Challenge [277]
Nov. 30th, 2011 08:25 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ceylmallyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kh_drabbleChallenge: [277] Revenge
Title: Still Waters
Word Count: 585
Spoilers: For BBS secret ending, if there are still people who haven't seen it.
Notes: I always want to write more about him, but he is so fricking hard to write for. :\
Waves washed slowly over the cold sands of the beach. In this moonless world, there were no tides-- only the quiet stirring of the sea, perpetually gnawing at its shores.
Aged hands lowered slowly into the dark water, cupping and sifting fine sands through fingers.
"My name..." He frowned, shook his head. It should have been such a simple thing. Was it not one of the first things infants learned-- the word which meant them?
He remembered the high towers of a castle against the pale sky of dawn, and a darkness of wicked machinery under that castle. Had he used that machinery, once? He could not remember, but decided it best to assume that he had-- there was a time when he would have committed any wickedness, for knowledge or for vengeance. And so, pragmatically, he thought it best to assume he might have done anything in the name of that pursuit-- anything at all.
After all, he was here now.
Though a shimmer of light echoed from far away, an unreachable realm across the sea, it never rose or set-- it was not a sun, only a dim remnant of something lost to him. The beach drifted in the same timelessness as the rest of this realm, where there were no days, no years.
He remembered six young men, and learning of a horror that once defied his comprehension. And-- later-- a burning rage, a wish to see them all wiped from existence.
("You are no longer human. You-- you are dead to me! I do not know what you are, but the man I knew exists no more!" And his fist struck a table in fury, sending something-- a test tube?-- shattering on the floor.)
With a sigh, he let the remaining sand slip through his fingers into the black water, and reclined on the beach. Was it after that, the first time he'd ended up here? He could not remember. Only the darkness, and how it swallowed up his burning rage, leaving him alone and despairing in this realm.
Somewhere in his faintest memories, he recalled water that flowed in streams, oceans ruled by tides. Though there was nothing here to draw the waters from the shore, the darkness moved in invisible tides-- sometimes swift, sometimes slow, bending around objects like water. Once, long ago, he had noticed this for the first time. Had the darkness seeped into him slowly, until he could feel its tides in his body, or had he taken it all in at once?
He could not remember that, either. Only that he had, and there was a time when he could work the power of darkness, mold it to his will.
And from that power had grown a new rage-- cold, sharp, and diamond-hard.
And with that power, he'd set out to do something terrible-- a design of revenge against those six men, whose names he could no more recall. Nor could he remember how to use the power by which he'd escaped from this realm.
"For what is it to a man, if he gains the world but loses his soul..." Frowning, he shook his head. The quote he could not remember correctly, either.
His fingers worked grooves in the sand.
"Did you remember it?" Aqua asked, from somewhere behind him. "Your name?"
"No." He shook his head. "Nothing at all."
Title: Still Waters
Word Count: 585
Spoilers: For BBS secret ending, if there are still people who haven't seen it.
Notes: I always want to write more about him, but he is so fricking hard to write for. :\
Waves washed slowly over the cold sands of the beach. In this moonless world, there were no tides-- only the quiet stirring of the sea, perpetually gnawing at its shores.
Aged hands lowered slowly into the dark water, cupping and sifting fine sands through fingers.
"My name..." He frowned, shook his head. It should have been such a simple thing. Was it not one of the first things infants learned-- the word which meant them?
He remembered the high towers of a castle against the pale sky of dawn, and a darkness of wicked machinery under that castle. Had he used that machinery, once? He could not remember, but decided it best to assume that he had-- there was a time when he would have committed any wickedness, for knowledge or for vengeance. And so, pragmatically, he thought it best to assume he might have done anything in the name of that pursuit-- anything at all.
After all, he was here now.
Though a shimmer of light echoed from far away, an unreachable realm across the sea, it never rose or set-- it was not a sun, only a dim remnant of something lost to him. The beach drifted in the same timelessness as the rest of this realm, where there were no days, no years.
He remembered six young men, and learning of a horror that once defied his comprehension. And-- later-- a burning rage, a wish to see them all wiped from existence.
("You are no longer human. You-- you are dead to me! I do not know what you are, but the man I knew exists no more!" And his fist struck a table in fury, sending something-- a test tube?-- shattering on the floor.)
With a sigh, he let the remaining sand slip through his fingers into the black water, and reclined on the beach. Was it after that, the first time he'd ended up here? He could not remember. Only the darkness, and how it swallowed up his burning rage, leaving him alone and despairing in this realm.
Somewhere in his faintest memories, he recalled water that flowed in streams, oceans ruled by tides. Though there was nothing here to draw the waters from the shore, the darkness moved in invisible tides-- sometimes swift, sometimes slow, bending around objects like water. Once, long ago, he had noticed this for the first time. Had the darkness seeped into him slowly, until he could feel its tides in his body, or had he taken it all in at once?
He could not remember that, either. Only that he had, and there was a time when he could work the power of darkness, mold it to his will.
And from that power had grown a new rage-- cold, sharp, and diamond-hard.
And with that power, he'd set out to do something terrible-- a design of revenge against those six men, whose names he could no more recall. Nor could he remember how to use the power by which he'd escaped from this realm.
"For what is it to a man, if he gains the world but loses his soul..." Frowning, he shook his head. The quote he could not remember correctly, either.
His fingers worked grooves in the sand.
"Did you remember it?" Aqua asked, from somewhere behind him. "Your name?"
"No." He shook his head. "Nothing at all."
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