TITLE: Faith is the Crucible
AUTHOR: Hiroshi-baka Kuro-Kitsune Yui "Hitori" ....rather long isn't it? That's why I just prefer 'H-baka.' Much simpler.
DISCLAIMERS: Not mine. Only story. Introspective. Not really deathfic....
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ummm....I really don't like this at all, but it was a 'lil thing my muse whipped up...It might not qualify, but if it even remotely does, I'm in! Pwease? ....Off to mope and scream at D.U.O.... (It's not going well---Can u tell?)
I'm in love, did you know that? I thought it was a simple crush, mere admiration for the perfection I will never achieve. I was wrong. But, then again, maybe I was right. For that's what it started out as.
I'm in love with a machine. Someone infallible, as ever-present as the stars. Someone just as beautiful, distant, as the stars. Why did he have to be that way?! I could stand it if he weren't so handsome, so compelling. I make him laugh. But that's kind of like saying, "I created civilization." Such thinkers are wrong---yes, maybe they did, but do you really think that without them, humanity would still be uncivilized? But still, such ones must be given credit, though others could or would have created the same effect.
He's never loved me---and he never will. It's just like that. I've accepted it; moved on, no, but trying to. I will not become some fawning puppet, to serve him in every way, though I wish I could, in all honesty. But I know, I know, that is not what he wants. He wants someone to talk with, someone to remind himself, yes, he's still human. Then again, maybe he never has been human. Maybe he never will be. Maybe none of us are really, really human. But if any of us are, if any of us still retain our humanity, it's him---He cares. He feels guilt. Though he does not know it, I stay awake at night, too, listening to muffled sobs of grief for some long-forgotten causualty of war. I would comfort him---if he would let me. He doesn't want that. Embarassed beyond belief, he would only withdraw more, dig himself deeper into a cocoon of blanketing numbness.
If I can save one person, in this war, if I can spare one life from this hell, my life will have not been in vain. I will have not been in vain. The one person I have chosen, incredibly, has no wish to be saved. To be spared. He has no wish, no will, to live. The only justification he allows himself is that when he wins the war, he will discard himself as a useless weapon, one that should be disposed of as a threat to a newly-found peace. I will not let him. His life is worth something. I am a sinner---I have deliberately broken my faith. He has never known true faith, faith, where there is a life after death-! He is too analylitical for that. No evidence, he argues. But I know better. Faith is the crucible of mankind, the one thing that holds us all together. God will accept him as His true son---one that has never known Him, true, but He will see past that, to a soul badly battered but still loved.
I will see to it. As God as my witness, I will save my love from the hell that awaits me. I laugh, softly, rethinking an old saying, "Out of one hell and into the next."
Here---here he comes now. His soft, cat-like footsteps echo in the cold
hall. I raise my head, groggily, as if I had really been asleep. Time to
put on the mask of the caring, caring, human, fool. He opens the door slowly,
quietly, as he was if trying to ascertain that I would stay asleep, while
he did whatever it was he had to do. I ask in a weak voice, "Heero,
whatcha doin'?" "Nothing." He answers. I whistle in admiration.
"Wow. More than two syllables." I fall silent, thinking of what
it is he has to do. A mission, more than likely. He shuts off the laptop,
then turns to me, "Stay here," and leaves.
So here I am. Waiting for him to come back. It's been a few months---but I know he'll come back. I know he will. I'm his companion, his only relief. I'm the one who reminds of what it is to be human. Besides, I still haven't gotten him to believe in God yet. Yes, he'll come back. He has to.