Just saw a great film, felt inspired and wrote this. If you like it and review, I'll continue. So, tell me what y'all think!
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And so the waters and rivers of Egypt ran red, and were as blood.
Slowly, Mu descended into the ocean. Hitting the icey water felt like a punch in the chest. Why were they doing this? They had no idea who the body belonged to. They had no idea if the person was still breathing. They had no idea of anything, only that he'd ten seconds to retrieve this body and then get the fuck outta dodge. He didn't look at the wreckage on the beach. Meaningless death, that was what the grey bodies of those lifeless war gods symbolised. White for purity, red for blood, grey for nothingness. The pointless taking of innocent lives. Nothing! That was what a life was worth, what this war was worth, what death was worth, what...innocence was worth. Absolutly nothing!
Softly, he lifted the body out of the water. Not looking at the face, only at the soft rise and fall of the chest. It wasn't Kira. The body was clad in a ZAFT flight suit. So that unit had lost another member. Duel and Buster had retreated, both battered and broken. Leaving this member behind. Leaving this member in the arms of Old Boney. But what else could they have done? Nothing! Like everyone else, they could've done nothing! With difficulty, he made his way back to the ship. They needed to move. They needed to get out of here. They needed to leave this graveyard behind. Leave this ocean of blood behind. Leave their child behind.
The crew was gathered in the hanger when he climbed back onboard. Well, except the ship's pilots. Murre called them the moment the doors closed, and told them to move. They complied and the ship gathered itself together and ran headlong to nowhere. She then turned to him, her eyes asking the question for her. 'Is it Kira?' He shook his head and Kira's friends gasped. They had been so hopeful. A body detected in the water right in front of the battlefield, it had been so lucky. But it had been to much to hope. He layed the pilot down, at last taking a look at the face.
Beneath the shattered glass, was the face of a child. No older then Kira, or any other of the Helipolis kids. Wet dark hair was clinging to an equally wet forehead. But, when he removed the helmet, he saw no obvious injuries. No blood or lumps. Just the perfect face of a child whose eyes were closed because of pain. Murre knelt down beside him, looking at the boy. She seemed sad.
'The "Red Knight",' she mummbled, reaching out to touch the pale face, 'I didn't think he'd be this young.' Mu nodded. The boy groaned, shifting closer to the warm hand touching his cold face. The eyes squeezed themselves shut, unwilling to open, to leave the peacefulness of dreamless sleep away from pain. But the eyes wouldn't stay closed, they opened, squinting to focus in the bright light. Murre whipped her hand back and stood, trying to look stern. Mu stood up as well, standing beside her. The boy seemed to register his surroundings, and tried to rise, using his arms for support.
He fell back with a small cry of pain. Damage had clearly been done to one of his arms, or maybe both. But, determined to rise, the boy tried again. After a few minutes of struggling, he managed to get himself into sitting position. And he sat there, looking up at them. The slender frame was shaking, from cold or fear or both, Mu didn't yet know. And he doubted he ever would. The pale young face was working hard to remain blank. The boy was trying hard to look strong and defiant. But the tremors that kept running through his body ruined the image, as did the slight panic creeping into those green eyes. Mu felt the overwhelming urge to hug him, which was a really bad idea. He looked down at the boy, looking as stern as he could.
'What's your name and rank?'
Dearka was in complete shock. If he hadn't left Athrun in the locker room alone, if he'd kept an eye on the kid, then maybe the Aegis wouldn't have just exploded. If he'd stopped Athrun from going out, reported him ill or something and locked him in the infirmary, then maybe they could be celebrating Strike's destruction right now. If he had just done something!
Yzak's locker shut silently. There was no fit of rage this time. No yelling, no screaming, no nothing. Just utter silence because there was no-one to scream at. No calm presence, no soft voice, no Athrun, no Nicol, no Strike. Just nothing. He couldn't cry, he could hardly move. They had no-one left to blame. At least with Nicol there'd been someone to blame, someone to hate, someone to destroy. But not this time, because Athrun had taken vengance with his life. Athrun had done the destroying, had taken the revenge and left this silence in his wake. There was nothing left to do...but walk away. The life of one soldier meant nothing.
Mirella stared at the boy. At the childlike hunch of his shoulders and the drops running down his face. Drops of rain and seawater that may well have been tears. The angels were crying because of death, the skies screaming because of destruction. A life ended, many lives destroyed, and a boy sitting here in silence. Simple silence that meant nothing. He didn't move, didn't tell them his name, she guessed he couldn't. His face emptied, his eyes washed out and he smiled cynically as his eyes rolled and he fell again. Eyes half lidded, gazing through her, unseeing. As conciousness left those eyes, she felt tears prick her own. He told them nothing, because he'd nothing to tell. His crime was obvious. His hands were stained with blood. He'd taken the lives of Kira and Tolle.
They were soldiers, he was a soldier, worth nothing. Owning nothing, meaning nothing, unfeeling, uncaring, unjust. Just empty, just nothing. And at that thought, her mind filled with unspeakable rage.
Well? Please R&R.