The poem contained within is copyright me 2002. No stealing.)
Sometimes I wondered what it would have been like not to remember anything. Would it feel like something was missing? Would there be something nagging on the edge of my mind, every waking moment? Or would I simply not care, by virtue of not remembering? Would I even know that there was something not right? What would I have done, without knowing what I was doing? Would I regret it, if I ever found out?
Does it matter?
A bit ago I tried to kill the person who meant the most to me in my entire life. I had to. Everyone was counting on me. They were all waiting on me to take the shot. I didn't think I could. I thought that I had faced up to the job. I thought I could pull the trigger. But when it came down to it, I couldn't. They had to make me. She stopped the bullet anyway, but I knew what I did. It wasn't anyone else's fault that I had pulled the trigger. I didn't have to. Someone else could have tried for me. But I was the one who did.
She forgave me, of course--she had to. Thing is, I'm not sure I ever forgave myself. No one else needed forgiving. They just needed reminding. None of them could remember.
Lot of things happened. Lots of battles. Finally it was done, and there was a big party. I think I was happy. Looking back, I can't see why. That fight--was just another fight. I don't think it was really anything great.
Every day, it just got worse. I didn't know what was happening. How could I? These things I was feeling--the mingled joy of seeing friends I hadn't for most of my life, compared to the horror that haunted my dreams: the horror of forgetting, and using my forgetfulness to hurt people I cared about--these thing were something new, something frightening. I couldn't stand to be around anyone--how could I? I might hurt them.
From time to time, someone would notice and come over to talk. After a bit they would leave again, convinced that everything was all right. I wish it was that easy. I was afraid of forgetting with too much ease--and at the same time, I was wondering why I couldn't forget what I did.
How can even I explain it all?
It's been three months, and I haven't gone back to Galbadia Garden. No one minds. They all tell me I'm welcome at Balamb as long as I want to stay here. And anyway, I'm probably not even wanted at G-Garden anymore. Not wanted there and useless here--without a SeeD commission, I don't even have an income. Selphie is covering for me for now, but I don't think I can stand it much longer.
Selphie and the Festival Committee are organizing another party, and I'm not sure exactly why. Selphie insists that it's to break the monotony, but I don't think that's it. It's probably another try at cheering me up. I just hope nobody else suspects.
Squall came up to me yesterday to see if I was all right. I think Rinoa put him up to it, but it still worried me a bit. If Squall agreed to offer me sympathy, what does that say about how I'm acting?
Today was the Garden Party. I finally found out that it was to celebrate the anniversary of Garden's founding. Reassuring, but--depressing. I guess I kind of hoped it was for me.
I spent most of the party standing on the balcony, staring off into space, trying not to think of anything. I didn't work. There must be something wrong with me--all this guilt I'm feeling,I just don't know how to get rid of. I almost killed Edea--and I was the only one who cared.
After a bit, Selphie came up and wanted me to dance. She said it was her favorite song. I had never even heard of it before, but I decided to indulge her. So we got out onto the dance floor, and the music started up. I don't think I'll ever forget the words to that song:
How does the sea sound to a drowning man?
And how far is it to the land?
What color is the shore?
And as his fingers slip below,
The sea babbles.
Why is the sea so cruel?
It loves life.
But it swallows up the sailor,
You're never quite so sure,
Of who is.
Or what is.
Why ask the question, knowing
And echos only greet you
When you call.
Catharsis is an ocean
I ended the song holding her, shaking. I was trying not to cry, without knowing what I'd be crying about. Suddenly I couldn't take it anymore, and I ran out and all the way back to my rooms. I don't know what everyone else thought. Right then, I couldn't really care.
I spent a long time lying on my bed, thinking about the words to that song. And then, suddenly, it came to me. No one else would understand--after all the pain and fear and guilt, the idea was like an anodyne, an elixer. How could I not take it?
I knew what I had to do.
They sold pistols at the weapons shop in Balamb. They don't make you go through the paperwork if you can show a military ID. I had never used a pistol before. They weren't as good at killing from a distance. It was as if rifles and shotguns made it more concionable--more impersonal. I spent a long time just staring at the barrel. It was the first time I had seen a gun from this end. The barrel was dark, cold looking. I might have been afraid.
I don't know what I was doing just then. I remember thinking something about wanting to keep my eyes. Not that it would matter. I just couldn't do that--couldn't damage my eyes. A kind of stupid thing to worry about. My heart--that was it. That was what hurt.
The trigger seemed too thin. It wasn't as heavy as a shotgun's trigger. The entire pistol was too light. I wonder if it would take less effort to pull the trigger, too. How could this possibly kill someone? It wasn't right. I didn't think it could. Only shotguns and rifles kill people. Wasn't that right? Wasn't that what I always thought?
Someone was calling my name. I didn't know who. I thought that they might try to stop me, and I wanted and didn't want that at the same time. Something fast. That's what had to happen; something fast.
The trigger was too easy to pull. All the weapons I've ever used had hard triggers. This one didn't. It might have hurt. I didn't know. I don't know what hurt is anymore. I can hear it echoing, but I don't think it hurts. It's all just numb anymore.
I can see the sky through the leaves from here. It's blue--how could it be that blue? I don't think there is a blue that blue.
Now it hurts.
Someone is bending over me. I can barely recognize her. I think she's crying. I want to cry, too. Selphie--I'm sorry. I didn't want to do this in front of you. I'm really really sorry. I didn't want to do this at all.
The sky is blue, and I'm hurt, and I'm afraid. Selphie is asking me why. I can't answer her--I don't know how to answer her.
I see darkness. Everything is getting dark. But the sky is still blue--the blue hurts. It's all I can see.
This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't want this to happen.
I wish I could turne back time--not that much to ask, not with all it asks from me. Just turn it back, a few seconds, a few minutes, a lifetime....
Only shotguns and rifles kill people. Only shotguns and rifles. The rest of my life is coming faster now, and I wonder why? Pistols can't do this, it's only shotguns and rifles.
I never wanted this. I never wanted to do this. Turn back time... all I want to do is turn back time. I know I didn't do this. And I can convince fate if I can just turn back the time a bit.
I can't see anything anymore. Not even the blue. There's wind on my face--that's all I know. Wind on my face, and I'm afraid.
I never wanted this. Selphie, everyone, can you forgive me? I never wanted this...