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31_days2010-03-11 08:06 pm
lone-wulffe.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-03-11 08:06 pm
[11 MAR] [NGE] [WRITING ON FOGGED GLASS]
Title: Writing on Fogged Glass
Day/Theme: 11th March 2010; memoirs of an amnesiac
Series: Shin Seiki Evangelion
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Rei; mildly implied Rei/Shinji
Rating: G
Notes: Spoilers for chapter 68 of the manga.
The bandages fall with a whisper to the ground, revealing her face to herself as her reflection stares impassively back at her.
Why? The question echoes in the depths of her being without the possibility of an answer. Why, why, why. For every query, there is no response.
Her gaze wanders listlessly across the room - her room, or is truly hers? - until it falls on a pair of cracked glasses. Her hands are holding it before she even realizes it, squeezing them before she's aware of it-
A drop of water falls on them, and it takes her a while before she realizes her cheeks feel wet. She looks up, and her reflection tells her she's... crying. It could not be possible, but it is. Reality lies only to fools and madmen.
'Why am I crying?'
There is something missing. It slips through her fingers like winter's breath, and the embers of a phantom flame flicker and die. There are voices (hesitant, the words muted), visions (a boy's outline in moonlight, hand outstretched), sensations (a warmth that feels so, so alien yet unnaturally familiar). They come and go, and even if she focuses they vanish all the same.
'Why am I crying?'
She cannot comprehend that perhaps she mourns a loss she does not even remember.
Day/Theme: 11th March 2010; memoirs of an amnesiac
Series: Shin Seiki Evangelion
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Rei; mildly implied Rei/Shinji
Rating: G
Notes: Spoilers for chapter 68 of the manga.
The bandages fall with a whisper to the ground, revealing her face to herself as her reflection stares impassively back at her.
Why? The question echoes in the depths of her being without the possibility of an answer. Why, why, why. For every query, there is no response.
Her gaze wanders listlessly across the room - her room, or is truly hers? - until it falls on a pair of cracked glasses. Her hands are holding it before she even realizes it, squeezing them before she's aware of it-
A drop of water falls on them, and it takes her a while before she realizes her cheeks feel wet. She looks up, and her reflection tells her she's... crying. It could not be possible, but it is. Reality lies only to fools and madmen.
'Why am I crying?'
There is something missing. It slips through her fingers like winter's breath, and the embers of a phantom flame flicker and die. There are voices (hesitant, the words muted), visions (a boy's outline in moonlight, hand outstretched), sensations (a warmth that feels so, so alien yet unnaturally familiar). They come and go, and even if she focuses they vanish all the same.
'Why am I crying?'
She cannot comprehend that perhaps she mourns a loss she does not even remember.