The Show Must Go On
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
356
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
356
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.
The Show Must Go On
Disclaimer: Only because it\'s illeagle to do without it...Stupid copyright laws...
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He stood there…the perpetual frown ever entrenched on half of his face, the undying porcelain smile on the other. Invisible eyes beneath hair and mask watching the world. His life was wholly like the act he put on, it has been and always will. There was a time, though, when “The World’s Most Depressed Clown” wasn’t so depressed. A time when an glowing cherub filled him with a sincerity that only a true angel could present. Paradoxically enough this time was the war…and he fought for peace along side his angel and his friends. Ages pass…ties are broke…promises are forgotten…but he could never forget that time.
Trowa sat at the end of the davenport the dynamically animated Duo Maxwell bouncing about the small living space the five of them were to share for the next couple of months and at the other end of the sofa was the beautiful blonde seraph, smiling so splendidly that it would have melt even the most hardhearted man into a giggling school girl, much like the Duo himself. Even Trowa himself couldn’t help but chuckle lightly to himself, drawing that smile out from Quatre even farther.
He sighed and set the cheerfulness that wasn’t him next to the picture of his guardian angel staring at it sadly. Never would he overcome the despondency he threw himself into, knowing the toll it would take on his spirit and mind. He lifted the picture to his lips, kissing it unconscientiously and left the trailer. Fixed outside the lion’s cage gripping the cold steel bars going over his fondest remembrance of his little one.
Quatre sat in the audience watching Trowa walk the tight rope with unbelievable assurance. The blonde found himself biting his nail in anticipation, praying that the banged boy made it across to the other side. Only when the older boy had stopped in the middle and face the crowd did he then notice the girl who had been swinging on the trapeze was spiraling towards Trowa. “Oh Allah no,” Quatre closed his eyes only to reopen them just before the girl landed safely in Trowa’s arms, still the boy remained as straight as a poll. Later he had came and told the older boy how wonderful he was and he met Goliath and Cathrine.
A sob choked it’s way out from the clown as the lion lapped at his face. That had been the first and last time his angel would come to see him perform. For tonight was not only the anniversary of there undividable union, but ’twas also the birthday of the immortal light’s death. A tragedy that would forever haunt him until the day he followed.
Sirens blared and lights flashed casting an eerie shadow over already frightening world . Trowa could only stand in lifeless horror as Quatre was removed from the scene in a body bag. The boy had waken up to the sound of a gunshot and the thud of a body hitting the floor. A note rested in the caresses of the angelic adolescent’s hand, just as red as the rest of the room. Moronically he pressed his head to Quatre chest in an attempt to find a heartbeat, though kind of pointless with a whole straight through it. Kissing the boy’s lips lightly Trowa slipped the note into his pocket and called the police.
“My dearest Trowa,
This was my choice, it wasn’t your fault.
I couldn’t sleep without the war consuming me.
The screams of the Mobile pilots when we showed up.
They knew why we were there…did we?
There is no place in heaven for murderers…and we fall under the serial killer category.
Forgive me.
With love,
Quatre R. Winner\"
It had become some sort of religious practice to read the letter aloud before the final performance on this night. He set the smirk…that horrible mock of life he’d had enough of this travesty.
Click. Boom. Cathrine ran to Trowa’s trailer, apprehension of the worse filled her head. Forcing the door open she stood in stark terror. There lay Trowa hole through his head and all, mask fallen to the side cracked and tainted along side the letter. Her eyes fell shut after finishing the letter and the softest “I love you” was heard. Quietly Cathrine put the letter in Trowa’s pocket and called the police.
Violins and flutes played in harmony as the casket was lowered into the ground in front of a gravestone decorated by means of theatrical masks fractured and bound in ribbon. Epitaph read in all simpleness “The Show Must Go On”.
