Waiting for the Rain to End
I once heard of a man who wanted something so badly that he dedicated his life to finding it; but in the end, it was his obsession that was the end of him. The fixation wound around his throat slowly like a boa constrictor, and slowly (oh so slowly) took his life away moment by moment, until there was nothing left but cold flesh, and dead eyes, staring unblinking into oblivion.
I don't know where I heard the story, and I don't remember the details; perhaps it was in a book, or merely a story told by a street performer in Agrabah or perhaps in Neverland—Or maybe I've mixed up every story I've ever read (or think I've read), and this is the result. Or perhaps the story is something my mind made up in order to tell me something. I don't know, and I think perhaps a part of me doesn't want to know, but I think the point is, that I once heard a story about a man, and how that man let his own desires kill him. And now I think that it's happening to me.
"But that shouldn't be so."
I don't know how many times I've whispered that in the night waiting for the rain to stop—not that the rain ever stops—and I wonder how I've let a desire ensnare my senses so wholly that their would be no turning back, even when I began to realize why I feel as though I were slowly choking. And it's times like that that I wonder if the raindrops running down my cheeks are really raindrops at all. (But I've never cried before, so why start now?)
And as I lie waiting for the rain to stop, I remember what brought me to the place I was, lying alone in the streets in a World that Never Was (And never should have been), hiding from those that I could have—but never did—call kin. And I remember green eyes, and red hair, and fire setting all my senses aflame; and most of all I remember desires, and how that desire (or perhaps a whim?) spurred a man (who was more made of fire then water) to want to protect me…
…And then inevitably I always remember corpses, and their oh so familiar faces; the dead, lifeless flesh (so much like the man in the story), destroyed not by their own desires—"They followed Xemna's ideology, and Xemnas's desires after all" I remind myself—but by mine.
And I feel the weight of their lifeless eyes on me even now. Sightless forever, and forever a burden on my (nonexistent) soul.
And then another fleeting desire drove me from those eyes, and that blood red hair. And now if the Organization doesn't kill me, (if he doesn't kill me) the other side will, and in the end I'll get what I wanted (my thirst for knowledge quenched), but it'll have ended me (not killed; never killed. To be killed would be kinder.).
And I've been lying here, with the rain dripping on my face—drip drop, drip drop—waiting for the rain to stop, and remembering the story of a man. And as I hear footsteps approach, and see a boy with silver hair and a blindfold, I can't help but smile—because this was what I was looking for, right? —And think to myself—while trying desperately not to think about red hair and green eyes, and trying not to regret choosing this road—that "this perhaps is my epilogue."
And in the end I get my answers, only to have them pulled away along with all my memories, one by one, and I think "This is a fate crueler then death, but I think it's a fitting end." And I find myself thinking that the only way my death could have been more fitting, was if it had been by burning.
And before I forget, I find myself whispering to the boy in the blindfold, "Have you ever wanted something so bad that you chased after it, no matter how hopeless it seemed? Chased it, even though you knew that it would most certainly be your end?", and I remember that he smiled (as if he understood), and then…
A/N: I was looking through some of my older documents and stumbled across a rough copy of this, and I decided to post it. This fashion of writing is a bit… different from my usual style, and I honestly forget what inspired me to write this, but… I hope you guys like it anyway. :D
Reviews are loved and appreciated. ;)