER: Sunrise, Bandai et al own GW, and I own nothing. Suing would be pointless.
WARNINGS: angsty, some OOC. Nothing else.
/=thoughts
*=emphasis
Treize leaned against the balcony railing in the moonlight, and looked out over the rose garden below. He closed his eyes briefly to savor the nighttime scents.
/The moon gilds my roses with silver/ he thought /but it also strips them of their vibrant color, their individuality. In the daytime, they flourish with a chaotic beauty. At night, their true selves are hidden, they become souless silver flowers. Beautiful, but empty./
He took a sip from the glass at his elbow. /We have a lot in common, my roses and I. I have spun my plans, and now the dance continues without me. I am just the empty rose at its center, a focal point, but ultimately pointless./
/God, I grow so... weary of this game. Zechs wears but one mask; I have several, and they all chafe me./ A low laugh escaped his lips. /The charismatic leader of the Specials? Romefeller's pawn? Alliance traitor? I am indeed all these things, but none touch my true nature./
/Une, Zechs, that boy, Chang Wufei; they come the closest to understanding me. But no-one *knows* me. My road to peace is a lonely one I travel in solitude./
He took another sip of wine, and raised his glass to the moon. /To my vision of the future. Someday, perhaps, I will find a kindred spirit, someone who comprehends the meaning of my games. Someone to understand *me*./
He drained the last of his wine, and threw the glass, breaking it on the garden path below.
Duo lay on his back in the grass behind the safehouse, and stared up at the moon. /So beautiful/, he thought, /but so cold. The moon is a lie./
He closed his eyes and sighed. /Like I can talk. My whole *life* is a lie. My clothes, my hair... I wear them for Sister Helen and the Father. 'To honor them', I say. Ha! If I honor them so much, why do I kill? And kill and kill... /
Duo began idly moving his arms and legs, making an impression of an angel in the damp grass. /I say I don't lie. I don't *need* to, I *am* a lie. My laughter, my jokes, they're just a disguise I wear. I'm hiding, I'm *always* hiding./
He stopped his restless movements, and thought about the other pilots. /Can't they see what a fraud I am? Can't they see past my masks? I don't fit in, I don't belong with them. I'll *never* have Heero's strength, or Wufei's confidence. I'm just a killer with a manic grin./
/Shinigami, hell! I'm not the god of death, I'm the god of cowardice. Too afraid to let people see the real me, really *see* me./ He laughed, but it was entirely without humor. /I'm not like the others. Death is all I understand. Death *defines* me. No-one understands that; no-one *ever* understands that./
Duo sighed, and looked up at the moon. /So beautiful./
Quatre sat on his bed, leaning up against the headboard, and watched dispassionately as he pushed a metal skewer through the flesh of his forearm. The ruby drops of blood gave him a perverse satisfaction.
/Enough to bleed, not enough to drip/ he thought, wounding himself again. /"Prick me, do I not bleed?"(1) I'm human enough in that respect, I suppose./
/'My angel', says Trowa. 'Our heart and conscience', says Duo. What do they know? They don't see *me*, they see only the image I project./
He slowly licked the skewer. /I killed a whole colony. Women, babies, everyone. And I didn't care. I *enjoyed* it! What kind of heart is that? What kind of conscience?/
He began drawing the skewer across his bare chest, raising welts, but not drawing blood. /I don't *have* a soul anymore. I'm corrupt and perverse. I enjoy the killing./
/If I'm an angel, I'm an angel with bloody hands. The angel of death, and Duo be damned. I destroy those around me. Iria died for me, my father died, and how do I repay them? By destroying the worlds they were trying to save. A new Winner legacy./
Quatre laughed. /No-one knows me, no-one understands. I play the innocent, and they all believe it. They try to *protect* me, for Allah's sake. I can't *believe* they're all so blind./
/As long as I bleed, I'm still human. Useless, alone, but still human./ He watched the blood well up on his arm with cold eyes.
Relena pulled the brush through her hair almost viciously, and watched her reflection in the mirror. /I hate them all!/ she thought. /Pargan, Dorothy, Noin-- they all treat me like an idiot in their own way./
/Does she think I can't *tell* her flattery's false? Or that I don't know about the soldiers Noin has brought to fight for me? 'Yes, Miss Relena, No, Miss Relena, I will protect you, Miss Relena.' Bah! I could spit!/
She slammed the brush down on the table so hard, it cracked the glass top. /I am stronger then that! I don't *need* their protection. Didn't I survive my father's assassination? Didn't I make it home, unscathed, to start the academy?/
She crossed the room and drew the curtains, shutting out the moonlight. /Relena Peacraft, everyone's pawn. Ha! That's what *they* think. No-one knows me. No-one sees that I have my *own* agenda. I am using them *at least* as much as they are using me./
/People always underestimate me. Maybe it's because I'm a girl. But I am stronger than they know, stronger than they could ever beleive. They will *never* break me./ She got into bed, and pulled up the comforter.
