Author's Beginning Note Thingy: You don't have to read the original first... though you will be confused. These two are going to be very different stories, if I can possibly help it, and so I doubt this one will get much notice. Nevertheless, I'm writing it. Hope you enjoy.
The horizon was pink, puffy and grey... rather like the sunset drawn by a little child, Vincent thought. Someone who had marked up a whole piece of white paper with a pink crayon, and then frustratedly scribbled pencil-dark clouds all over it, marring the gentle sunlight with the chaotic frenzy only a young hand could bring to such artwork. And though the horizon was far, far away, it couldn't have possibly had less depth to it.
Sitting on a high rock peak, staring out over the desolate desert landscape, he raised his shining claw toward the sunlight, trying to grasp it in his hand, but not moving those sharpened fingertips an inch. No, they were far too rough for a thing so delicate... so shallow, just like that piece of paper. One light touch and he'd tear it to shreds. He didn't want to see another sun go down.
But it did. It always did, and he consoled himself with the fact that it would rise in the morning.
A remarkable thing, the sunlight... he thought to himself, hopping off the rocks and plummeting to the ground below. He landed with a faulty skitter on the gravelly stones, sliding, stumbling, catching himself, and then going forward again. Among all the things that die, the sun is the only one that is reliably reborn, again and again, each day with all the glory of the last, if not more.
Most things didn't work like that.
Most things, if they came back from the dead, came back a shell, a hollow shadow, empty and unlike themselves. He should have known, he'd done it many times before.
They were countless, the times Vincent, or someone else, had carved out a piece of him, took it or destroyed it somehow, and he always just left it. Never turned back, never cared to pick it up in case he needed it later. Just left a wet lump of person throbbing on the floor until its final light gave out, and he lost it forever.
Twilight was deepening... the ashy rocks were turning black and intimidating all around him, and he cowered slightly in their presence. Strange formations, huge, looming wind-shaped points and edges stood out like spires of darkness from the landscape around, and it gave him bad memories. He had to stop.
Night was settling in full, now, and so Vincent huddled up under an overhanging cliff, knees pressed tight to his chest, arms encircling them, holding his legs close. He shuddered. How could it do that? How could the sun just go on to the next day like the previous one had never existed? Like it hadn't lost the day before to the sands of time, just like he was losing himself to the sands of these arrid desert winds?
What was the sun's secret?
He longed to know. Vincent Valentine was tired of darkness, but he knew that somewhere in this hellish landscape he could find the light...
...he just wished he remembered where.
Author's Ending Note Thingy: I'm posting this now, while the original is still… newly-finished. There might not be updates for a while, depends on how well the inspiration flows… I've got some ideas, but my break's half-over, once school begins… work slows down. Anyway… hope you like!
P.S. sorry for the potentially crappy French grammar in the title this time, I used an online translator... and it's like the lamest title ever in English. XD I apologize, but I couldn't resist.