Title: Bakas can cry
Disclaimers: None. I wanna sleep....
Notes: Hmmm...I don't like it---but then again, i don't like anything i write...but if it means anything, i think its marginally better than the last one i did.....Dammit, there's too many 'he's'...::ahem:: Would anybody like to be my beta reader? Job's open ;) Oh! Does anyone already have something by this title? I seem to recall....If they do, extrememly sorry, didn't know.
God, he was tired. Tired, tired, tired of stupid wars fought by even stupider people. He supposed that just made him a weakling baka. How touching...I am a baka, just like he always says. It was only fitting, after all. But that wasn't the way it was supposed to end up.
He recalled, vaguely, that once there was joy and happiness, where children played...But that was a long time ago.../Oh Sweet Sunday---Bombs rage and children scream---Innocence---Lost/ The poem seemed to sum up that chapter of his life. Lost, a long time ago, never the same contentment to be found again.
He lifted his head from the scarred desk it had been laying on. And giggled. The seared surface reminded him of himself. Pitted, jagged, with rough spots everywhere, but still functional. He giggled, again, wondering what the oh-so-perfect asshole would have to say to that.
He took a swig of...something-(was it beer?) from the bottle and thought deeply on it, fist on chin, frowning fiercely, the other hand tightly gripping the bottle of..oh yes, it was wine. Wasn't it? But wait, he didn't drink wine---Did he? It didn't matter anyway.
He sniggered, happy to find such an epitome for his life. It didn't matter anyway! Nothing really did. Life was meaningless, just a gigantic puzzle no one ever seemed to figure out. No one ever saw the big picture because they couldn't handle it; they were all too rigidly attached to their human wants and needs. But there was nothing for him to cling to. Where his future should be, a dark pit of regret and remorse, destruction and pain gaped open, and was slowly beginning a downward spiral. And that would be his future. A fitting monument to his sins.
He took another swig, trying to drown his sorrows in drink. Silly baka, he chided himself, sorrows are not living things that can be killed. But then he reconsidered, thought of his own, and hoped they could be.
He gulped again, hiccuping a little. Oh damn. That was the end of that.
He wondered if anyone would say that when he finally let Death reclaim him...He brought his rapidly receeding attention back to the empty bottle. He lifted it up, and anxiously studied it in the light. "Pretty." he muttered, watching the dark color reflect on to the opposite wall.
Then, with no warning, he took it and smashed it ruthlessly onto the desk. The sticky remnents at the bottom of the bottle splattered all over his face and seeped down, for all the world looking like blood. He glanced at his hand, found it was really bleeding, and laughed. He laughed again, but louder this time, and more like an old war veteran.
For all his youth, he was. He lifted up his hand again, this time examining it more closely. Broken glass had dug itself into the palm, and there were lots of little jagged lines that poured forth blood. He wondered if it would scar. Probably.
And then, to his surprise and horror, he found hot tears slipping down his face. He was crying. But boys don't cry! But, then again, maybe it was because of the happy future he would not have, the lover he would not have, the life he *could not* have, the goddamn wine bottle...He grinned at his stupidity, though tears blocked his vision. The bottle.
It was smashed because it was pretty, and he had wanted to destroy something. He wondered if his life would end like that. He nodded wisely, sagely even. Probably.
And then, he laid his head back down on the scarred desk and cried, laughed through a sheen of tears. He lay there for several minutes, although maybe it was hours, and let the tears drip down his face.
And when Heero came back from wherever-the-hell he'd been, Duo welcomed him back with a warm, cheerful smile, (though he'd like to do more.) more than happy to don the mask of the baka. After all, boys don't cry...but bakas can.
Author's Notes: Does anyone notice a trend here? All my povs are Duo! And all at least slightly depressing! ::grrr...:: I'll fix that, I promise! But wait-! I wrote this like, a year ago! Ha! I only touched it up a 'lil, and ta da! So you can only slightly, partially, okay, fully blame me. Oh, and if you notice any spelling errors its either 1. I have no beta reader---she left ::teardrop:: BTW, position's open...::hint, hint:: or 2. I'm shivering so badly I can't type. It's prolly #2, 'cause its about 4:00 (in the morning) and I haven't been to bed yet :(