Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Fox and the Hound ❯ Force of Nature ( Chapter 3 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Luna Rain Glimmer 
Storms scare Genesis. Something else scares him as well. Gengeal-centric, teenage years.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.10.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.7K | Visits: 144 | Status: Work In Progress
Storms scare Genesis. Something else scares him as well. Gengeal-centric, teenage years.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.10.2011 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.7K | Visits: 144 | Status: Work In Progress
This is a first person narrative from Genesis's POV. I'm going to play around with POV shifts, theme, symbolism at times, and the events of CC and Pre-CC in this collection. You'll see some cute AU's out, as well as some tragedy. As to this drabble, its in-between being happy and tragic; there's irony and many dark elements to it, as well as a glimpse of the budding brotherhood and love these two share for each other.
Also, as to Genesis's childhood fear: I made that entirely up. I know he's not afraid of storms. However, that man always struck me as the type of guy to fall before the forces of nature. I figured it legitimate that he would have some semblance of fear for things beyond his control. In addition, I always thought he would have been a profound child, one who operated on a different wavelength than others, poetic in a sense.
I do hope you enjoy. Dedicated to any Genesis fan. ^-^ I own nothing.
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"What would it take
For things to be quiet?
Quiet like the snow." ~The Devil Wears Prada, Louder than Thunder
Force of Nature
Nothing scares me much. The dark never frightened me the way it did other children. There were no monsters in my closet, under my bed. The dark is as constant as light, an incorrigible truth of life.
The thought of death never scared me either. The moment something takes its first breath, it's doomed for decadence. If something's constant, controllable, I have no fear of it.
It's those unrestrained forces that terrify me, the elements that can't be commanded. It's a silly thing to be afraid of rain. Not the rain itself; that would be inexcusable. I'm thirteen years old, almost a man. What comes with the rain: that's my fear.
Light travels faster than sound. Thin white claws scratch at the skies, ripping open the heavens. A sound of drums hits the air, the raw intensity of thunder. Both scare me to death.
I've never been able to sleep in a storm. I always felt that if I let my body relax, let my breathing even, and then drift into slumber, I'd wake up and find the house destroyed. I don't trust storms or anything ungoverned by the natural order. It's just the way I've always been.
"I'll tell you a secret." Your voice shakes me from my thoughts, startling me for a moment. I adjust my heels on the tree branch, shift my weight to my arms, and look up at you. I'm always looking up to you these days.
You're in the branch above me, swinging your legs back and forth in a rhythmic synchronization of limbs. Your features are thoughtful, distant. For a moment, had you not been moving, I would have thought you a statue. Angels were always meant to be watchful creatures, extant beings. "But you gotta tell me one too!"
I chuckle, and the sound seems to snap you out of your self-composed reverie. Brown eyes latch onto mine, and for a moment, I'm engulfed in a protection so warm, it could be the sun. No; it is the sun. You'll only reveal this "secret" if I do the same. Yet, at the same time, you give me the chance to back out of it. I always have a choice with you.
"Okay. You first though." My fingers dig into the tree branch, and my nails begin scratching at the bark. A few fibers fall off, clinging to my fingernails. The pieces scatter to the ground, falling a few feet down.
"Stop that. Don't hurt the tree." I stop immediately; I hate all my habits. I hate this fear of mine even more. But for you, I'll share it.
"It's my tree." My parents own the tree, the land on this estate. Someday, if I want, the land goes to me. I'm sorry I lied again. I'm sorry I'm so stupid at times, speaking before I think.
"No one can own a tree. No one can own anything." The freedom of choice, your infallible morals, your honor…I know it well. I wish there could be a way to…I don't know…copy that character into my heart. I wish I could be as altruistic as you are. I could count the number of people my age who know the meaning of that word on the fingers of one hand. You're one of them.
"Alright. Tell me the secret!" My hands rest obediently on the tree branch, not picking at the bark, at the white-limbs that held me in their embrace all throughout my childhood. There are memories here.
You're quiet for so long, I thought you'd fallen asleep. That would have been hilarious. With all your talk on how dangerous trees can be, you fell asleep in one. I'd catch you though, before you fell. I really would.
"I…don't want to fail." That's your secret? I figured it wasn't buried treasure, or a secret passageway besides the mines. But why that fear?
Then the words sink in. Your voice was so hesitant. It was almost as if you were ashamed to tell me. My angel, you could never fail. Angels are perfection, right?
