Inferno
Words: 1 689
Genre: Angst
Pairing(s): No pairings. Main character is Leon (Squall), with mentions or implications of Cloud, Yuffie, Aerith and Cid.
Notes:
Pre-KH, regarding the fall of Hollow Bastion. The only Hell you
understand, is the Hell you should have never known. The reasons behind
Squall's death, and Leon's resolve. And why a name can carry so much
sin.
Warnings: Not any I know of.
Rated: PG-13
This is for the pseudo-boyfriend, Leon-pie 3, for being such a wonderful person and constantly being there throughout my emo, for patiently reading everything I send you, for putting up with my amazingly volatile behaviour, for coughing up blood WITH me over 'Sight', and being the most amazing guy I know.
Also? You're the finest Leon ever, real or fictitious. And I mean that, darling.
This is for you.
Have you ever been to Hell?
Probably not. Lots of people have never even laid their eyes upon it. Hell to some is the grime that coats the streets, the impoverished that sleep on the roads, black flies that encircle and swarm carcasses, bodies of those you perhaps knew once. To others, that Hell is life. Survival. Grime that could keep them going for just a few more days. Roads that are actually safe for them to sleep on. Flies that lead them to some form of nutrition, though rotted, though half-decayed. It didn't matter if the corpses were once friends; those friends were dead. But they were alive, alive and dying slowly.
That is, to some, a definition of Hell.
That is nothing compared to the Hell you should have never seen.
Seen, never touched. Never approached. Who would want to go to Hell voluntarily? No one, that's who. And with perfectly good reason. Hell belonged to the dead, not the living. No one should ever even learn about it, speak the word, paint its picture. There is not a soul who can ever, ever estimate the level of suffering and sheer terror that Hell would contain. No one should even attempt to. Never.
Hell was being woken up violently from a nap on the grass, looking up at the sky to see shadows shooting up from all around the earth, swirling almost indolently above the clouds and spreading morosely, thicker, denser, taunting to swallow all and none.
Hell was forcing yourself to run for all you were worth, following the screams and cries of young voices, your heart drumming so fast that the sheer pounding was starting to block out all you could hear. It was tripping and falling and bleeding and spraining an ankle and forcing yourself to run and ignore the pain and to keep going until all you saw were dancing dots of light before your vision that threatened to lead you over the edge of a cliff.
Hell was being engulfed by millions, millions of grotesque yellow-eyed creatures that lunged at you, dragging you to the ground, scratching at you with nimble claws, horrifically sharp claws, ripping at your clothes, aiming for your chest.
Hell was screaming until your throat was sore, grasping onto a piece of lumber and swinging it at all those monsters, half-crawling, half-running blindly against a great expanse of pure black creatures until you gain the momentum and run with everything you have, not even bothering to pry off those still clinging to your body, still scratching at your body, attempting to creep their way up to your heart.
Hell was ramming your body so hard against a solid steel door until you can hear your ribs snap, trying not to look back, to never look back even though you hear your name being screamed, begging, begging you to come back and to save them because they didn't want to die, were too young to die, didn't deserve to die.
Hell was being unable to stop the tears from flowing down your face, choking back each sob as you hobbled, violently limped through an amazingly cold hall, so hollow that each step you took resonated through it. It was struggling to hold everything in even as the sounds that filtered through the great doors still reached you, still pleaded for you, muffled though they were.
Hell was trying to forget that it was you they were calling for.
Hell was walking over to a crib and picking up a baby girl, holding her close to your chest and cradling her as gently as you can as your entire body trembles and you start to cry, thanking the gods for at least keeping her safe, keeping her alive. It was trying your best not to break down then and there because you were afraid to, afraid that bad things would happen and you wanted to feel safe for just a moment because you were so scared, so scared, so scared.
Hell was the lurch in your stomach as the monsters broke down the door and poured in.
Hell was sprinting up stairs, stairs, more stairs until you fell down and held the baby girl even tighter to your chest because you were afraid of hurting her, breathing so harshly, so heavily that you were sure that this was the end because you could hear them coming up, coming even closer and you would be nothing else but food and the baby would die. But you forced yourself to stand up and keep running because you knew that there was a reason that the baby was alive for you to find.