/Why can't anyone see me for who I am?/
Trowa walked along the ridgepole of the roof, moonlight lending a glow to the slate shingles. /It would be so simple to slide right off/ he thought. /One small misstep, and everything would be over./
/I'm *tired* of being afraid all the time. Everyone confuses silent with strong. I'm slient to keep from screaming./
He sat down, dangling his legs off the edge of the roof. /I don't think I ever recovered from my encounter with the Zero System. Everything scares me now. Flying, fighting, space itself; the strength of the other pilots, Quatre's purity. I'm not worthy of the trust they place in me./
/They don't realize, every day it's a victory if I don't kill myself. They admire me, for some stupid reason. I don't want to let them down./
Trowa sighed, and leaned back to look at the moon. /I am so scared all the time, there is no room left for other feelings. I pretend, I lie, I make things up. And every day, I'm just a little more dead./
/I'm suprised the others haven't sensed this. I guess my habit of silence is my protection. I'm glad. I'd be shamed if they knew what an empty shell I *really* am./
He got up, and began walking the ridgepole once more.
Heero pulled the last of the camouflage netting over Wing. Satisfied it was well-hidden, he trudged back towards the safehouse, moonlight picking out his path.
/I'm always the last to return/ he thought, carefully stepping around broken branches. /I like knowing where everyone is. They say it's because I'm the Perfect Soldier. Always planning, always in control. I live for the mission./
Uncharacteristicaly, he kicked a stone, watching it bounce into the woods. /Duo is so joyous and free. I envy him. He'll have no problems once this war is over./
/But me? The war is all I have. What good is a soldier without a mission? What use? I sometimes wonder if I even *exist* outside the mission./
/I have no name, no family, no past. Nothing to connect me to this world. I am a robot following orders, nothing more./ He kicked another rock. /I bet they'd all laugh at me, at my doubts. A Perfect Soldier has no room for doubts. If he doubts, he is nothing./
/Perfect Soldier. What a joke! What's even funnier, I'm the only person who knows what a joke it is, how far from perfect I really am./ He picked up his pace, and began jogging towards the safehouse.
Zechs sat up in bed, unable to sleep. He crossed to the window, and pulled open the curtains. The moon lit the room with faint illumination.
/Some things seem clearer in the moonlight/ he thought. /Unfortunately, my life is not one of them. Epyon has given me a path. I wish I could be sure it's the right one./
He brought his hands up before his face. /Whose hands are they? I don't know anymore. Peacecraft or Marquise, they're *still* covered in blood./ He bowed his head, resting it against the cool glass.
/Forgive me Father, Relena. I *am* working towards peace, although my methods are nothing you'd approve. I have stained the Peacecraft memory with a river of blood, and for that I *am* sorry./
/I don't feel like myself anymore. I have outstripped both my identities, but I have no new one to turn to. There is no-one left for me to *become*./
He went back to his bed, and sat down on the edge. /I fight, but my battles are pointless. Even Treize, with all his complicated schemes, cannot understand me now. Epyon has taken me beyond human boundries. My actions have a purpose beyond comprehension./
/Even *I* don't understand anymore./ Zechs bowed his head, his hair falling around him like a curtain.
Wufei raised his practice blade in the air, moving silently across the floor of the empty dining room. /It was so *simple* when I began/ he thought. /Revenge. Justice. Two clear reasons for fighting. I fought alone, in purity./
Lunge. Slash. Parry. Turn.
/But then, complications. OZ, the colonies, Kushrenada. Sometimes allies, other times enemies. Honor where none was expected. Comrades in arms, someone to fight *with*./
Slice. Slice. Twist. Drop. Roll.
/My thinking became muddied. I became weak. I looked *forward* to the companionship, I enjoyed the battles. I forgot my reasons for fighting./
Slash. Twist. Slash. Lunge.
/I forgot *you*./
Lunge. Turn.
/Who am I now? Husband? You are dead. Scholar? I no longer read. Fighter? I have lost my reasons for fighting. That makes me a common brawler, without honor./
Wufei stopped his practice, his breathing harsh. /I have no honor, no strength, no wife. I am weak, and without purpose. Why do I still live?/
His sword fell unnoticed to the ground as he dropped to his knees. Tears filled his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. /I am not yet that weak./
/But, gods Meiran! Did you know I would be so alone?!/
Look at all the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
Look at all the lonely people
Where do they all belong?-Eleanor Rigby, the Beatles
The End
that's it. what did you think? oddly enough, i like the quatre and relana parts the best, and i don't even *like* q & r that much.
Note:
(1) i think that's from the merchant of venice. it's certainly shakespeare.
(:./hyuy/alien)