"Don't think like that." Your silence is my signal to continue; it's also an end to your confession. Damn. I guess that means it's my turn to tell you…my pathetic and foolish little fear.
You look down at me, and instantly, my thoughts clear. There's nothing but acceptance in those eyes of yours, the brown hues of the plowed, sun-baked earth. You won't think any less of me if I confide in you. It's what friends do…what brothers do.
Brothers. If the feeling in my heart was directed towards a brother, it'd be considered a sin in several countries.
Before you can object, intervene, and say I don't have to tell you, I begin speaking. "I'm only telling you this because you trusted me. It's the right thing to do…the honorable thing." You blink twice, but leave me to my words. "I'm scared of storms. The thunder and lightning especially. It makes me feel that I'm about to be destroyed, and things are beyond my control." Control. That's what this all spurns from. I'm young and I already know that. I'm someone who will more than likely grow up and demand to be in charge of everything.
Your brow furrows, the place in-between your eyebrows that I always tell you will cause premature wrinkles if you make that face. Consternation becomes you, confusion fills your eyes, and your lips form questions.
"Really?" I know what you're thinking; how could you fear something that brings rain? You've always been so connected to nature, to the earth. It's improbable, I know. It's foolish to fear storms, the sounds and the way the world trembles; it's a part of this life, a force of nature. Still, I'm terrified of them.
"Yes. I was never able to sleep through one." There were a few instances where I could though. When I was young, young enough for it to be appropriate, I crawled in with my parents. I found comfort in their warmth, in their heartbeats, in their breathing patterns. When I was older however, I didn't want to be a coward. Even if it resulted in a sleepless night, I stayed up until the storm clouds passed, until the roar of thunder was a memory. Then, and only then could I sleep. "I know it's stupid…but that's my secret. That, and my parents have a treasure chest in their room, one that has a map to the secret gift of the goddess!"
Your laughter is so much deeper than mine. Your voice has timbre, whereas mine still has that boyish chime. You're nearly a man, afraid of only failure. And here I am, with my light voice, falling before my fear of storms.
"It's alright, Gen. There's no shame in being afraid of something." Easy for you to say. You're braver than some full grown men. You got over your fears long ago: the fear of the dark, of monsters…of demons and hell. I remember when you used to have nightmares about being dragged from your bed sheets, through your floor boards, down and down into the pit. You had quite the imagination back then.
You're the lucky one. Rationale has replaced all thoughts of horror in your mind. You're not the one who's cowering under the sheets, begging for the dawn's light.
No shame you say? It fills me with more shame than my lack of understanding for things at times. Whereas you're the one who can comprehend the world, set morals, and have an unshakable code of honor, all I have is partial detachment for everything. But I still fear.
You swing from the branch, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of your arms. You've filled out more in one year than I ever could in my entire lifetime. The roping tendrils of veins on your arms burst on your skin, and within moments, you're on my level. Both figuratively, and literally.
"I have an idea. When it rains next…come to my house." There's this intensity in your eyes, this unwavering obligation that takes my breath. You always steal my breath. Angels are known for taking great care of their companions.
"Alright. I'll do that." I want to apologize for revealing this, for making you worry. I know that if I were to speak those words, words that would coat my tongue and throat with chagrin, you would wave it off. You'd say I did nothing wrong with being honest. Veracity is best, the truth is honorable…and so forth.
You smile, and it splits your hardening features. How you've grown up so much is beyond my understanding, faraway from my grasp of comprehension. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. You grew up faster than I ever could have, faster than me. I'm still a child compared to you.
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Sometimes I think you're psychic. Alright, maybe not psychic to the ability of reading minds, but rather a deep sense of intuition that allows you to act on that feeling.
You offered me your house, your protection, and your unrelenting friendship whenever it rained next, whenever it next stormed. This night, the rain began pouring. It came from the heavens, from the thick clouds that formed in the skies, meant to give the earth water, quenching its thirst. As beautiful as that is, what comes with rain terrifies me.
My parents were sleeping, slipping peacefully into their dreams. I know that if I return before they wake up, they'll never know I left. The multiple times I've slipped out of my house and into your home are forever branded into my memory.
