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Jun. 6th, 2020 07:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
makopoison posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
neopoints[ the bullet cuts a familiar path.
let's go to her together his killer says, the smooth cadence of his voice triggering phantom memories as everything begins to wash green. he stumbles, staggers, first tsurugi slipping from his hands as he strikes the ground.
its over he thinks. and for once there is no relief with the thought. he'd just secured the future for all of his friends and family, given them a world they would get to grow old in - and he wouldn't see it with them. all of his hopes and dreams now rested on their already burdened shoulders.
ready to go? she asks him, her hand in his, warm and solid in the way he remembers it. her eyes are bright, the very picture of life despite what she represents.
he isn't.
i didn't keep my promise. he says. he'd never lived for the both of them - he'd never really lived at all after that day. i can't... it can't be over yet. i need more time.
aerith's lips curl into a secret smile.
● ● ● ●
someone is playing the morning reveille. off-key and amateur, shaky with nerves.
for a moment cloud thinks that perhaps denzel decided to pick up the trumpet, as he'd so often threatened to do any time some particularly infectious jazzy beat had come over the speakers. cloud scrunches his eyes shut and rolls away from the sound, bringing both hands up to block out the sound.
that's the first indication that something is off.
not the scratchiness of the pillow or the blanket, not the sound, not the smell - but the fact that smooth palms flatten down against his ears. the familiar raised scars on his palms are missing.
his eyes open.
up and at 'em, strife, someone above him says, startling him as he flips onto his back and grabs for a weapon that isn't there - only to find himself staring at another mattress instead of the ceiling. another boy with messy brown hair swings himself down, flashing him a teasing smile. dude. you're never gonna make SOLDIER at this rate. come on, we're going to be late.
late?
he sits up.
the barracks are a hazy memory at best. faces blurred and details lost after five years of torture and experimentation. cloud strife doesn't remember the boy looking at him expectantly, or the two rough-housing behind them. he doesn't know them because he doesn't know what it was like to be sixteen, all of that is lost to the ages now.
except it isn't.
it's now. ]
Give... Give me a minute.
[ the brown-haired boy raises an eyebrow and then shrugs, a suit yourself if there ever was one as he turns away and begins to get dressed. cloud brings his hands to his head and shuts his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily.
okay.
okay, he hasn't had an episode like this before. another brush with the lifestream, maybe? or -
a boot drops onto his lap. solid. he feels it. the rest of his uniform (trooper uniform) joins it, there's a warning call. he's going to be late. he dresses in a hurry, his hands going to places there should be scars, or marks, or muscle and finding none.
dude, brown-hair says again, now a little worried. more still when cloud looks up and meets his eyes with a wild look. any of the teasing drops away, replaced instead with concern so familiar and kind he has no fucking idea what to do with it. are you okay?
he makes a break for it.
● ● ● ●
he doesn't remember this area of the building. the barracks, the apartments of the firsts and seconds. none of it is familiar, nothing but a number and a door and the feeling of not belonging.
muscle memory seems to know the way, though. he runs at full fucking tilt, bounding with each step, taking stairs three at a time. his body can't handle the pace, isn't used to being run so ragged without mako to power it. by the time he gets to zack's door he's doubled over and practically gagging from the effort of running up six flights, entire body trembling with exertion. he doesn't knock, he pounds with everything he has. ]
let's go to her together his killer says, the smooth cadence of his voice triggering phantom memories as everything begins to wash green. he stumbles, staggers, first tsurugi slipping from his hands as he strikes the ground.
its over he thinks. and for once there is no relief with the thought. he'd just secured the future for all of his friends and family, given them a world they would get to grow old in - and he wouldn't see it with them. all of his hopes and dreams now rested on their already burdened shoulders.
ready to go? she asks him, her hand in his, warm and solid in the way he remembers it. her eyes are bright, the very picture of life despite what she represents.
he isn't.
i didn't keep my promise. he says. he'd never lived for the both of them - he'd never really lived at all after that day. i can't... it can't be over yet. i need more time.
aerith's lips curl into a secret smile.
someone is playing the morning reveille. off-key and amateur, shaky with nerves.
for a moment cloud thinks that perhaps denzel decided to pick up the trumpet, as he'd so often threatened to do any time some particularly infectious jazzy beat had come over the speakers. cloud scrunches his eyes shut and rolls away from the sound, bringing both hands up to block out the sound.
that's the first indication that something is off.
not the scratchiness of the pillow or the blanket, not the sound, not the smell - but the fact that smooth palms flatten down against his ears. the familiar raised scars on his palms are missing.
his eyes open.
up and at 'em, strife, someone above him says, startling him as he flips onto his back and grabs for a weapon that isn't there - only to find himself staring at another mattress instead of the ceiling. another boy with messy brown hair swings himself down, flashing him a teasing smile. dude. you're never gonna make SOLDIER at this rate. come on, we're going to be late.
late?
he sits up.
the barracks are a hazy memory at best. faces blurred and details lost after five years of torture and experimentation. cloud strife doesn't remember the boy looking at him expectantly, or the two rough-housing behind them. he doesn't know them because he doesn't know what it was like to be sixteen, all of that is lost to the ages now.
except it isn't.
it's now. ]
Give... Give me a minute.
[ the brown-haired boy raises an eyebrow and then shrugs, a suit yourself if there ever was one as he turns away and begins to get dressed. cloud brings his hands to his head and shuts his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily.
okay.
okay, he hasn't had an episode like this before. another brush with the lifestream, maybe? or -
a boot drops onto his lap. solid. he feels it. the rest of his uniform (trooper uniform) joins it, there's a warning call. he's going to be late. he dresses in a hurry, his hands going to places there should be scars, or marks, or muscle and finding none.
dude, brown-hair says again, now a little worried. more still when cloud looks up and meets his eyes with a wild look. any of the teasing drops away, replaced instead with concern so familiar and kind he has no fucking idea what to do with it. are you okay?
he makes a break for it.
he doesn't remember this area of the building. the barracks, the apartments of the firsts and seconds. none of it is familiar, nothing but a number and a door and the feeling of not belonging.
muscle memory seems to know the way, though. he runs at full fucking tilt, bounding with each step, taking stairs three at a time. his body can't handle the pace, isn't used to being run so ragged without mako to power it. by the time he gets to zack's door he's doubled over and practically gagging from the effort of running up six flights, entire body trembling with exertion. he doesn't knock, he pounds with everything he has. ]
