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31_days2006-08-14 09:54 pm
23crayons.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-08-14 09:54 pm
[August 14, 2006][KHII] Candlelight
Title: Candlelight
Day/Theme: August 14, 2006. "And my grief at parting from you is like that of the turtle-dove,
which brings pleasure to the hot listener, retired in a thickly-leaved
tree from the heat of summer, like a singer behind a curtain."
Series: Kingdom Hearts II
Character/Pairing: Axel/Roxas
Rating: PG-13
No one would miss me, the boy in front of him lies.
I would. The words are harsh to his own ears, ragged and icy as they catch in his throat and then spill from his lips as he can do nothing to stop them. They are sharp around the edges-- cut diamonds and rusty razorblades, detached precision and bloody slips from long, slender fingers sectioned by blue tendrils licking their way up thin arms to perfectly smooth pads at the tips. Perfection. He watches in his mind as they fall to the floor, in slow motion, the space where his heart should be savoring each syllable as it shatters, digging deep into his lungs, feeling every incision.
---
The silence in the shadows, the black and the blank that consumes and drains every drop of red warmth from his body until the organ called his heart dies of a lack of blood to carry the lack of oxygen, withers and disentegrates and he doesn't feel a thing. Numbness replaces the feeling in his limbs until he is totally one of them, one of the Organization-- the lost boys of Neverland, of the World that Never Was, of the World that Never Will Be. He is told that he will not be whole again, and as the numbness settled in, he believes them.
Number IIX of XII, he has some seniority when the new boy walks in, silent and lost, cold and cutting as the numbness works it's way into his bones like it had with the rest of them. Blond hair and blue eyes doesn't suit someone who isn't, he thinks, and he lifts up the boy's face with one slim finger hooked under his chin and looks into the eyes of the new recruit and sees something he had forgotten. There is a spark, there, burning against the black, against the nothing and against the numbness that will inevitably settle in, and the boy is not lost yet. It reminds him of the feeling of summoning fire to his fingertips, but it is nothing so strong, so overpowering and hot. It is more of a tiny warmth, the smallest bit, finding it's way into long-unused veins of a long-cold body, curling up in his stomach like a small, sick, lost puppy in from the rain to lie by the first fire it had seen in years. He immediatly lets go and turns, walking down the hallway from which he came. The next morning as he passes the new recruit in the hallway, shivering against the doorframe, trying not to be seen or heard in the shadows-- but he is a shadow, lived as a shadow, and he pauses long enough to slip off his coat and hand it to the new boy before moving on. The cold would fade, and numbness would slip in, and the boy would be alright. He would be okay.
But he is not alright, and none of them are alright, and he does not want to watch the sunsets and beaches and ocean waters fade from those eyes.
---
Now he stares at his back, cloaked in shades of onyx like the shadows he comes from, and the urge to do something, associate something with the phantom feeling where his heart should be, the one years gone, decades gone, lost in far off places he'd never again see, washes over him like a tidal wave. He wants to explain that somehow, without a heart or a soul or a drop of blood in the veins that tattoo his body, he is aching, he doesn't want to let this go, let this boy go. Like fire licking his palms, like burning towns down is the kick of needy kisses in lost stairwells, divine and warm and searing.
He did not let the light in this boy's eyes go out, and now, even though he can not see those eyes, he knows the light is still burning there. He had kept the candle burning in this boy, but he will never again be graced by this light-- the light he had kept burning he had kept burning for someone else, some other person, some other world, some other purpose. The numbness in his stomach is gone, replaced by shattered ice and diamonds and rusty razorblades, and he can feel them cutting into his flesh as he strains his face to smile at the image of his candlelight fading in the distance, but still burning strong for something he will never be a part of.
Day/Theme: August 14, 2006. "And my grief at parting from you is like that of the turtle-dove,
which brings pleasure to the hot listener, retired in a thickly-leaved
tree from the heat of summer, like a singer behind a curtain."
Series: Kingdom Hearts II
Character/Pairing: Axel/Roxas
Rating: PG-13
No one would miss me, the boy in front of him lies.
I would. The words are harsh to his own ears, ragged and icy as they catch in his throat and then spill from his lips as he can do nothing to stop them. They are sharp around the edges-- cut diamonds and rusty razorblades, detached precision and bloody slips from long, slender fingers sectioned by blue tendrils licking their way up thin arms to perfectly smooth pads at the tips. Perfection. He watches in his mind as they fall to the floor, in slow motion, the space where his heart should be savoring each syllable as it shatters, digging deep into his lungs, feeling every incision.
---
The silence in the shadows, the black and the blank that consumes and drains every drop of red warmth from his body until the organ called his heart dies of a lack of blood to carry the lack of oxygen, withers and disentegrates and he doesn't feel a thing. Numbness replaces the feeling in his limbs until he is totally one of them, one of the Organization-- the lost boys of Neverland, of the World that Never Was, of the World that Never Will Be. He is told that he will not be whole again, and as the numbness settled in, he believes them.
Number IIX of XII, he has some seniority when the new boy walks in, silent and lost, cold and cutting as the numbness works it's way into his bones like it had with the rest of them. Blond hair and blue eyes doesn't suit someone who isn't, he thinks, and he lifts up the boy's face with one slim finger hooked under his chin and looks into the eyes of the new recruit and sees something he had forgotten. There is a spark, there, burning against the black, against the nothing and against the numbness that will inevitably settle in, and the boy is not lost yet. It reminds him of the feeling of summoning fire to his fingertips, but it is nothing so strong, so overpowering and hot. It is more of a tiny warmth, the smallest bit, finding it's way into long-unused veins of a long-cold body, curling up in his stomach like a small, sick, lost puppy in from the rain to lie by the first fire it had seen in years. He immediatly lets go and turns, walking down the hallway from which he came. The next morning as he passes the new recruit in the hallway, shivering against the doorframe, trying not to be seen or heard in the shadows-- but he is a shadow, lived as a shadow, and he pauses long enough to slip off his coat and hand it to the new boy before moving on. The cold would fade, and numbness would slip in, and the boy would be alright. He would be okay.
But he is not alright, and none of them are alright, and he does not want to watch the sunsets and beaches and ocean waters fade from those eyes.
---
Now he stares at his back, cloaked in shades of onyx like the shadows he comes from, and the urge to do something, associate something with the phantom feeling where his heart should be, the one years gone, decades gone, lost in far off places he'd never again see, washes over him like a tidal wave. He wants to explain that somehow, without a heart or a soul or a drop of blood in the veins that tattoo his body, he is aching, he doesn't want to let this go, let this boy go. Like fire licking his palms, like burning towns down is the kick of needy kisses in lost stairwells, divine and warm and searing.
He did not let the light in this boy's eyes go out, and now, even though he can not see those eyes, he knows the light is still burning there. He had kept the candle burning in this boy, but he will never again be graced by this light-- the light he had kept burning he had kept burning for someone else, some other person, some other world, some other purpose. The numbness in his stomach is gone, replaced by shattered ice and diamonds and rusty razorblades, and he can feel them cutting into his flesh as he strains his face to smile at the image of his candlelight fading in the distance, but still burning strong for something he will never be a part of.