This is by no means a masterpiece, and would probably be better with more words and description and whatnot, but I just don't know what else to put. It's been a while since I've done anything.

Words, Hands, Hearts is a song by Yellowcard, so I don't own it. I've used some of the lyrics that reminded me of KH, which I don't own either. At first it was supposed to be Roxas centred, but then I got another idea and just went along with it and hey presto! another semi-crappy semi-songfic thing. Anyway.


The way things ARE.

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lights, camera, action

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WORDS (being told the way things are) –
The whole world is watching with one blank stare

"There was something in me," she says. "That's no longer there."

He doesn't understand. Not her, not him, not anything. He wants to shout, to scream. He wants so much that he can't have. But he's searching for something that cannot be found.

He wants to go back. Back, back, to when everything was right, was perfect. The days when he sat with them, his FRIENDS, on the clock tower, ice cream in hand.

Those were the days.

But now there was just this, this girl with answers she never gave, frustrating him to the core; this man with fire hair and fire words, blazing and scorching him down to the marrow of his bones. He can't stand this, wants to believe it isn't real, isn't happened, it's just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

But it isn't.

Everything is backwards – reality is a dream, dreams are reality. But he doesn't know that.

So it's not his fault that he's confused, is it?

And this man, stood before him, weapons ready, claimed to be his BEST FRIEND. But really, who was he kidding? BEST FRIENDS didn't do this to each other. BEST FRIENDS didn't threaten and blackmail, didn't ask for the impossible. BEST FRIENDS didn't try to kill you.

But oh, he knows that already, didn't he? He knows, but he doesn't. Not him.

Everything else is frozen, staring, everyone motionless as if the world itself had stopped, as if time itself had stopped. Or perhaps it hadn't – clocks, all clocks ever did was corkscrew. Maybe now time was shooting for the nearest star, free at last on static wings…

Everyone is just watching with that one blank stare.

"It's all real, you know," he whispers, the man with the fire, the black cored flames. "As real as you or me."

But you're not real; he wants to scream, to cry. You're not real and maybe I'm not either. Maybe none of this ever existed. Maybe we don't.

And that's the truth right there.

HANDS (causing the way things are) –
The whole world is different now men have died

"There was something in you," he says. "That's no longer there."

He doesn't quite know what the mouse means, but he thinks maybe he does. His hands are black with darkness. He only notices now, when the dark becomes something else, something stranger. Something that's not him.

They're cut and bruised and calloused and he remembers how he used to think that this was good, that these hands were good, told a tale of battles he had fought, valiant.

Oh, such lies. Such lies like poison in his brain. Poison, poison. They flit and flutter, from his tongue, from hers, from theirs.

Deception is like breathing, it's so easy now. So easy.

You were just the delivery boy.

I did all this for her.

He remembers way back when, boy, girl, boy. They were a three, a trio, a triangle, and there was no stronger shape than a triangle. They were invincible. They were FRIENDS. No, he thinks, they were BEST FRIENDS.

But BEST FRIENDS don't try to kill each other. BEST FRIENDS don't betray each other. He wonders now why he ever listened to the witch, why he believed her, but of course he knows. He knew all along.

He likes to think that he is the better one. He likes to think, to think… he is better, isn't he? He was stronger, faster, smarter, he won most swordfights. He was better, he was!

But when he glances at his past, and his BEST FRIEND is on his hands and knees before him, when the echo of his cruelty reaches his ears from before, he does wonder if he ever was, deep down were it always mattered.

"We'll be okay," says the mouse besides him. "We'll be just fine."

No we won't, he wants to say, to die. No we won't, I won't, nothing will be fine and nothing will ever be the same again.

He knows enough to realise that, you see.

HEARTS (living the way things are)
The whole world was sleeping and I was there.

"There was something in us all," they said. "That's no longer there."

He understood perfectly what they were saying. There was something, a something that gave them purpose and drew them forwards, a goal, a promise to keep and a promise that they'd gain something from this madness, this war. There was a fire, he knew. A fire that was put out. A light that winked out, like the stars, the worlds, in the sky. But then it disappeared and he was weary on the grass at the crossroads, middle of nowhere, and they decided they may as well stop for the night cause, golly, was it dark!

He couldn't sleep, though. Nightmare creatures plagued him in the waking world, too, you know. He didn't need anymore of that. He didn't.

But thoughts of his BEST FRIENDS, as his FRIENDS lay asleep – they didn't bring comfort like they usually did. Him in the darkness, her in the light, him in-between and he didn't know anymore. He didn't know anything.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked the worlds. "What do we do?"

And when the hooded figure came, he went.

Because there was something, but now it is gone, missing, lost.

And so was he.

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(Men have died, Sora cried, thoughts dark as ghosted shadows on ink black wings.)

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(One blank stare, Riku sighed, as the yellow-eyed heartless implodes and sings.)

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(I WAS THERE, Roxas tried, but the worlds turned a deaf ear to the inexistent things.)

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