My shoes go on, laces tied and ready to brace the storm. A light jacket with a hood is selected and I zip it up in haste, wanting to get to your house. I put my house key in my pocket, clench it in my fist, and stand. The room, the room that I'm perfectly happy with in the daylight, or in the night when there are no storms seem oppressive somehow. The shadows are thicker, tangible and very real. If I tried to touch them, I could probably grip the darkness.
'Hush now. Don't scare yourself. It's bad enough you need this anyways.' My shame still hasn't ended over telling you this, Angeal. I just want you to know that. You'll protect me with this…idea of yours. But still; don't think that I won't repay you in full someday. Seriously, if you ever need anything of me, just ask. I'll do anything to make you less afraid.
I rise from the bed covers and take one final look around my room. There's nothing more I need here, no objects or anything else. A light flashes through my window, thunder rumbles, and lightning strikes an unfortunate piece of earth. Get up, get out now.
I open the door, close it, and walk across the carpeted hardwood landing. In certain places, the floorboards squeak, places that I'm well accustomed to avoiding. When someone's prone to sneaking out at night, they need to be prepared not to get caught by the sounds of their own house.
I take the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping in my haste to get to you. That's kind of funny if you think about it. You claim I'm the graceful one Angeal, yet I'm always tripping over myself when it involves you.
I open the door, shut it behind me without a sound, and lock the house up. I've been a latchkey kid for as long as I could remember. Mom always called me a little wanderer, stroked my hair, and had a key made for me. Though everything's protected here, I don't want to leave Mom and Dad unprotected by an unlocked door. I know how terrible the world can be; I'm not blind to it.
The rain soaks my neck and back as I sprint down the hillside, sliding through the mud, the grasses, the weeds and flowers to get to you. You live in that little house that I always loved, the simple one with only your parents for company. You're happy there, amongst humble items and your frugal nature. You're one of those rare people who don't need wealth, material items or flashy trinkets to make you happy; happiness is found in the way you look at life.
Thunder booms above me, and a small yelp slips from my lips. I hate the way it sounds. When I'm SOLDIER, I'll break this stupid fear. Recruiting day is next spring, and I have until then to break this stupid, stupid fear of mine. I'll need every bit of sleep I can get if I'm going to survive the training, much less become a hero. I can't be waking up in the middle of the night if there's a storm.
'Heroes aren't afraid of storms.'
I reach your house, and my mood is as black as the night skies. Gently, I tap on the window, trying to catch your attention. Your parents like me, and I know they'll be alright with me spending the time with you, even in the dead of night like this. Besides, you more than likely told them they would be expecting me.
All of a sudden, your face appears in the glass. I catch a brief flash of your smile through the window, and you gesture to the door with your hand. I shiver a little as the rain pelts my head, but before the chill sets in, the door opens. You're protecting me from the very elements of nature itself.
I walk in, shiver, and take off my dripping coat. I want to apologize for coming, for getting your floors wet, and for having to lean on you in my hour of need. However, I know that even if I were to apologize, all you'd say was that it was what friends were for, what brothers were for.
"It's alright." You take the coat from me, and hand me a towel. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it easily takes most of the moisture out of my hair. My teeth begin to chatter, and I wrap the towel around my shoulders, taking in the sights of the room.
Sometimes, it makes me sad to see you live in this house. All I can make out is the table and chairs, the wooden table that your father bought, along with a set of chairs. There's only one level to this house, whereas in my own home there's multiple levels. And yet, there's no shame in your eyes to live here. Every time I come here, I know I'm more welcome here than in any other villagers home. They look at me with a mixture of awe, wonder, and sometimes, jealousy. Yes, I made the Banora juice, yes I can recite LOVELESS cover to cover, and yes I'm wealthy.
Here though, in this one-level home, with humble people, minimal furniture and posh items, I belong more than I do in the outside world.
That's not what grabs my attention however. The few chairs you have were used to create a type of tent with sheets, an indoor shelter from the elements. Pillows, blankets, and various items representing comfort are packed in the tent, the fort you created for me.
"Is this for me?" You laugh behind me, and the sound is smooth, masculine, and deep. When I laugh, sometimes I feel as if I'm choking on nails.
"Yes. I wanted to do a small campout. I wanted to show you storms are nothing to be scared of." You turn, and in the lightning flash from outside, for a moment, it appears as if you're shrouded in nothing but light. An angel, coming down from the skies during a lightning storm, an angel of protection, of strength. It stupefies me at times, how I can foresee how strong you'll be when you're older.
