A first
Here! To start things off, I think it would be nice to have an offering.
So, gentlemen, I present to you...
A fic!
Title: Struggle
Characters/pairings: Rukia, IchiRuki implied
Rating: T
Synopsis: SPOILERS FOR CURRENT MANGA ARC An observation of Rukia and her current position. A projection of worries and thoughts. On blame and forgiveness.
Struggle
Living is a struggle. Struggle hurts.
Which is easier, accepting the pain of death and following its seductive trail of blackness into oblivion? Or fighting, facing the searing pain that tears at your inner core, only to return to the haphazard struggle that is existence?
Rukia was fighting, although she couldn’t entirely understand why. She drug herself across the floor, leaving a beautiful trail of crimson and white, ice mixed with blood, tracing her journey in her petty attempt to escape death.
Death outruns death? The irony was not lost on her. She would have laughed, but the pain… the pain…
It tugged at her consciousness. It was a dull blade raking across her body, relentless in its torture. It was almost too much to bear.
But she did.
Why? She asked herself, in a moment when the calling oblivion seemed so welcoming, so soothing.
Her duties, she told herself, right? She had so many people depending on her. The people who were waiting back home, for her return. Those waiting for her elsewhere in the godforsaken wasteland called Hecto Mundo. The one who waited for liberation as she had yearned for it once, some time ago.
Yet surely they would forgive her! If she turned into the folds of bleakness, accepting the cold embrace as a welcome change from the throbbing pain raking through her body. They would be sad for a time, but they would understand.
Yes, it would be ok. She had won her final battle. She would leave no shame of defeat behind. So what if she was alone? And she wasn’t really... weren’t her allies close enough? Who could blame her if she simply let go?
But there was someone who would. And even if he forgave her, he could never forgive himself. Was it really worth it, she pondered, her freedom for his anguish?
No. She couldn’t do that to him. Not again.
Because living might be a struggle, but without struggle you can’t gauge success. You could not embrace your emotions. You couldn’t find joy your happiness or lament your sorrows. Without the struggle, there is no point. Like a fixed game, it would be uninteresting and listless. And no one wants that. Especially her.
So death resists death. She picks herself up again, and bites her lip as the pain returns once more, stronger than ever. But this time she thinks of those waiting for her, those who need her to fight for herself as she would fight for them. This time there is a smirk on her face, a smile the darkness can not touch. Rukia is thinking of life, not of death. She is thinking of things she hasn’t done, things she still must do.
Again and again, she picks herself up, dragging herself onwards. Fighting forward as she must do, as she will continue to do, until she is ready to give up the struggle, on her own terms. She fights a different kind of fight. And she promises herself she will not lose.
Hehehe! Nice to have this posted.
So, gentlemen, I present to you...
A fic!
Title: Struggle
Characters/pairings: Rukia, IchiRuki implied
Rating: T
Synopsis: SPOILERS FOR CURRENT MANGA ARC An observation of Rukia and her current position. A projection of worries and thoughts. On blame and forgiveness.
Struggle
Living is a struggle. Struggle hurts.
Which is easier, accepting the pain of death and following its seductive trail of blackness into oblivion? Or fighting, facing the searing pain that tears at your inner core, only to return to the haphazard struggle that is existence?
Rukia was fighting, although she couldn’t entirely understand why. She drug herself across the floor, leaving a beautiful trail of crimson and white, ice mixed with blood, tracing her journey in her petty attempt to escape death.
Death outruns death? The irony was not lost on her. She would have laughed, but the pain… the pain…
It tugged at her consciousness. It was a dull blade raking across her body, relentless in its torture. It was almost too much to bear.
But she did.
Why? She asked herself, in a moment when the calling oblivion seemed so welcoming, so soothing.
Her duties, she told herself, right? She had so many people depending on her. The people who were waiting back home, for her return. Those waiting for her elsewhere in the godforsaken wasteland called Hecto Mundo. The one who waited for liberation as she had yearned for it once, some time ago.
Yet surely they would forgive her! If she turned into the folds of bleakness, accepting the cold embrace as a welcome change from the throbbing pain raking through her body. They would be sad for a time, but they would understand.
Yes, it would be ok. She had won her final battle. She would leave no shame of defeat behind. So what if she was alone? And she wasn’t really... weren’t her allies close enough? Who could blame her if she simply let go?
But there was someone who would. And even if he forgave her, he could never forgive himself. Was it really worth it, she pondered, her freedom for his anguish?
No. She couldn’t do that to him. Not again.
Because living might be a struggle, but without struggle you can’t gauge success. You could not embrace your emotions. You couldn’t find joy your happiness or lament your sorrows. Without the struggle, there is no point. Like a fixed game, it would be uninteresting and listless. And no one wants that. Especially her.
So death resists death. She picks herself up again, and bites her lip as the pain returns once more, stronger than ever. But this time she thinks of those waiting for her, those who need her to fight for herself as she would fight for them. This time there is a smirk on her face, a smile the darkness can not touch. Rukia is thinking of life, not of death. She is thinking of things she hasn’t done, things she still must do.
Again and again, she picks herself up, dragging herself onwards. Fighting forward as she must do, as she will continue to do, until she is ready to give up the struggle, on her own terms. She fights a different kind of fight. And she promises herself she will not lose.
Hehehe! Nice to have this posted.