Author's Note: In middle school, I started my own personal writing project where I novelized the video game, Shadow Hearts. It's been scrapped for a long time since I've moved on to more original ideas (both fanfiction and actual novels), but last night I read this story over and figured I would post it up online. Since it was written a long time ago, I'm no longer self-conscious about it and don't care about the quality anymore. I haven't made any edits since the original draft. Beware!
Please note that this is not intended for an audience, so most of the dialogue and events are the exact same, with a few deviations that would suit more properly for a book (such as this prologue). I wrote this for myself because I wanted to write and improve, but at that time I wasn't ready to start an original story of my own. I won't continue this story beyond Chapter 4 since that is where I stopped last time. I'm posting this on fanfic dot net so it would be an easy reference whenever I want to look at my previous writing work. If you happen to enjoy reading it, then that's great too.
Disclaimer: I do not own Shadow Hearts.
SHADOW HEARTS: A NOVELIZATION
WHEN I WAS little, on the rainy nights my mom and I waited for my dad to come back home, she took a liking to telling me stories (though maybe she didn't really take a liking, but just wanted to keep me from squirming and being so restless). The rain would patter softly on the thin glass of our window, so there was nothing else to hear but the motherly and patient voice of the woman wrapping me up in her arms. Usually this took place after dinner, when I would be able to eat some type of sweet treat if I had been a good boy.
(That is a lie.)
I know because a couple weeks before I had rolled myself in the mud when I was trespassing through a neighbor farmer's backyard. He said I was no better than any of his pigs, and I thought, to hell with him then, let's see how he'll like it if I joined his stupid animals? My mom's face was redder than the ripe tomatoes I had stolen from his patch (of course, neither she nor the jackass of a farmer ever knew about this—ha!), but she still handed me a candy treat later that night as she told the story of a boy who was so naughty, he turned into a pig that then became the bacon of his own mother's breakfast.
Wonder how she was able to make up that story…
(The real reason why she gave me a candy was because she knew this time, like all other times, there was a chance my dad might never show up at the doorstep again.)
But yeah, all of the stories had a link to mine in some way, and the main character would always be based on me—is this why people keep on calling me a self-centered asshole now?—but hey, some of them were actually pretty damn funny. (Right, like I'd really be chopped up into bacon… well, maybe if Mom hadn't caught me and dragged me out of the gates when the farmer took out his shotgun.)
There was one story that was different from the rest, though.
Ugh, yeah, I remember, that one annoying story…
It was different because it was talking about a grown man instead. At my age at that time, I hated all grown-ups besides my parents.
Sorta ironic because now I'm a grown-up who hates the stupid brats. I didn't realize this until I met Halley, but… well, I'll talk about that chump later.
Another thing was his attitude at the end of the story. That's the one thing that bothered me. Not a pissed off kind of bother, but a I'm so confused that I try and try to figure this damn thing out but I still can't so now I'm just freaking annoyed kind of bother… (In short, a pissed off kind of bother.)
Now I'm not the greatest storyteller—you better keep your trap shut before you go on and point out that I'm telling you this story right now—and I'm not the greatest memorizer either. But to put it shortly, it was about a warlock who… didn't really know what the hell he was doing.
He thought he was living a pointless life. He was an aimless wanderer who knew no place to go and had no place to go. He didn't have a reason to live.
(Oh. That's a bummer.)
And then… something…
I can't remember that well now. But he got into a ton of crazy adventures, alongside with a ton of other wacky people too. Things got tougher, but they also got better. He gained courage along the way, apparently, and won in the end. Defeated the bad guy, and justice prevailed. All that good stuff.
But he lost something.
And the story drew closer to the real ending, with him anguished, bitter, depressed, tears streaming down his face—but before my mom was completely finished with the tale, she said he had spoken these famous words:
"... Even if another age of storm buffets the world, I intend to go on living—and fighting—for you who have saved me from the darkness, the one I love!"
My mom finished the story with a sigh, keeping her half-lidded eyes from closing completely shut. (Dad was later than usual.) I stared blankly at her until the silence registered as an unspoken 'the end'.
I blinked. The candy traveled down my throat, a ghost of mint left in my palate.
… The hell?
"Is that it?"
I broke the short silence, my voice accidentally too loud. (I have no such inside voice, or so people say.) My mom nodded, a bit detached by her sleepiness.
"... I don't get it." I don't get it. I don't get it.
Because now his state was the same as it was from the beginning of the story! If he was so miserable, why was he yapping all that mumbo jumbo about intending to live on? Why didn't he end his life like he could have from the start?
(Because he's changed.)
I expected my mom to say something like 'You're too young to get it' or 'If you had listened carefully you'd figure it out'—yeah, the typical response from adults—but instead, she murmured softly:
"Maybe you'll understand someday."
A creak of the door, and then the thunder of rain was louder. Wind gusted through the shack as our heads turned to the familiar figure at the doorstep. "DAD!" I shouted, and jumped in his arms, burying my face into his damp, wet coat. He apologized for being so late—got held back, some interruptions during the trip, none of those really mattered now that he was home—and my mom smiled that warm and soft smile she always had whenever he came back. And he'd stay.
(For at least another few months.)
By the time I fell asleep listening to my parents' conversation ("How was your trip?..." "... winter's getting colder..." "... don't know how long this country will go..." "... so you say you'll have to go again soon, right..." "... but enough about that, how is Yuri...?"), I didn't give much thought about someday. Maybe a little bit, when I'm waiting for Mom to finish dinner, or helping Dad plant the seeds on his farm.
Someday, I thought, Mom might have another child, and I'd finally be able to hang around and play with another kid who wouldn't think I was some snot-nosed bumpkin.
Someday, I might be able to harvest an even bigger farm just like Dad. I'd split the harvest with everyone in town because he would order me to do so instead of hogging it to myself. Hmph.
Someday, Mom would stop staring out the window with that tinge of sadness on her face, and she would stop wondering when Dad would come home.
Because someday, Dad would retire from work to stay home with Mom, and she'd be happy again.
Someday, we'd all be together, with no restraints of overseas trips for work, and we'd be a happy family.
(… None of this happened.)
Those days never came.
(Instead, what happened was...)
This story is about the someday that really happened.
Their story. Her story. My story.
To be continued.
Next chapter will be posted in a week.