Taking Wing
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
501
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
501
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Dragon's Fire
Darkness hovered at the edges of the wavering light provided by the small candle. A small figure, dressed in formal robes was fading in and out of shadows at the edge of that warmth. A thin stick held forth, the tip catching alight. It burned in a sudden flash that faded quickly into an unsteady stream of smoke. The incense was placed in the base of a portable alter. The smoke briefly circled the darkened picture before disappearing into the darkness. Everything disappeared into the darkness. All light was swallowed by the black of space. Nothing lasted. All life burned bright for a moment and faded into a whispery darkness.
A stained ribbon was gingerly draped over the frame, causing the smoke to gather and waver. Hands clapped twice, quietly swallowed by the night. A soft voice chanted for the spirits. Ancestors gathered to hear the prayer, shadows moving within shadows. The light of the candle blinded the worshiper to anything beyond the dark picture. The scent of the incense overpowered the typical scents of gunpowder and blood. Chants echoed back into ears closed to the world. This was his reality. His failure.
The tea light guttered. Long fingers gently folded the ribbon and tucked it away with the picture at the bottom of his tiny rucksack. Ashes fell from the incense to dust the altar. Deeply carved dragons filled with ash and tears and blood. All that was left. All that was good, burned away and brushed away and lost to the darkness. He could not look at the picture in daylight. He did not need to. All he ever saw was her face. Pale and lifeless. His failure. Her voice deafened him to all else. Demanding and righteous. Her triumph.
He stashed the altar under a floorboard and walked out of the dark room into the dark night. He could not crawl into darkness with her until he had snuffed the light of her killers.
She had burned him. Now, he existed as the ephemeral smoke, nothing but a burnt out ember drifting ever further into the darkness.
A stained ribbon was gingerly draped over the frame, causing the smoke to gather and waver. Hands clapped twice, quietly swallowed by the night. A soft voice chanted for the spirits. Ancestors gathered to hear the prayer, shadows moving within shadows. The light of the candle blinded the worshiper to anything beyond the dark picture. The scent of the incense overpowered the typical scents of gunpowder and blood. Chants echoed back into ears closed to the world. This was his reality. His failure.
The tea light guttered. Long fingers gently folded the ribbon and tucked it away with the picture at the bottom of his tiny rucksack. Ashes fell from the incense to dust the altar. Deeply carved dragons filled with ash and tears and blood. All that was left. All that was good, burned away and brushed away and lost to the darkness. He could not look at the picture in daylight. He did not need to. All he ever saw was her face. Pale and lifeless. His failure. Her voice deafened him to all else. Demanding and righteous. Her triumph.
He stashed the altar under a floorboard and walked out of the dark room into the dark night. He could not crawl into darkness with her until he had snuffed the light of her killers.
She had burned him. Now, he existed as the ephemeral smoke, nothing but a burnt out ember drifting ever further into the darkness.