A Ghost in Love with the Wrong World [KHR, Mukuro]
Title: A Ghost in Love with the Wrong World
Fandom: KHR
Character: Mukuro
Word Count: ~250
Notes: for annotated_em in the drabble game here.
In his prison, Mukuro cannot see, cannot hear, cannot feel. He is suspended in space: hanging, it seems, in a timeless vacuum where nothing gets in and nothing gets out. He creates worlds in his head. Imagines himself walking through fields in a thunderstorm, the rain thud-thudding against his head, running down his nose and dripping onto his shirt.
He could create such imaginary worlds for himself to live in, worlds where he is the only inhabitant or worlds where he is one among many, with a family - a true family - to call his own. It would be a happy life, a life with no difficulties.
It would also be incredibly dull.
Mukuro cannot understand why it is the world that confines him that he is so drawn to, slipping almost without decision down the familiar pathways of Mist from his own mind into Chrome's or Fran's. This world, that is flawed and cruel and lonely, where he has somehow acquired a Family, but a family only of his own making.
It is sunny the day that that they unchain him and half carry him outside because his legs are trembling beneath him. Mukuro has to conjure a shade in front of his eyes: he is too accustomed to the darkness. But he can feel freshly-ploughed soil crumbling under his feet and the warmth on his face.
But this is his world.
Or it will be.
Fandom: KHR
Character: Mukuro
Word Count: ~250
Notes: for annotated_em in the drabble game here.
In his prison, Mukuro cannot see, cannot hear, cannot feel. He is suspended in space: hanging, it seems, in a timeless vacuum where nothing gets in and nothing gets out. He creates worlds in his head. Imagines himself walking through fields in a thunderstorm, the rain thud-thudding against his head, running down his nose and dripping onto his shirt.
He could create such imaginary worlds for himself to live in, worlds where he is the only inhabitant or worlds where he is one among many, with a family - a true family - to call his own. It would be a happy life, a life with no difficulties.
It would also be incredibly dull.
Mukuro cannot understand why it is the world that confines him that he is so drawn to, slipping almost without decision down the familiar pathways of Mist from his own mind into Chrome's or Fran's. This world, that is flawed and cruel and lonely, where he has somehow acquired a Family, but a family only of his own making.
It is sunny the day that that they unchain him and half carry him outside because his legs are trembling beneath him. Mukuro has to conjure a shade in front of his eyes: he is too accustomed to the darkness. But he can feel freshly-ploughed soil crumbling under his feet and the warmth on his face.
But this is his world.
Or it will be.