|Wings of a Butterfly
Author: ExileFromLife PM
Pain is assuaged by tell the story of how pain was received. Roxas reflects on his life with Axel. AU, mention of relationships.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Tragedy - Roxas & Axel - Words: 700 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 2 - Follows: 2 - Published: 05-29-07 - id: 3564357
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: This is a story I came up with while watching the saddest video I've ever listened to and watched. Roxas seems a bit emo, but it's all for good reason, so there. The 'illness' will be explained later on. The title is taken from the HIM song.
Disclaimer: I don't own the song, the game, or any of the characters in the game. If I did, I guarantee that the rating would be AT LEAST Teen.
It's been forever since I lost the most important thing in my life. My family is oblivious to my pain, my friends respectful of it. Some of them didn't even wonder why I got the teardrop tattoos beneath my eyes, and the others didn't bother asking. Demyx was the only one who knew I was doing it, and he never even tried to stop me. He's the only one that shares my pain.
He was one of the Three Musketeers. Now there's only he and I left. We'll never be the same, and everyone around us is aware of that fact. He used to like my eyes, all bright and cheery. Now they're clouded with the sorrow in my soul. He used to wish my hair was a whiter blond. Now it has white highlights in it. He used to like Demyx's hair being left messy. I don't remember the last time he got it styled, it's been left messy for so long.
I must have at least fifteen scars on my body from when I tried to join him in the cold embrace of death. Demyx has less, but they're deeper. I have five tattoos other than the teardrops in his memory. I've got angel wings behind demon wings on my back, showing how many times he looked like the silver lining. I have fire wrapping around my arm, going around my neck, and down the other arm in memory of how he was the flame in the winter that kept us from freezing up.
I have a sword on my back, it's point seemingly sinking into the center of the pairs of wings. I have a heart on my chest, right above my own, with butterfly wings around it. He loved butterflies, and I'm taking them with me when I die.
Dying. We're all dying. Every moment we live is a moment less that we have to love. We're all dying. He just did it faster than most. I'll be dead soon as well. Demyx will be dying with me, so help me God.
I suppose right now you think I'm a suicidal maniac, but this is where I show you how you're wrong. I'm not committing suicide. I flat out refuse. Demyx isn't either. We're dying of a disease, one that wastes one away and tosses one out into the wind. We were only expected to live a few days after he did, but instead it's been several years. I'm writing this in a hospital bed, so I know I'll die soon. Demyx is in the bed beside me, and let me tell you, that was hard to achieve. Until we told the soft-hearted nurses that we'd wanted to die together since we were five, which is, sadly, true. We've had our disease that long.
I suppose I'll start at the beginning. Where would that be though? I've had so many beginnings it's no longer funny. The beginning of my life? The beginning of living without my mom? The beginning of living as an orphan? The beginning of my friendship with Demyx? The beginning of my illness? The beginning of my friendship with him? I wouldn't know when to begin. I think I know how though.
This story must get told.
I owe that much to Demyx.
I owe that much to myself.
I owe that much to my family.
I owe that much to my friends.
I owe that much to him.
Him. Axel. My muse. My inspiration. My life. My heart.