Thunder crashes everywhere outside, the sound stirring my irrational fear. I can't help the way my neck tenses up, or the way a small scream escapes my lips.
Then, I'm in your arms. How did that happen? "Come here." Gently, you guide me to the tent, almost as if you were trying to lead a stubborn child to bed. I tense, but immediate regret washes over me. You're just trying to help me, and here I am being so unwilling to accept it.
The soft plush of the pillows beneath my legs comforts me. I'm on solid ground at last. Your left hand is on my shoulder, and you gently place my head on your shoulder. It's as if you want to be my physical armor, my barrier from my fear. "It's alright, Genesis. I'm here."
This is something brothers would do, comforting one another in the dead of night, if there's a rainstorm, or a terrible nightmare they can't shake. What I feel for you, my angel, is thousand fold of any such brotherly notion.
"Why are you scared? What's the reason?" Put a face to your fear, and conquer it. Reason with the terror, and you emerge the victor. I figure that's your way of thinking.
It takes me a few tries, but I find my voice at last. "I like control. I'm not scared of the dark, of monsters, or death. All those things are natural. I know they're coming, and I know they're a part of life. I can predict that. The sounds, and the way storms make me feel…that's what scares me. I can't control the weather." You squeeze my shoulder, and I know the warmth from your hand will be burned into my skin for quite some time.
"Supposedly, there's Materia in SOLDIER that can do just that." You laugh, and I know this is your attempt to get me to smile. It worked. "See, there it is. There's your smile." For a moment, you become pensive, silent. "Want some hot chocolate?" I shake my head. I don't want you to go to the trouble. You're willing to turn on your gas for me, boil water, and waste a cocoa package just so I can have a hot drink. If I could be half as selfless as you, half as brave, I'd live my life without shame, and with more honor than I was born with. The person in the mirror though, is me.
"I'm alright." You rustle around, and a light comes on, illuminating the white sheet of the tent with our silhouettes. I feel as if I'm encompassed in white, deep in the heart of a mountain. The flashlight tilts under your face for a moment, and then you place the object in-between us, an obstruction of light. Who knew that light would cause our rift?
Light flickers outside, and I brace myself for the blow of thunder, for the booming noise of meshing clouds. It doesn't come, and the moment I release my guard, the roar comes as a shock. I yelp and cling to you like a mollusk. I'm so pathetic sometimes.
"Sorry." The only response from you is the gentle encircling of your arms around my thin frame. Where did all those muscles come from, all that strength?
"You shouldn't apologize for who you are. Don't do that." I find myself nodding, shutting my eyes. There's no ignoring the thudding of my heart in my eardrums. Damn. It was a mistake to come here, to allow you to comfort me. This only feeds that foolish thought that you'll look at me as more than a friend, more than the boy who you grew up with. It's best to not get ones hopes too high.
For now though, I'll just indulge in you
An insurmountable amount of time passes as I listen to the sound of your breathing. Comfort can be found in the darkness, in a tent made by a best friend, and enough love to fill a thousand lifetimes. All of that sounds so sappy, so cliché…but it's true. That's the thing about clichés sometimes: it's an age-old way of describing truth, of feelings.
Your voice shatters my fear, my shameful and hidden thoughts. As always. "Want to know why I like storms?" That's right: you actually like this.
"Tell me. Maybe that will make me less afraid." Knowledge beats fear, and other opinions banish fear.
You squeeze my shoulder, and start talking. "I like the power of it. There's this…this…"
"Intensity?" You chuckle, and the laughter makes a shiver race down my bones. Dammit.
"You know me; I don't really have a way with words like you do." Even in the dark, I can feel the heat rise to my face. How embarrassing; only females blush. "Yes, intensity. There's this power to the thunder, to the lightning. It makes me feel like I'm seeing beauty in its rawest form. I feel like I'm seeing the power of the gods." Well now. I always knew you were profound, a deep thinking and meditative person…but this reaffirms my belief to how much you've grown. "The rain gives the crops a drink, washes away disease…and it's beautiful to watch." Beautiful? I guess so.
"I don't see the beauty. I want to though." My fingers begin their nervous little habit, the habit in which I tear at whatever's in my hands. It's the sheets this time.
Your hand covers mine, and the habit stops immediately. Hazel eyes meet my eyes, and for a moment, I hear nothing; not the rumble of thunder, nor the burst of lightning outside the window. All is quiet, all is peaceful. You bring me to peace, time and time again. How you do that is beyond me. You're so magnificent at calming me down, even when I feel my lowest, my most shamed.