Hell was reaching the top of the tower after an hour of climbing up, legs now so shaky you can hardly stand, baby still curled tightly in your arms as you wish you could breathe, stumbling into a room and bolting the door. It was crumpling to the floor like a piece of thin and flimsy paper, hearing your name being called over and over again, this time with even less voices as you squeeze your eyes shut and do your best to block everything out.
Hell was the way your heart stopped when you heard noises from a corner of the painfully small room.
Hell was the sharp intake of breath that burned your lungs as you forced yourself up on your feet, using one hand to grab onto the closest thing to you, a rusty candlestick, and rushing towards the corner, weapon raised high above your head and about to strike down on whatever thing it was before you stop yourself in time to find that it's someone else you know, a young boy, bracing his body, tears streaming down his face as his arms are brought up to protect him from the blow you would have dealt him.
Hell was tossing the heavy candlestick aside and jumping at the boy, throwing your arm around him and squeezing him as you realize that his leg is bleeding, broken, and that the tears won't stop falling from your eyes no matter how hard you squeeze them shut.
Hell was the revving sound of something you once hated with a passion, suddenly the only thing that would keep you alive.
Hell was wiping your eyes with the back of your bloodied hand, not bothering to soothe the crying baby girl in one arm and the little boy in the other as you drag him up to his feet and help him stumble with you to the window on the other side of the room as a gummi ship hovers nearby.
Hell was slipping on the window ledge, nearly dropping the baby as you try to climb onto the ship, but making it anyway because the girl already on it caught your arm in time, pulling you up into it before she falls onto her back from the weight of the pull and leaves you dangling from the side.
Hell was the certain death that awaits you if you fall or go back.
Hell was finally being pulled into the ship and panicking as you hear the engines revving up again, quickly leaning over the side with one arm holding the baby girl close to you as you outstretch an arm for the boy you had left behind, feeling all the blood drain your face as you see the room fill with more and more of those yellow-eyed creatures.
Hell was watching with horror as you manage to grab onto the boy's wrist, but are unable to pull him at all because you have no strength left and he's being dragged under by those sharp claws, his face and neck covered with cuts, bleeding as the tears fall silently from his face and his eyes widen in resignation as he says goodbye and finally gets pulled down into a pool of blackness that has started to engulf the entire room.
Hell was being driven away to safety as you hear his voice, all of their shaken voices calling your name.
Hell was the sheer revulsion that fills your entire being as you see creatures that you should have never seen clawing out of that dark pit and grabbing the boy by his hair, impaling him with red hot swords and making him scream so shrilly that the baby girl starts to cry again and you can do nothing as the gummi ship finally soars away, leaving your home in nothing but a glimmer of darkness as it spreads out into a sphere and all becomes deathly quiet as you finally break through the atmosphere and stare dully at the world you had lived on for those sixteen short years of your life.
As the days and hours flit by without your realizing it, all you can see was his tear-stained face, contorted in a scream. All you can hear are those voices calling your name over and over and over again.
And all you did was ignore them.
Because you were afraid.
Your mere name embodies Hell.
That's why you decide to throw it away, discard it for good because there will never be a time when you will be able to respond to the call of that name without seeing his face, without hearing his voice as the images of that friend you had played with and grown up with being dragged down into the deepest pit of Hell remain the freshest, most lingering memory you own.
You learn never to speak of being disgruntled. You learn to never be ungrateful.
Because your name embodies Hell.
And when others scoff at you, sneer at you for being what you have become, you cannot be angry. You cannot feel angry. For what need have you to be angry? You will not cry, you will not scream, you will not give into your emotions because though your emotions have been filling up your entire body from that day once so long ago, you will never let it control you.
You will only ask one question.
Have you ever been to Hell?
the end
A/N: Just something quick I whipped up. Based on a random doodle I did, and a theory about Leon that I've had for the longest time. I wrote this late March, and I never bothered editing it, so any mussed tenses is entirely my fault, but I won't really bother going through the document again, simply because 2nd person is a bitch, kk. Not top-notch quality, as I am not used to writing in this POV, but I am generally, generally pleased with how this turned out.