The curved writing is a separate one from the normal typewriting. Please keep that in mind that 'this' is not responding to 'this'.
Playing Russian Roulette
Living on the edge, like me, is like playing Russian Roulette.
The war was over. Relena had declared peace and was taking over the Earths Sphere aliance. Striking everyone with her wonderful ideas of world peace, which seemed, amazingly, possible. When he was sent to earth for the first time, for Operation Meteor, he would have laughed at you, straight in the face if you told him about world peace. It sounded like a myth a to him.
You just pull the trigger and hope you'll survive.
The goal where he was fighting for. The purpose of his own life... was a fairy tale to him. Something impossible. Unreachable. And he said that to himself each time when he fired, whether with his Gun or Gundam. He told himself that each time when he got a step closer to actually achieving his goal.
He had fought for all he was worth. Putting his life on the line without any seconds thoughts. Without thinking of his own well-being. He was nothing but a weapon, he could be replaced when lost in the battle field. But he never needed replacement. He was the perfect soldier no less. And when you didn't care about dying or not, you became immortal. He had become immortal.
It is all a matter of chance.
And that's how he had survived both wars. Without any serious, permanent damage. Just like all the other pilots. But they survived for a different reason. They survived because they had WANTED to. Wanting to live in a place where there was no war was beyond his soldier trained/brainwashed mind. The concept of a world in total peace was beyond his comprehension.
A matter of luck.
And now... he was useless. A doll, thrown to the side, for he wasn't needed anymore. Peace didn't need Gundams... Peace didn't need perfect soldiers... and perfect soldiers didn't need peace. He wasn't even sure if he had wanted it now he that he got it. He needed the thrill. He needed the thought in the back of his mind that each second that be his last. That any moment someone could fire that single, fatal, bullet to his head.
Most people will sigh in relief as they put the gun to their heads and are able to hear the soft click.
He looked down his at his well used gun, which sat in his lap. He caressed it, like it was a dog, like it was a breathing being. He must be going mad. But this gun will save and take his life. That's the way J had always told him he should not. His life shouldn't be taken by mother Nature, or something foolish like growing old. He should die with a bullet, lodged in at least one place of his body that would mean death as consequence.
He picked up a white cloth from the desk he was sitting next to and took apart his gun, cleaning every nook and crack it had with precision and care.
I would groan in disappointment. And earn strange glances form the other players.
He reached over for the cartridge and began the task of cleaning each bullet separately, like they should be made ready and cleaned for showing to an audience. Well, an audience probably would see one of them in all it's glory. Completing his life and Heero's.
Which is weird, for every single one of them must be suicidal, otherwise they wouldn't be playing this game.
He was a useless human being in this peaceful world. He wasn't even sure he deserved the name tag: Human being. A Human being would have feared for his own life when he jumped of a fifty story high building. A Human Being would have thought twice before pressing the detonation switch, sending himself flying to ground in a fall that would have broke the neck of a Human Being.
Otherwise they wouldn't live the dangerous lives they do.
Sixteen years into his life and already his mind was telling him that it was enough. That couldn't be normal. But then again, HE couldn't be normal. Not after all he had seen... all he had done...
What would you do if someone hands you the old revolver with a grin?
A knock on his door was heard throughout his dark room. From the tune that was knocked, he knew it was duo. Duo, the only 'friend' he ever had. He could still remember how weird he had felt when he saw that duo was captured after trying to self-detonate. He felt... guilty... empty as he had watched them drag away his seemingly lifeless body.
He couldn't stand the thought of Duo going through their rough interrogations. So he had gone after him, his intentions: Put him out of his misery.
Would you refuse to take a chance? Would you rufuse the high, the rush, of for once living on the edge?
But he couldnt, he just couldn't shoot the boy that sat broken in front of him, looking at him with pleading eyes, expecting death... wanting death? That moment he had seen something in Duo's eyes that reflected his own expression and he felt remorse. That there were more people out there, feeling as empty as he did.
Of course you would.
He saved Duo, without having to put a bullet in his skull. He saved many people without having to kill them.
All sane people refuse.
But he himself was to far gone. The only thing that could save him from floating into the deep pools of the depression was the bullet he was now cleaning.
What is a rush compared to a happy, normal, life?
The knocking on his door continued, but it wasn't a happy tune from a song anymore. Did Duo know? Did he feel what he was about to do? Did he cared enough to prevent the event that would follow?
No, he laughed like a maniac. The knocking stopped, only to return seconds later, even more persistent. Nobody cared for him. Not anymore. He was useful in the war, that was true. He did his part. He completed his goal that he had deemed impossible.
His simple gun, not his Gundam, had been his ultimate weapon in the war. It was the thing that kept a bit a sanity in his head. Because it promised an escape. He could escape from this hell anytime he wanted and now... he wanted to escape. Not being able to handle the rejected feeling, the lonely feeling. The feeling of clotted blood clinging to his hand. The blood of all those normal people he had killed. The ones with families... the families that till this day mourned for them.
Nobody would mourn for him he thought as he loaded his gun. Noting for the last time how perfectly it fitted in his bloody hands. Sighing as everything went silent after he heard Duo leave with hasty footsteps.
I might struck you as a sane kind of guy.
His gun was his ultimate weapon, not his Gundam. His Gundam was to strike fear upon those who stood against him and what he believed was right.
His gun was for those moments when HE got scared. When he was afraid he would lose control over his body as it would start to tremble as it was flooded with emotions.
I would take the gun.
He wiped the gun with the cloth one last time. Trying to clean of the blood only he could see.
He could hear that Duo had returned and had took the other pilots with them They screamed and begged him to open 'the fucking door' as Duo put it. I heard them banging against the door.Trying to break it open. It would take a while for them to succeed. It would take them long enough...
Put it to my head.
With his finger he traced the barrel of the gun, liking the way how the smooth black metal felt against his fingertip. He closed his eyes and drowned out the voices that came from outside.
Pull the trigger.
He smiled, like he just solved the biggest riddle of all and slowly brought his gun up. Pointing it at the side of his head. A place he knew wouldn't be able to take a bullet. 0 surviving percentage. Perfect.
And hope for the bullet...
Tell me what you think of it!
If you want it could write a sequel, ya know, see what happens but I rather keep it a oneshot. Keeping in the mystery of the ending.
Yours to love or hate,
Huddled in the corner
Hiding in the shadow of reality
Hiding from the world full of hatred and pain
Hiding from the knowing glances
Hiding from the powers that build and break the heart
Is the real me,
Battered, Broken, Bruised, Bleeding...
- Crimson Waterfall