"Come with me." Your hand closes over mine, and you lift me without any strain. I think you have the potential to carry me across several leagues without tiring. It wouldn't surprise me if you become a General, or someone of great importance in SOLDIER. It'd be a bit of a fulfillment of your destiny: becoming a hero.
We walk to the window—the only one in the house—and we stop at the windowsill. You point outside, and my brow raises. All I see is gray glass, a pewter sky…and thousands upon thousands of dripping drops on the windowpane.
"I can't see anything." Is this a matter of perspective? The glass is blurry, both from our breathing, and the weather.
"Neither can I. I'm going to open the door a little bit. I want you to poke your head out, and look to the skies. If you're comfortable that is." If you're with me, I'd do anything.
"Alright. Stand with me though." You nod, and in the faint light, I see your smile. Even in this little light, I recognize that above all other things. Hesitantly, I walk towards the door. How silly of me, being afraid of an open door.
The door opens, the handle is turned, and the night air hits my face. It feels good…but it's chilled somehow, not pleasant at all. The rain has this sweet scent, a lingering moist odor that's never refreshed me. Others like it; I've never liked it much. Still, I see you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and inhale the smell.
"It's fresh, earthy." Your eyes open, and you motion for me to do the same. Alright, fine. I won't like it though.
I close my eyes, breathe through my nose, hold the breath…and then release it. No difference. I do it a few more times…and then at the very end, there's a bit of a change. There's this invigorating feeling that comes over me, something that I love. There. There it is, the feeling I've looked for in a rainstorm: freedom.
'The rain gives the crops a drink, washes away the disease…and it's beautiful to watch.' To watch? Yes…watch.
My eyes open—truly, truly open—and I see the rain now. It falls from the skies, like thick needles hitting the earth with splashes of water. It's sharp, biting; but it's also calming, a lullaby of pattering drops.
I see the flash of lightning, hold my breath, and thunder crashes everywhere. The sound causes a small sweat to line my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand erect. I tremble, but your hand's on my shoulder again. There's no need to fear anything; not with you.
There's power here, in the way that those white jagged stripes cut the skies. There's might here, in the harsh cacophony of clouds hitting clouds. There's beauty in this rain, grace in this storm. The force of nature is just that: a force, something to marvel at. I understand what you feel.
Still, something about this force, this energy beyond my control terrifies me. In a fancy, I picture myself collapsing to my knees in a storm, lifting up my head, and letting the rain drench me from head to foot. Maybe then I'll find some sort of divine connection.
Thunder claps a few times in a row, and though my heart hammers in my ribcage—old habits linger—I'm not as scared as I was. I feel as if I could actually sleep through this now, without the fear of my house getting torn apart by the storms might. Lightning strikes, and it could cause fires. Thunder could wake me, and I could spend the rest of the night in a cold sweat.
I'll never be free from fear. No one can be. There are those who are willing to help us face them though.
The rest of the night passes with hot chocolate, an invention of stories you make up, and at last, slumber. Mom won't mind if I stay here tonight; she always liked your mother.
The pillows are fluffed, goodnights are exchanged, and the deep sound of your breathing tells me that you're asleep. I'm almost there, in the limbo of unawareness and focus.
"Thank you," I whisper. You roll in your sleep, turning away from me. This wasn't intentional, I know. There were multiple times in our childhood when we slept over and shared bedrooms. Sometimes, we woke up tangled in one another's limbs. Back then, we didn't pay too much mind to such things. Now, it's deemed inappropriate.
Still, I wrap my right arm around your shoulders. Gently, ever so gently, I snuggle into the space between your shoulder blades. The warmth found there could be some sort of divine warmth, a holy heat that would thaw even the most freezing of winter nights. There's comfort here.
I wonder, if in your sleep, you can feel the steady thumping of my heart. Also, I wonder if you know that this heart, this fragile, stubborn, damaged organ beats for you. There's no one else, no girl who I'll fall for, or someone who can recite LOVELESS to me and make me happy. You make me happy. You make me strong. You're my best friend, my brother, the one I trust with my life.
Come Spring, that might just happen. We'll be fighters' together, warriors. Heroes even.
