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Aug. 15th, 2009 10:26 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kh_drabbleChallenge [197]: Second Chance
Title: scattering stars like dust
Word Count: 267
Notes: Apparently Xemnas is my new favorite. Huh.
We come spinning out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust.
--Rumi
There's not a whole lot of substance to being nothing.
One would think that maybe it was a renewable force; that nothing could, in fact, spawn more nothingness. That he could create a new Organization from scratch. Maybe one with all of Zexion's cynicism, Larxene's hatefulness, Axel's irreverence. But no. He is nothing, and he is alone.
If anything, it reminds him of Marluxia's playhouse of blank walls. White as far as the eye can see (but it's not really seeing, is it?) and frigidly cold, like laboratory without the comfortable, familiar smell of chemicals. He wonders if the reason he still maintains some sense of self is that he's not really gone yet. He starts counting by primes to keep his mind (or lack thereof) in one place, so that maybe he might be able to discern the moment he starts to dissolve, to split into particles. The attempt fails miserably.
He tries to think of what he remembers, instead. Kingdom Hearts, glittering through its destruction; the icy burn of having his heart ripped from his body, and afterwards, the shaky exhaustion that racked his bones. He remembers Ansem, mostly—the day his master found him and gave him a home (like a mangy stray), the day he saw Ansem's labs and all his experiments (with his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree), and. The day the student surpassed the teacher. The day he turned on the wisest man he knew.
Floating in the void, all he can do is remember and regret. Xem—no, Xehanort thinks he is far past due for another try.
Title: scattering stars like dust
Word Count: 267
Notes: Apparently Xemnas is my new favorite. Huh.
--Rumi
There's not a whole lot of substance to being nothing.
One would think that maybe it was a renewable force; that nothing could, in fact, spawn more nothingness. That he could create a new Organization from scratch. Maybe one with all of Zexion's cynicism, Larxene's hatefulness, Axel's irreverence. But no. He is nothing, and he is alone.
If anything, it reminds him of Marluxia's playhouse of blank walls. White as far as the eye can see (but it's not really seeing, is it?) and frigidly cold, like laboratory without the comfortable, familiar smell of chemicals. He wonders if the reason he still maintains some sense of self is that he's not really gone yet. He starts counting by primes to keep his mind (or lack thereof) in one place, so that maybe he might be able to discern the moment he starts to dissolve, to split into particles. The attempt fails miserably.
He tries to think of what he remembers, instead. Kingdom Hearts, glittering through its destruction; the icy burn of having his heart ripped from his body, and afterwards, the shaky exhaustion that racked his bones. He remembers Ansem, mostly—the day his master found him and gave him a home (like a mangy stray), the day he saw Ansem's labs and all his experiments (with his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree), and. The day the student surpassed the teacher. The day he turned on the wisest man he knew.
Floating in the void, all he can do is remember and regret. Xem—no, Xehanort thinks he is far past due for another try.
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