a life on repeat


Her princess is forever and always asleep. Snow White all wrapped up in stiff dresses and pillow-lined boxes (and a kiss from her beloved would send her heart all aflutter) and she would, she would, but all she can think of are horrible things; maggots crawling beneath eyelids, ideas trapped on paper, and needles turning to rust.

She thinks that if she puts her pens away (beneath mountains and hills and oceans, but not cement, never cement) that maybe it would hurt a little less and maybe it would seem a little less real and maybe it would be a little less her fault, but when you're too shallow to even fill your lungs with air, you'll never be able to put them far enough beneath the surface.

Little shipwrecked reminders of things best left unsaid.


Her cell phone hits the pavement and shatters into a hundred million pieces that'll never be again.

Like Shiki.

Like Shiki who was dead and 'oh my god it's all my fault'. And the words keep swirling in her head and she can't think and she can't breath and she thinks this is what it must be like to die and maybe it's better that way because 'How could you, Eri?'

Words like ghosts or something less.


Feet pound the pavement in little one-twos. She's running from the shadows of dreams that aren't for her, from the pitter-patter of shoes she'll never be able to fill. She's running from everyone, but, mostly, she's running from herself.

She's racing sensibility and responsibility and gravity, and she's sure the world is struggling to keep pace and Eri's never done something like this before and she thinks the world might fall away from under her feet if she could just go a little faster, push a little further.

And it does.

She's falling head-over-heels-over-head (crackcracksmashsmashsnap). And gravity's laughing in her face (bloody and broken and glued firmly to the concrete) and, really, what had she expected?

Second place is only second nature.


'Wait, that's not what Iā€”'

But the door slams in her face anyway.

a / n ;; To clarify some things, the story is written backwards, the story begins with Shiki's funeral and works it's way back to what started it all-- Eri telling Shiki she wasn't meant to be a designer. Also, since the game completely leaves Shiki's death a relative mystery, I wrote her as dying from a nasty fall down a flight of stairs.

So, um, I had a lot of fun writing this drabble. I've been toying with Eri's reaction to Shiki's death, and at the same time wanting to twist it into a sort of (extremely) vague romance. So, this is what happened, and I hope you enjoyed it (even though I totally butchered Eri with the initial angst). D: