Memory writeups

[alloutoflove]

Spoilers for DR3, cw for gore, violence, torture, suicide, and very likely a whole host of things I'm forgetting right now. Either way, please proceed with caution!

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Yukizome Chisa Doesn't Smile

[alloutoflove]

It doesn't even hurt, at first.

That's not to say it isn't uncomfortable: the straps on your wrists and ankles cut hard into your flesh with only the barest give, and the one around your throat makes it difficult to breathe properly. You try to turn your head when the soldier comes at you with the clamps; you try and duck away as best you can while you're restrained, but she's a soldier and you're a housekeeper. A teacher. You've never thought less of yourself for being these things, but as she grabs your hair and pins your head back to fix the clamps in place over your eyes, you regret your talents for the first time.

(Another thought, layered over the memory, only mildly curious: was that the first step to Despair? Would it have worked eventually, just like this?)

Once you're secured, she steps back, and her sister leans into your line of vision, her grin wide and smug. She says something to you, white noise chatter about getting started, and she steps back and switches the video on.

You knew about the Incident, of course. You'd seen the emails; you'd seen the cut footage. This is entirely different, though, in a way you can't really describe -- of course it's horrible; of course you want to close your eyes and turn your head to keep from watching those poor children forced into murder. There goes the first betrayal. There goes the second. There goes the blood, everywhere. Even on its own, it would be enough to make you sick.

But there's something about this that which sinks in deeper. It's compelling in an awful way. You don't have the right vocabulary for it; you only know that it feels like there's something physical sinking its way into your brain, into your body -- if you had to describe it simply, you would say it's like an itch that can't be reached. Like poison, it leaves a strange oily taste in your throat, burning through your veins. Your heart kicks up so fast you feel like it might burst.

The video ends. You have a few seconds to breathe, to try and compose yourself, and then her face is in your line of vision again as she studies you. She seems disappointed, somehow.

"Okay, again," she says, and she clicks a button that makes the video start all over.

And again.

And again.

And again.

There's a point where you lose track of how many times you've watched the video. That itching feeling has only intensified, skittering across your skin, your strained eyes, the edges of your awareness. It's getting harder to remember why you can't simply give in. It hurts now, somewhere straight down past your heart, into your soul itself; it feels like something is slowly hollowing you out with a dull blade, pieces of yourself being carved away, and the only thing you can think is: Kyousuke will find me, Sakakura-kun will find me, someone will come to save me, if I just hold on a little longer, all I need to do is wait, I'm good at waiting, if I just wait, if I just wait, if I just wait.

Please stop, you say, and you don't even know if you're talking to them or to yourself.

At some point, she leaves. You hear her say something to the soldier, her sister, and you know -- somehow, you know -- that this is the end. You've waited, you've been patient, and no one has come for you.

No one will.

The soldier moves to stand behind you. She murmurs something, to herself, and as you sit contemplating your own hubris (of course Kyousuke wouldn't come) (of course Sakakura-kun wouldn't come) (how stupid to think they would) (you were on your own from the beginning, Chisa) (you did this to yourself) and there is a sudden hot stab of pain in the back of your head. For a moment you think you're dying, and you exalt in that: oh thank god, it's over, it's finally over.

But it doesn't stop. It sinks in hotter in your veins, constricting in your chest, low in your belly, and you choke on your next breath.

You're losing something. You can tell that, even as the fire sweeps through you, obliterating everything in its path. Something important is being torn from you, and you wish -- you wish, futile as it is -- that you could tell Kyousuke I'm sorry.

The world goes black, and you can't help but let yourself fall into it, not knowing whether you'll climb back out again.

And as you do, you think: I wonder how much Kyousuke would despair, if I never did?

Third Time's The Charm

[alloutoflove]

Everything is dark at first.

And then spotlights snaps on in focus on two men. They stand shoulder to shoulder, but with their backs turned, the both of them staring off into the dark. They're both tall and intimidating men, though one is more than the other, both of them poised tense and intent. One gets the impression of barely-leashed violence, just looking at the two of them.

The light expands, but slowly until it forms a wide circle around them, though everything else remains featureless in the dark. It's dead silent at first, but then--

Drip.

Drip.

D r i p.

One of the men begins to turn, as if he hears the sound too. He does it slowly, and despite the light, his eyes are obscured in shadows. As he looks up, something drops down from above. It hits the ground with a wet splat and a crunch.

It's ỳ̨̕ó̸̧ư̶̸̢͡.̴̷̶͏.

No, wait, it's -- no, that can't be right, you're watching, you're--

Lying there, with your hair fanned, and blood splattered as a corona around your head. You think about the pictures you've seen before, of Western angels and saviors, the pain and the ecstasy on their faces. Your arms are spread wide, like you could embrace the heights from which you fell.

Ah. It's finally over.

Again, for just a moment, everything is completely silent.

And then there's a bellow loud enough that it echoes -- a roar, wordless, mindless, something torn straight out of a despairing man's broken heart.

The man turning rushes to your body where it lies. He snatches you up, ignoring how the blood seeps into the white of his suit, the way it smears across his skin as he pulls you close and presses his hand to the ruined mess at the back of your head. You still cannot see his eyes, but he is weeping. The sounds are harsh, guttural, as if the noises are being forced out of him, jagged broken glass and twisted scrap metal. He sounds like a wounded animal.

He never showed that much emotion for you before, did he?

And the other man is there now, crouching down close, though he doesn't reach out to touch. He doesn't weep, but he bites his lip so hard that there is blood running down his chin. He says nothing. He never does.

But the other man (your lover) (your love) (your--) (K̸̡̧̧̀y̵̛o̷̶͡͡ų́s̶͜ų̢͢k̸̀͞͝ę̵́͜) lifts his head finally. His eyes are white empty shapes against the shadows that cover his face. He lays you down gently and he rises. There is a sword in his hand. Was there one before? Aah, there must have been, because he points with it now, the general directing his army of one.

Now the light spread grows wider. There are hundreds -- thousands -- of people standing before them, faceless staring masses. Some of them are barely older than high school students. All of them are carrying weapons of some sort, and there is blood spattered across them, bright and starkly visible.

My blood, you whisper. It's all my blood. Do you know what happened to me, while you weren't looking? They knew we were getting close, they knew we could wipe them out, so they found me, and they--

You did it, it was all you. What are you waiting for? You piece of shit. What do you think he'll say, when he finds out?

There's another roar, that same strange animal noise, and then they both rush forward. You remain standing back, as you always have, with your hands clasped together over your breast (with you lying on the floor, your blood slowly seeping further, even as it goes cold and congeals darkly upon the floor), and you watch them go.

They do pretty well, all things considered. They've always been a fantastic team, and they have been since long ago. You introduced them knowing they would compliment each other, and as the years have changed you all, their teamwork has only become tighter, more fluid.

But not flawless.

They always worked together better without you.

Kyousuke falls first. It's a small mistake, a split second where he's just a little too slow to bring his arm up. A bullet catches him in the ribs and shatters them, splatters them, and he still keeps going for a few seconds more, his mind still surging, not yet aware of his body's death. He cuts down one more, two more, from the faceless crowd, and then his knees buckle and he falls into a slurry of mud and blood and worse. Somehow, his face is untouched.

Sakakura-kun gets a few seconds longer to contemplate what's happened. You can see the way horror works itself across his face, the second he realizes that he is alone and that he has failed (again) (twice) (aah) -- he's failed where he has always prided himself, in his physical ability. His fists have not protected anyone.

His own scream is cut off by a knife in his throat, but he continues to make noise, gurgling. There's pink froth on his lips and bubbling around the blade, and unlike Kyousuke the next shot takes out a good half of his head. there's a spray of blood and brain, and yet his body still takes a step closer to Kyousuke -- one, two -- and he falls before he can quite reach.

The lights cut out. There are hands on your shoulders and a girl's voice crooning in your ear. They're ready, she says to you; you've spent so long cultivating this little garden, and it's time. It's ready. They're ready for you to pull them down with you.

I love you, Kyousuke. ...Sakakura-kun, too.

--

You hear a rattling metallic noise, and when you look over, there's a knife by your hand.

Perfect!

The blade is long and sharp enough to reach a person's heart, if angled just right. When you pick it up, your eye are drawn up -- up -- up, and you can see the chandelier hanging overhead. It's grander than someone like you deserves, but you can appreciate the irony of it. You're sure Kyousuke will, too, when he wakes up.

So there. There you go. You get to your feet and you walk over. You're ready to get started.