liar liar
r o x a s

He woke up to the smell of dirt and grass.

From above, he could hear birds twittering in the sky, the trees quivering as a gentle breeze shook its leaves. In all truthfulness, it was rather annoying, and he quickly opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. Or maybe not—he wasn't quite sure what in the world he was supposed to do now, though taking in his surroundings seemed to be a good idea at that moment. As he stood—shakily at first, as if he'd forgotten how to stand on his own two feet—he glanced about idly. The smell of dirt and grass was justified, it seemed, as he was standing in the middle of a long forgotten clearing. The grass stood tall and the trees lining the clearing looked old and overgrown and weary, as if they hadn't seen another human being in a long, long time.

Human… being…?

To his left was a gate—a huge gate, maybe two or three times his size, the metal rusty and old though the giant padlock that adorned the middle of the gate looked slightly newer. Behind the gate ware remnants of what once was probably a beautiful stone walkway, with three crumbling decorative pillars on either side that lead up to a huge old mansion. The grass behind the gate was just as tall and overgrown as the clearing, and he figured that whoever'd lived in the mansion probably left a long time ago hadn't been back since. He tch'd. What a waste of a perfectly good house.

And suddenly, the birds stopped twittering and his attention was drawn away from the decrepit old house as a swirl of purple and black materialized from the air in front of him. He didn't move, didn't flinch. If this is what was normal, he wouldn't have known. He just went with the flow and watched as a man stepped out of the swirling colors. He was tall and lean, wearing a long black cloak with the hood up over his face. Everything about him was shrouded in shadows, but he didn't care. He didn't care at all. As the man took three long strides to stand in front of him, he still didn't move an inch. Now he wasn't quite sure if he should feel afraid—

I should… feel?

—or not. The man had approached him so quickly, but now he was just standing there, watching as he watched him. Neither figure moved for what seemed like forever and at the same time, a mere moment. And then he spoke, his voice much deeper than he'd thought it'd be.

"Do you want to know?"

The question was aimed at him, as if he'd already had the question in his head but didn't want to ask it. But in truthfulness, the thought had never crossed his mind until the man brought it up. Did he want to know? What exactly did he want to know, if he wanted to know? Was it supposed to be obvious, or was he missing the point completely. A thousand questions were suddenly crowding his brain, and he figured the simplest thing to do in this circumstance was to nod. So he did, a quick bobbing of the head in the positive.

And as he did, the man lifted his hand as if to strike him. He didn't move. Who knew—maybe he deserved to be struck. And if he did, flinching back certainly wouldn't help things in the long run, would it? No doubt he'd probably be struck harder later on. Maybe. But as he contemplated this, the man swiftly panned his hand through the air before his eyes, and letters appeared in the air, four to be exact. In the broad daylight, they were light and silvery and see-through: A-R-O-S. That's what appeared as to him, but to the man, it probably read S-O-R-A. Whoever that was. He didn't question why he had to read things backwards if he was the one supposedly looking for answers, but he didn't voice his opinions. He didn't care. He lowered his eyes to the overgrown grass at his feet.

The man spoke again. "You feel nothing."

Truth. He didn't feel a thing. But was that good… or bad?

"You can feel nothing."

Was that a statement? Fact? Opinion? He didn't quite understand. But the next words that slipped through the man's lips and under his hood, he knew. He knew the answer to that question, definitely.

"Do you want a meaning?"

Again, he bobbed his head in the positive, as a thousand more questions filled his brain. The man was not speaking in whole sentences, but fragments. Sentence fragments. Were they all connected to a similar topic, or was he just sporting nonsense? And suddenly, he felt as though he couldn't trust him. Who exactly was he? Why was he standing in front of him with the letters of a name he wasn't familiar with and making no sense whatsoever? Why did he feel so hollow inside, as if he was missing something important from his body and was no longer real—

No longer… real…?

His head was throbbing now, but he felt no pain. He knew his head was hurting, but… he felt no hurt. It was the oddest sensation, and he didn't like it one bit. The man raised his hand for a second time and waved at the letters between them, as if shooing away something undesirable. The letters then jumped to action. They began spinning around his head, faster and faster until they were no longer words so much as they were a blur of the silver mist they were made out of. Around and around his head they spun, until the man brought down his hand and they stopped with such abruptness that it almost startled him.

There were five letters now. The A, the R, the O and the S, but they were scrambled to make a new word, including the X the man had added moments ago. To him, the new word read S-A-X-O-R. Roxas. In a moment of which he had lost himself to him own thoughts, he voiced the word, voiced his new identity and the responsibilities it held.

"Rox…as…"

"A new you," the man was talking again, though 'Roxas' could hardly hear him through his own buzzing thoughts. He no longer mattered.

Roxas'd never meant to sign up for this.

27 april 2009 3.03 am

n o t e;; i was watching the cutscene in which riku(ansem?) gives Roxas his name on youtube. and then this happened. i don't know, i guess i should be happy that im writing again, but its frackin' 3 am and i still haven't done a thing for my English essay for school in… aw crap, 4 hours. wish me luck?