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Jumoku	By : shinigamiinochi Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 485 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Jumoku
- 1
In the spirit of Halloween (my favorite holiday! Yaay
horror flick marathons!)

here is a traditional horror tale based on a old
English folklore.

Jumoku

Notes: The word 'jumoku' means tree. This fic is, despite having been written in

August, a Halloween fic. It is not a usual horror
story in that it has no

monsters or knife-happy psychos. Instead, it was written in the classic,
macabre

style, a la Edgar Allen Poe. It is dedicated to my neighbors, whom I hate, my

favorite cousin (Fu)'s older brother, whom I hate even more, and Fu, who is

currently working in Japan
as an animator and musician.

Shi-ichii: *pats Fu on the head*

Fu: *prrrrrrrrr*

^^ Y'see, right outside my bedroom is a freaky tree;
it is very old and has long

sharp branches. My stupid neighbors have this goddamn lantern that faces my

room. So, every night when I woke up, I would see these giant, claw-shadows

reaching over my bed. >< Scaary! And whenever
my two cousins came over, Fu's

prick of a brother would say:

" The tree's reaching out to steal the souls of little kids." And Fu
would say

" Nah, this is the sort of tree that reaches out her branches to ensnare
the

soul's of bad people." ^^ He was pretty smart for one his age! And so cuute!

*pinches his cheek*

Fu: owie

Author�s Note: Really, really old fic warning!

Pairings: 2+Solo, 1+2 in later chapters.

Warnings: Attempted NCS, little Duo angst, slight gore.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: On a dying colony, it is said that a tree grows on the land of corpses

and if you happen to pass by it in the dark of night and are unclean, it will

reap your soul.

It is said that there is a tree that grows on the land of corpses. It is said

that, if it is in the dead of night and you pass by it with an unclean soul, it

will be taken from you...

Out in the blackness of space floats a dying wasteland. On this wasteland,
whose

skies are covered in dark, sludge-colored clouds and artificial rivers have
long

since turned to ash, there is a barren field. Barren, except for dry, oat-weeds,

not even tall enough to reach your ankles, which crackled and
crunched beneath

the bare feet of a child, brittle with decay, as was the entire colony. Barren,

desolate, gray. Beneath this field, lay over a thousand corpses, each
with its

own story to tell, each with its own sadness. On top of these corpses grew a

tree, its bark alive and roots constantly growing. Its
dark, clawed branches

reaching, always reaching. This tree was not dead. Thriving on the ashes of the

dead, this tree was the only thing alive. For there was plenty filth, plenty

pain, plenty darkness for it to feed on.

On this colony, on its streets, ran a child, clothed only in rags, running.
Many

times before this youth had run to live, but now he ran to die.

His once pale face covered in the ashes of the streets, his bones thrust
against

poor flesh that seemed barely able to contain them. His hair, a mistakable
brown

blur of matted, stringed lengths, rubbing against his chilled flesh as his

shoeless feet hit the pavement. Cut, sore, and bruised, they continued to run.

It was a familiar place for him, that field. It was where his dead lay. He
knew,

for he, with his small, calloused hands, had buried him there, himself, over a

dozen of them and later, almost a three hundred more. This was where the ones
he

loved lay. This was where, the only place where, he felt at peace, though now

the feeling did not come. This was where the gnarled, thriving tree grew. This

was where he would lose his soul.

Duo sunk to his bare, scarred knees, the tattered khaki shorts barely covering

his thighs, and leaned up against the dark tree where Solo had been buried by

his own hands. His eyes flickered in anger, a violet flame that soon became an

inferno. He looked up into the brown sky and let out a cry so guttural and

filled with sorrow that the field itself seemed to be crying as well. Finally,

when he could scream no more, a deafening silence ensued. Yet, he was not

scared.

A single word escaped from his lips, small and weak, barely a whisper, yet

strong and powerful so that even the tree trembled.

" Solo."

He looked up to the clawing branches.

�If you can hear me, you can clearly see... I am a bad person, an evil person.

I let the only person I had ever loved die. So, if you like, you can feed on
me.

If you are merciful, you will take my soul from me as I sleep. I don't want it

no more...'

The tree, in all of its old wisdom, covered him in a dark shadow as the small

boy slept.

Duo awoke to the sound of street-roughened laughter, hard and dark, and the

rotting stench of heavy liquored breath, a mere few inches from his face. Words

and leering glances meddled together in his fogged vision, made gray by his

bleeding heart. Hands, made as rough as the voices by years of gang fights,

grabbed at him.

He was not oblivious to what was shortly going to happen to him. Deep inside,
he

was aware. Yet this awareness was strangely detached. He knew what was

happening, but he made no move to run, scream, or fight back. After all, if you

couldn't feel it, it couldn't happen. And in the midst of losing his last
chance

for happiness, rape seemed somewhat comically trivial to him. If Solo had been

there, he might have slapped him out of it and screamed at him for being stupid,

but Solo wasn't here. Solo was never going to come. He
wasn't going to appear

out of nowhere like always. Because, Solo couldn't. He
was...

Duo numbly looked up into the reaching branches. He smiled as they moved

forward. The clawed shadows fell over them and he closed his eyes, waiting for

his rest. For that, he would always wait. He could feel those dark arms
reaching

out, sharp-clawed, so close; he could feel the emptiness in his chest. This

emptiness was different than before. This did not ache. This was... nothing.

Duo heard a gut retching scream a few feet from him as warm blood splattered

onto his face and slowly journeyed down his neck. He lethargically opened his

eyes once more. There were three of them. They lay limp, overcast in the

shadows, chests burst open so that Duo could see bits of red flesh; much like

that he had often seen hanging from the carts on the streets, dangling off of

the snapped ribs. Duo stared, peacefully into the gaping cavity. Then, the tree,

and the sharp shadows were as it had been before.

A dry chuckle came from Duo's throat. It grew and grew until it became loud and

hysterical, echoing through the field like his earlier cry, too much like it.

This laugh continued to grow until his cries and his laughter became one so
that

one could not distinguish one from the other.

He was such a fool to ever believe he could seek peace under this tree.

Because...

you couldn't take what was never there.

Owari

Happy Halloween!
- 1
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