KWMS (c) Hiro Fujiwara
Inspired by a mix of dystopian works - Tabi ni Deyou, Horobiyuku Sekai no Hate Made & Zetsuen no Tempest, to name a few. Oh! And nightmares.
dystopia
"Come morning light, you and I will be safe and sound."
― Taylor Swift, Safe and Sound
The heavens cry.
The teenagers – no, children burdened adult maturity and responsibilities – scurried into the abandoned building. Dilapidated, neglected; but not forsaken. The rain carries poison, toxic and fatal to the human genetic-composition. The ramshackle building offers shelter – however unreliable and momentary – and will be their hope.
.
.
.
No one lives here anymore. In place of blood-and-soul, cold marble statuettes now stand in their place. Flawless and exquisite; a work of art – isn't that what every living being desires?
.
.
.
Suzuna hid her shivers. She is thin and delicate, but her mentality holds strong. Even in Dystopia, she is as beautiful as a doll, and easily as brittle and delicate.
"We'll stay here," she breathed. Those tiny hands spread out to the interior of the home; a cosy, warm home once-upon-a-time, a home where children shrieked in silly happiness and couples - young and old, dating or wedded - blush in joy. Once-upon-a-time. The brunette's extended hands were an illusional play of splendour, but Aoi sees what he sees – reality, and not those rose-coloured glasses of the past that Suzuna dons.
Aoi looks at her, looks – intensely and deeply. He etches her appearance and expressions, memorises her mannerisms, her everything. Aoi-of-the-past would not have done that. He would have turned away, spitting and fiery as a hellcat at being ordered, at being lied to. Now, he quietly accepts.
No more being circuitous. No more being dishonest. No more being insecure. Aoi doesn't dress in girly-garbs anymore, doesn't behave in that deceitful sweet-and-cold, almost childish fashion.
"Okay," he mumbled assent. Aoi pushes her down slightly, encourages her to lie on the impromptu bed that is, truthfully, just a table. Her hair – once a shade of chocolate-brown now veers on auburn – spills onto the surface like water.
Wearing the expression of bliss despite her pale countenance, Suzuna is the striking depiction of an angel – the angel that he needs in their Dystopia; the angel that doesn't belong here.
Aoi takes her hand, a source of gentleness and warmth and utters a soft order. "Sleep," he murmurs. "I'll take first watch," he lies soothingly. A blush rises, ashamed and guilt-ridden, dusting his cheeks a pretty pink. He knows; Aoi sees and closely observes, for Suzuna is the last living human, his companion and friend a-and so much more. He recognises the telling signs; Suzuna has been touched by water. Abstractly, he pins down the time.
.
.
.
Her breathing hitched but he pulled Suzuna along, roughly. Time is of essence. 'Can't afford to lose Suzuna.' was loud in his ears and for a moment, the thought that 'That must have been – perhaps – someone important to Suzuna.', however elusive, had him tighten his hold on the brunette.
.
.
.
He will retain his charm, just to make her journey smoother. Suzuna doesn't belong in Dystopia, however much he desires her to stay, stay with him. White lies in place of white noise and calming touches before her human warmth dissipates into cold marble, Aoi gently nudges her into sleep and – heaven's embrace.
Suzuna closes her eyes, reluctance losing out to Aoi's tender touches. She remembers her charge, Aoi, and her duty to him, as a pillar of strength, as a guardian to rely on, as a friend – she can't forget, never. Her breath evens out. 'I must remember to wake up or Aoi will forget to rest.' Even in sleep, she thinks of Aoi.
.
Suzuna drifts.
The poison creeps.
Aoi sleeps.
.
They left their Dystopia.
a/n: review & fave? I love you.