chaos_anomaly: (Fanart Dissidia ♞ Squall; Evil's Throne)
C. Anomaly ([personal profile] chaos_anomaly) wrote2010-01-25 08:34 pm

Fiction | Memoriam; FF8; Gen; G

Title: Memoriam
Author/Artist: Cyr Anomaly, [livejournal.com profile] chaos_anomaly
Pairing: N/A; Gen
Rating: G
Warnings: Implied Death
Word count: 366
Summary: He cannot finish but he must.

A/N: Should be writing Springkink fics but maybe if I get this out of the way I can go back to working on those?




He lifts the pen off the paper, staring at the words he has written.

His vision blurs. He shakes his head, his lips tightening. A droplet of moisture falls on the first word, the ink smears. He throws the pen against the wall. He crumbles the paper into a ball, hurling it toward the door. He snarls in anger, in pain, in sorrow. He should not be doing this.

He has to. He needs to. It must be done.

He cannot turn back. He must finish his work. He has to continue, no matter how each line, each letter he writes feels like a sword impaling through his back, his chest, his heart. He cannot stop. He will not stop.

He cannot continue.

He snarls, standing, the chair falling behind him. He glares at the balls of paper on the ground at his feet. He lost track of how many times he tried to finish only to start over when it did not come out perfect. He lost track of how many times he wrote the same names, over and over again. He slams his fist against the desk, eyes tightly closed as tears fall.

His body shakes. He feels old, older than he really is. He feels empty and cold.

He slouches over, his shoulders heaving. He sobs, he keens. He cannot help but remember what happened only hours before, an eternity, a moment, a second ago. He cannot unsee their eyes, their faces bloodied with their own and the enemies’. He cannot stop remembering their dismembered bodies, their looks of terror and fear made frozen on their faces.

He cannot help but remember the blood on his hands when he lifted one of them into his arms.

He was too late. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t get to them in time. He is alone, finally, completely alone. He failed. He was useless. He could do nothing for them. He could not save them. He could not protect them.

He forces himself to sit back in his chair. He picks up a new pen and tries again.

He will finish. He must. He has to.

He owes it to those he failed to protect.