"Thank you. I'm not afraid anymore." I can still hear the steady thrumming of rain against the windowpane. Normally, I would think that with this storm, your house was at risk of getting destroyed. Anything can get destroyed, at anytime. It's part of nature: destruction, demolition…devastation. However, I'll never think like that again. You've shown me otherwise.
You shared with me your secret, your fear of failing. You'll never fail. You go above and beyond any expectation I have, time and again. Angels don't fail.
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Two days later, and there's the promise of rain in the air. Instead of that awful feeling, the one I once experienced when there was a coming storm, I go back to climbing. We're in the trees again, as always.
I hoist myself up on your branch, and you turn and smile. Your reverie is broken, but I know you don't mind. You never disturb me, or bother me in the least, and it's the same with you.
"A storm's coming." I shrug, for it doesn't bother me much anymore. There's power there, the might of the goddess in the lightning. Storms connect me with Her, with the gift that man has always searched for.
"That's fine. I don't mind. Thanks to you of course." A smile turns your lips skyward, and the gesture reaches your eyes, making them twinkle.
"You did this all on your own. You're getting really brave Gen." Gen. I love that nickname, that little term of endearment. Sometimes though, I pretend to hate it, just so that you don't know how much I love it. It shows me you care.
"I couldn't have done that without you." Your hand grips my shoulder, and you pull me close. My head rests on your shoulder, the scent of rain is everywhere, and there's no fear.
"If there's anything you need to tell me, anything at all, do it. I'm here for you. You're my best friend." I do need to tell you something. But not today.
"Thank you. I'm alright though. Sorry I didn't tell you that sooner."
Again, you're consumed by silence. For a few moments, I wonder if you're mad, if you're angry that I didn't say anything to you. It's all about trust.
Then, you speak and I'm reassured. "Everything happens in its own time. I'm glad you told me though. Never feel like you can't come to me. Even if it's the middle of the night, daybreak, or I'm in the middle of something, tell me."
Your compassion for people astounds me sometimes. Not that I don't think that you could ever be anything but kind, but I wonder if you know how special you are to me.
"Thank you. I'm sure I'll take you up on that offer at some point. I don't want to hide anything from my future comrade in arms."
You turn from your perch, and for a moment, our faces are centimeters apart. There's no reaction on your face, but mine is blistering with heat. How embarrassing to have such evidence of my love for you everywhere. My heart is killing me now, beating, and ricocheting in my ears. What are you doing to me?
"Let's promise that. Let's swear, right now, to tell each other everything. No matter how old we grow…let's always know what's going on in our hearts." Your eyes are shining, burning with an ever-tumescent flame. There's a small sheen of sweat on your brow, and with the way the sunlight throws shadows across your face…it's almost too much for me to take.
But I take it. "I promise. I'll share everything with you. We need to be close if we're going to survive SOLDIER. We'll be heroes together, without petty fears." We shake on it, but I don't feel close to you at all. I'm being dishonest.
I have another fear too: losing you. That's a force of nature as well: death. I've lost one fear to gain another.
If my shock was prevalent on my face, you don't notice it. "It's settled then: friends for life." You seem so happy, so pleased with everything. For the moment, the world can't do you wrong.
"Yeah. Friends."
The fear's back.
Converting /tmp/phpTocymv to /dev/stdout
Also, as to Genesis's childhood fear: I made that entirely up. I know he's not afraid of storms. However, that man always struck me as the type of guy to fall before the forces of nature. I figured it legitimate that he would have some semblance of fear for things beyond his control. In addition, I always thought he would have been a profound child, one who operated on a different wavelength than others, poetic in a sense.
I do hope you enjoy. Dedicated to any Genesis fan. ^-^ I own nothing.
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"What would it take
For things to be quiet?
Quiet like the snow." ~The Devil Wears Prada, Louder than Thunder
Force of Nature
Nothing scares me much. The dark never frightened me the way it did other children. There were no monsters in my closet, under my bed. The dark is as constant as light, an incorrigible truth of life.
The thought of death never scared me either. The moment something takes its first breath, it's doomed for decadence. If something's constant, controllable, I have no fear of it.
It's those unrestrained forces that terrify me, the elements that can't be commanded. It's a silly thing to be afraid of rain. Not the rain itself; that would be inexcusable. I'm thirteen years old, almost a man. What comes with the rain: that's my fear.
Light travels faster than sound. Thin white claws scratch at the skies, ripping open the heavens. A sound of drums hits the air, the raw intensity of thunder. Both scare me to death.
