022 - [. . .]
Nov. 10th, 2009 05:47 am". . ."
[The first thing Gokudera became aware of was a splitting headache – it was similar to how he’d imagine a speeding locomotive to the face would feel. He groaned softly, burying his face into his pillow to try to block the pounding sensation out. . . but it really wasn’t doing any good. It seemed he was going to have to get up and get some sort of painkiller. . . As for what happened the night before? Like fuck he remembered. He remembered going out for a couple of drinks – with no intentions whatsoever of getting drunk. . . but it seemed that things hadn’t quite worked out like he’d intended – though this would hardly be the first time. . .Eh. . . .But beyond that he couldn’t remember much of anything.]
“. . .Fuuuuck.”
If anyone had wandered by the abandoned building, they might have notice that the doors and windows were all wide open, a man currently busying himself with cleaning up the place. They might have also noticed a feline scurrying about, seeming quite interested in the broom that Gokudera was using. He chuckled a little at Uri’s behavior, pausing a moment to bend down and pick him up.]
“. . .You’re being pretty counter productive, you know. . .”
[The cat just meowed at him, batting at his face before squirming loose and deciding instead to play in the piles of dirt and dust that had been neatly swept up. Probably out of spite.]
“. . A-ah! Uri! Stop that! . . . Knew I should have left you back at the apartment. . .”
[Sighing a little, before resuming what he was doing. He’d clean up the mess that Uri was making later – for now he focus on cleaning an area a little further away from where the feline was playing.]
[The scent of freshly spilled blood and gun powder was the first thing he became aware of, the next was the weight of a gun in his hand – looking down confirmed his suspicions to this was, indeed, a gun. The next thing was the sobs of two ‘other’ people in the 'room', his brow now knitting in worry as his gaze returned up, widening at the sight before him. It was. . .himself. . . Well, two of himself to be more exact – a three-year old him and a fifteen-year old him. ]
[The youngest of his selves was in a heap on the ground, hands clutched in fear and worry at the dress of a motionless female figure. He felt his heart nearly stop as he recognized her, a single word becoming obvious in the smallest boy’s sobs.] “. . Mama! Mama. . .!!”
[He took several steps back, dropping the weapon to the ground before another yell met his ears.] “JUUDAIME!” [His body now trembled uncontrollably, otherwise rooted to the spot as his stared in a mixture of horror and shock at the familiar figure held close in the arms of his teenage self – completely covered in crimson liquid.]
“ . .N-no. .”
[The word was gasped out, shaking his head at the scene. It. . . this. . . it just. . couldn’t. . . be real. . . He would never. . . A nightmare. . . It. . .It had to be. . . But it was all too real. The heavy scent in the air, a pressure of the wall against his back – he hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that he stepped back. . . The young boy looked up from the form of his dead mother, his face tear-streaked, eyes full of emotion.] “. . . w-why? W-why did you. . why did you take. . M-Mama. . away?!”
“ . . I-I. . I. . . “ [He couldn’t even speak, though the next thing that grabbed his attention was a yell of anger and hatred – one that struck him to his very core. His teenage self had lifted his gaze from the bloodied form in his arms, fury, sorrow and loathing like he’d never seen before all so very clear in his eyes.] “Y-YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU LOVED HIM! W-WHY THE HELL DID YOU. . DID YOU . .?!” [The next thing he knew the ‘other’ was lunging for him, his eyes shutting tightly.] “ . .S-stop. . p-please. . .g-god. . god dammit. . s-stop. . I. . I. . J-Juudaime. . ! . . . M-mother. . I. . .I’m sorry. . I’m sorry. . . s-sor. . .ry. . . Please. . .s-stop. .” [To anyone else, they would have simply seen him outside of the apartment he shared with the others alone, his back pressed to the wall as he sat on the ground, knees to chest, trembling, sobbing. . . and talking and yelling at himself. . .Apology after apology, accusation after accusation. . .]