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So...? Sad, ne? I can\'t beleive I wrote it... It has an alternate ending...I\'ll prabably post it up next... It\'s more..sutied for this site anyways..Reveiw..you don\'t have to...Got any requests? E-mail me!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He stood there…the perpetual frown ever entrenched on half of his face, the undying porcelain smile on the other. Invisible eyes beneath hair and mask watching the world. His life was wholly like the act he put on, it has been and always will. There was a time, though, when “The World’s Most Depressed Clown” wasn’t so depressed. A time when an glowing cherub filled him with a sincerity that only a true angel could present. Paradoxically enough this time was the war…and he fought for peace along side his angel and his friends. Ages pass…ties are broke…promises are forgotten…but he could never forget that time.
Trowa sat at the end of the davenport the dynamically animated Duo Maxwell bouncing about the small living space the five of them were to share for the next couple of months and at the other end of the sofa was the beautiful blonde seraph, smiling so splendidly that it would have melt even the most hardhearted man into a giggling school girl, much like the Duo himself. Even Trowa himself couldn’t help but chuckle lightly to himself, drawing that smile out from Quatre even farther.
He sighed and set the cheerfulness that wasn’t him next to the picture of his guardian angel staring at it sadly. Never would he overcome the despondency he threw himself into, knowing the toll it would take on his spirit and mind. He lifted the picture to his lips, kissing it unconscientiously and left the trailer. Fixed outside the lion’s cage gripping the cold steel bars going over his fondest remembrance of his little one.
Quatre sat in the audience watching Trowa walk the tight rope with unbelievable assurance. The blonde found himself biting his nail in anticipation, praying that the banged boy made it across to the other side. Only when the older boy had stopped in the middle and face the crowd did he then notice the girl who had been swinging on the trapeze was spiraling towards Trowa. “Oh Allah no,” Quatre closed his eyes only to reopen them just before the girl landed safely in Trowa’s arms, still the boy remained as straight as a poll. Later he had came and told the older boy how wonderful he was and he met Goliath and Cathrine.
A sob choked it’s way out from the clown as the lion lapped at his face. That had been the first and last time his angel would come to see him perform. For tonight was not only the anniversary of there undividable union, but ’twas also the birthday of the immortal light’s death. A tragedy that would forever haunt him until the day he followed.
Sirens blared and lights flashed casting an eerie shadow over already frightening world . Trowa could only stand in lifeless horror as Quatre was removed from the scene in a body bag. The boy had waken up to the sound of a gunshot and the thud of a body hitting the floor. A note rested in the caresses of the angelic adolescent’s hand, just as red as the rest of the room. Moronically he pressed his head to Quatre chest in an attempt to find a heartbeat, though kind of pointless with a whole straight through it. Kissing the boy’s lips lightly Trowa slipped the note into his pocket and called the police.
“My dearest Trowa,
This was my choice, it wasn’t your fault.
I couldn’t sleep without the war consuming me.
The screams of the Mobile pilots when we showed up.
They knew why we were there…did we?
There is no place in heaven for murderers…and we fall under the serial killer category.
Forgive me.
With love,
Quatre R. Winner\"
It had become some sort of religious practice to read the letter aloud before the final performance on this night. He set the smirk…that horrible mock of life he’d had enough of this travesty.
Click. Boom. Cathrine ran to Trowa’s trailer, apprehension of the worse filled her head. Forcing the door open she stood in stark terror. There lay Trowa hole through his head and all, mask fallen to the side cracked and tainted along side the letter. Her eyes fell shut after finishing the letter and the softest “I love you” was heard. Quietly Cathrine put the letter in Trowa’s pocket and called the police.
Violins and flutes played in harmony as the casket was lowered into the ground in front of a gravestone decorated by means of theatrical masks fractured and bound in ribbon. Epitaph read in all simpleness “The Show Must Go On”.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So...? Sad, ne? I can\'t beleive I wrote it... It has an alternate ending...I\'ll prabably post it up next... It\'s more..sutied for this site anyways..Reveiw..you don\'t have to...Got any requests? E-mail me!