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Nov. 7th, 2006 02:23 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge: [o82] crossroads
Title: (before) the final forward march
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reversedhymnal
Word Count: 500
Characters/Pairings: Sora
Summary: At the end.
Notes: Spoilers for the secret movie thing at the end of KHII. Also, this angst is courtesy oftabitha_dornoc’s brilliance. u.u POSTPOSTPOST-KHII. I mean like. Way long past, dude.
In a crossroad, there are four paths.
Sora pulls out the carton he hides in one of his many pockets, and taps a cigarette out. The long, white cylinder is strange against the dust and grime of the world he stands rooted in, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move, just stares down at it between fingers covered only in the tatters of gloves. They tremble, just a little, and with a twist to his mouth that is both bitter and aching and fond, he murmurs, “I blame this addiction on you, Cid. May you rest in peace, you old bastard.”
He lights it with a quick flick of his finger, a little magic that, by this point, won’t make even the slightest bit of difference. The first slow inhale is sweet, like oxygen in a world that’s closed in too tight and harsh. He exhales, and the smoke curls as if it would be a barrier before him; Sora waves it away before it finishes unfurling, and winces.
It may have been a protection. The world around him, which he’s been trying not to focus on, rips an already broken heart to shreds.
The first path is that of light. Then there is darkness, and then twilight.
“Or dawn.” Sora inhales again against the memory of the words; exhales. “They’re sort of the same thing, really.”
It’s hard to think of such things, though, standing in the midst of a graveyard. The broken and bare keyblades stand like sentinels to tragedy, and the dry desert wind makes a mockery of their lack of keychains. On his belt, his own collection – down to just a few, now - jingle and clank in solitary defiance.
It’s so much harder to contemplate without Riku there to get technical.
“Damn it,” Sora hisses, eyes squinting against the low, angry sun. There are ruins across the way, and a sense of inevitable fate about the place. He stands amidst the center of everything, and all he can think about is how much he misses what he has lost. Reaching down, he grips the Oathkeeper keychain, as though it can bring warmth back to him.
It’s all he has left though, a luckless charm; it’s a cold comfort.
And the final path?
The final path… That is the path to the heart of all things. What do you will it to be?
The cigarette doesn’t last long. Sora didn’t really think it would, used to things that end, disappear; die on him. He exhales one last, slow breath, watches the smoke curl up, reaching for the angry sky and then-
Goodbye.
-getting swept away by the wind; obliterated.
Slowly, as though each move pains him, he flicks the butt away. Brings the hand up, over the wound that was once his heart. “Don’t worry,” he speaks softly, to ghosts and memories. “I’ll finish it. Like I promised.”
Then Sora straightens, broken and alone and determined, and takes a step forward, along his chosen path.
Title: (before) the final forward march
Author:
reversedhymnalWord Count: 500
Characters/Pairings: Sora
Summary: At the end.
Notes: Spoilers for the secret movie thing at the end of KHII. Also, this angst is courtesy of
tabitha_dornoc’s brilliance. u.u POSTPOSTPOST-KHII. I mean like. Way long past, dude.In a crossroad, there are four paths.
Sora pulls out the carton he hides in one of his many pockets, and taps a cigarette out. The long, white cylinder is strange against the dust and grime of the world he stands rooted in, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move, just stares down at it between fingers covered only in the tatters of gloves. They tremble, just a little, and with a twist to his mouth that is both bitter and aching and fond, he murmurs, “I blame this addiction on you, Cid. May you rest in peace, you old bastard.”
He lights it with a quick flick of his finger, a little magic that, by this point, won’t make even the slightest bit of difference. The first slow inhale is sweet, like oxygen in a world that’s closed in too tight and harsh. He exhales, and the smoke curls as if it would be a barrier before him; Sora waves it away before it finishes unfurling, and winces.
It may have been a protection. The world around him, which he’s been trying not to focus on, rips an already broken heart to shreds.
The first path is that of light. Then there is darkness, and then twilight.
“Or dawn.” Sora inhales again against the memory of the words; exhales. “They’re sort of the same thing, really.”
It’s hard to think of such things, though, standing in the midst of a graveyard. The broken and bare keyblades stand like sentinels to tragedy, and the dry desert wind makes a mockery of their lack of keychains. On his belt, his own collection – down to just a few, now - jingle and clank in solitary defiance.
It’s so much harder to contemplate without Riku there to get technical.
“Damn it,” Sora hisses, eyes squinting against the low, angry sun. There are ruins across the way, and a sense of inevitable fate about the place. He stands amidst the center of everything, and all he can think about is how much he misses what he has lost. Reaching down, he grips the Oathkeeper keychain, as though it can bring warmth back to him.
It’s all he has left though, a luckless charm; it’s a cold comfort.
And the final path?
The final path… That is the path to the heart of all things. What do you will it to be?
The cigarette doesn’t last long. Sora didn’t really think it would, used to things that end, disappear; die on him. He exhales one last, slow breath, watches the smoke curl up, reaching for the angry sky and then-
Goodbye.
-getting swept away by the wind; obliterated.
Slowly, as though each move pains him, he flicks the butt away. Brings the hand up, over the wound that was once his heart. “Don’t worry,” he speaks softly, to ghosts and memories. “I’ll finish it. Like I promised.”
Then Sora straightens, broken and alone and determined, and takes a step forward, along his chosen path.
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