Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;

Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!

♥

Comments

Re: The Day of Candles

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He had to answer, had to explain himself. I was firmly situated as a spectator, taking no action but witnessing everything. I think my presence comforted him, though; just knowing that someone saw. That someone remembered. "It had to be today. Today is... the Day of the Dead. Today, you light candles for your dead loved ones, in remembrance, and to set their ghosts at rest."
"Were you so close to all of them?" I asked, waving a hand vaguely at the ring of candles.
He made a sound that might, in another world, have been laughter. "Are you kidding? I killed them. You can't get much closer than that." The new candlelight glittered off the wetness on his face as he spread his arms wide open. "Behold the Shinigami, surrounded by all his faithful subjects!"
Shadows shifted, above him, below him. A tiny, pained whimper escaped him, and he collapsed into himself once more. "God, please... I don't want to be Shinigami anymore. I don't want to go back to the old game of kill or be killed. I just want it all to be over..."
Over? Nothing was really over, not as long as life remained. He probably knew that too. Death and Duo Maxwell had always been a little too close for comfort. Did it really matter, I wondered, if he survived this day of reckoning; now that the world was at peace, and had no further need of soldiers with blackened souls?
And if he didn't, would his life count as one more unlit candle for me? What would I do, when none of my wandering brought me answers, and I finally ran out of places to look... when my own uncared for uncounted ghosts cornered me in my sleep and the shadows, and I --
I had not moved in some time, and when I finally unbent from my position beside the door, my movements were as stiff and jerky as any marionette figure. Duo finally looked up when I stood beside him, staring at him; thoughtfully, I'm sure. His eyes met mine and searched for something behind them; what, I don't know, but I felt a balance shift.
"Do you suppose," I said to him, my voice never wavering from its lusterless calm, "that my dead could share candles with yours?"
He froze, and I reached out and pried the matchbox out of his closed hands. My own fingers, when they struck a match, shook with no more life than stone. It burned down quickly, and went out when the fire met my hands. I didn't really feel it.
A wan, deathly smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he answered,

Re: The Day of Candles

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

still a bit shaky. "Yeah, I bet that they could."
We gave each other a little motion and stillness, then; his hands steadied enough to carry fire from the section he had managed to light into those not yet brought to life. I moved from the other end, my arms unfreezing just enough to move the match from one wick to the next. With each light that sprang up, the shadows retreated a little more, until we met in the middle in the chapel full of candlelight.
Duo stopped to pray, then, and I saw him clasp desperately at the golden crucifix he always wore, and no less desperately at the end of his braid. I wondered what memories that brought to mind, as his lips shaped the Latin words of sin and of penance. He closed his eyes as he recited the Prayer for the Dead, but I contented myself with the present, as I watched him.
Nothing had changed, really. Nothing could change by the lighting of a candle, or a dozen candles, or a hundred, or one for every innocent killed in every war that mankind had ever committed.
But, he believed.
So maybe that was something.

~owari~