If Only...

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If Only...

My sword is too big.

It's the perfect size for killing, I know that. But it's far too big to use when I really need it. And right now I especially need it to kill something that's been plaguing this planet for far too long. Myself.

"But suicide is a sin!" you say. Ha! Better to sin once more and be done with it than to go on sinning until I finally die of old age, shriveled and bedridden and still burdened with this pain. I am already sentenced to eternal damnation. It's not going to hurt me much more to end this earlier than the gods intended.

I should already be in hell, you know. I should have died over a year ago, when I tried (unsuccessfully, mind you) to become some kind of god. Even if that annoying blond brat hadn't nearly killed me, I doubt I would have succeeded. You see, part of being a god is having some kind of supernatural, otherworldly powers, and while I did seem to possess something of that sort, they were in reality provided by my "mother," that tentacled thing that seems to love living inside my head. Power-hungry, that's what she is. She can't go one day without trying to take control, trying to get me to attempt world domination again. The fool. I may be a puppet, but even puppets have limits.

My hands are covered in blood, so much blood, stained with my life-blood and that of so many others. Red on white, splattered against my skin, so many innocents slaughtered by these hands. What was that line Shakespeare wrote? "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand." Ah, Lady Macbeth, if you could see what I am, how horrible the killing really is, you would gladly take the perfumes of Arabia over the stench of death around me. Banquo's ghost is nothing compared to the one that haunts me now. She's around every corner these days, staring at me with those vibrant green eyes, so out of place in that battered, bloody body. The blood ran down her dress quickly when I killed her, leaving a stain from the hole in her stomach all the way to the hem of her mid-calf-length garment. And that smile, that smile she had when she'd looked up at her friends, it froze on her face when I ran her through. It's still there, and she's taunting me with it, smiling at me like she has some kind of secret. Like a little child, having fun with your frustration, saying in that singsong voice, "I know something you don't know..."

I never did understand children.

Sometimes she comes up so close I could touch her, reaching out those pale hands of hers to touch my arm, or maybe to wrap her fingers around my godforsaken throat. I wouldn't blame her, really. Revenge is a perfectly human emotion. Cloud Strife wanted revenge, revenge for not only her death but the death of his family, the destruction of his hometown, the lies that covered up his past. She has that right, to want to kill me, and she should.

When I first saw her, she was peering at me from behind one of the houses in this deserted city. She seemed to fit right in with her surroundings. It took me a while to realize that she shouldn't have been there. I walked toward her, to try to talk to her, but she faded away the minute I stood. She's been following me ever since, for months now, growing bolder every day. One of these days I'll wake up to find her standing over me, still smiling, ever silent, slowly driving me insane. She's beautiful, yet terrifying, and if she would only go away, then maybe I could accept this fate. But I can't, not with her around. And only Jenova knows why.

I love her.

Yes, I love her. I loved her since I'd first seen her on the ship from Junon, standing at full height and willing to fight for her friends. And because of my love, because of my emotional attachment to her, Jenova decided that she had to die. "Mother's" power was slipping--sometimes I was able to move on my own. She forced me to kill her to break my spirit. It worked. The loss weakened my defenses, and she took full control once again.

I cannot live like this, watching her move throughout this ghost town. And there is only one way I can die, only one way in which I can begin to pay my penance. I must die the way she died.

And that is why my sword is too big. I can't reach far enough to run it through my stomach. I could cut my wrists, or slice my throat, but it wouldn't be the same, and so I have to go on living. I just want to hold her, to lay my hand against her soft cheek and kiss her the way I should have when she was still alive, but it will never be. We shall never be.

I will continue this existence, if only for her.

Good night, sweet prince. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

-- Spawn_of_Piccolo (disgruntledfemale01@yahoo.com), July 20, 2002


Final Fantasy VII fanfiction? Great!

Hahaha you know that "my sword is too big" sounds just a *bit* wrong. Lol.

-- Kant (kant@kant.com), July 20, 2002.

This is great!! I guess it would be beter if I get off my lazy ass and beat the game... but alas... I need to beat tactics first... again, this is awsome.

-- ArchPyro (ZemoruePyxil@aol.com), July 21, 2002.

I had to read it again, I think so far this is my favorite. This just blows my mind I can't quite explain why I like it so much, and it's not because I liked ff7, I couldn't stand that game... Hmm.. anyways... this is great.

-- ArchPyro (ZemoruePyxil@aol.com), July 23, 2002.

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