I've never been able to sleep in a storm. I always felt that if I let my body relax, let my breathing even, and then drift into slumber, I'd wake up and find the house destroyed. I don't trust storms or anything ungoverned by the natural order. It's just the way I've always been.
"I'll tell you a secret." Your voice shakes me from my thoughts, startling me for a moment. I adjust my heels on the tree branch, shift my weight to my arms, and look up at you. I'm always looking up to you these days.
You're in the branch above me, swinging your legs back and forth in a rhythmic synchronization of limbs. Your features are thoughtful, distant. For a moment, had you not been moving, I would have thought you a statue. Angels were always meant to be watchful creatures, extant beings. "But you gotta tell me one too!"
I chuckle, and the sound seems to snap you out of your self-composed reverie. Brown eyes latch onto mine, and for a moment, I'm engulfed in a protection so warm, it could be the sun. No; it is the sun. You'll only reveal this "secret" if I do the same. Yet, at the same time, you give me the chance to back out of it. I always have a choice with you.
"Okay. You first though." My fingers dig into the tree branch, and my nails begin scratching at the bark. A few fibers fall off, clinging to my fingernails. The pieces scatter to the ground, falling a few feet down.
"Stop that. Don't hurt the tree." I stop immediately; I hate all my habits. I hate this fear of mine even more. But for you, I'll share it.
"It's my tree." My parents own the tree, the land on this estate. Someday, if I want, the land goes to me. I'm sorry I lied again. I'm sorry I'm so stupid at times, speaking before I think.
"No one can own a tree. No one can own anything." The freedom of choice, your infallible morals, your honor…I know it well. I wish there could be a way to…I don't know…copy that character into my heart. I wish I could be as altruistic as you are. I could count the number of people my age who know the meaning of that word on the fingers of one hand. You're one of them.
"Alright. Tell me the secret!" My hands rest obediently on the tree branch, not picking at the bark, at the white-limbs that held me in their embrace all throughout my childhood. There are memories here.
You're quiet for so long, I thought you'd fallen asleep. That would have been hilarious. With all your talk on how dangerous trees can be, you fell asleep in one. I'd catch you though, before you fell. I really would.
"I…don't want to fail." That's your secret? I figured it wasn't buried treasure, or a secret passageway besides the mines. But why that fear?
Then the words sink in. Your voice was so hesitant. It was almost as if you were ashamed to tell me. My angel, you could never fail. Angels are perfection, right?
"Don't think like that." Your silence is my signal to continue; it's also an end to your confession. Damn. I guess that means it's my turn to tell you…my pathetic and foolish little fear.
You look down at me, and instantly, my thoughts clear. There's nothing but acceptance in those eyes of yours, the brown hues of the plowed, sun-baked earth. You won't think any less of me if I confide in you. It's what friends do…what brothers do.
Brothers. If the feeling in my heart was directed towards a brother, it'd be considered a sin in several countries.
Before you can object, intervene, and say I don't have to tell you, I begin speaking. "I'm only telling you this because you trusted me. It's the right thing to do…the honorable thing." You blink twice, but leave me to my words. "I'm scared of storms. The thunder and lightning especially. It makes me feel that I'm about to be destroyed, and things are beyond my control." Control. That's what this all spurns from. I'm young and I already know that. I'm someone who will more than likely grow up and demand to be in charge of everything.
Your brow furrows, the place in-between your eyebrows that I always tell you will cause premature wrinkles if you make that face. Consternation becomes you, confusion fills your eyes, and your lips form questions.
"Really?" I know what you're thinking; how could you fear something that brings rain? You've always been so connected to nature, to the earth. It's improbable, I know. It's foolish to fear storms, the sounds and the way the world trembles; it's a part of this life, a force of nature. Still, I'm terrified of them.
"Yes. I was never able to sleep through one." There were a few instances where I could though. When I was young, young enough for it to be appropriate, I crawled in with my parents. I found comfort in their warmth, in their heartbeats, in their breathing patterns. When I was older however, I didn't want to be a coward. Even if it resulted in a sleepless night, I stayed up until the storm clouds passed, until the roar of thunder was a memory. Then, and only then could I sleep. "I know it's stupid…but that's my secret. That, and my parents have a treasure chest in their room, one that has a map to the secret gift of the goddess!"
Your laughter is so much deeper than mine. Your voice has timbre, whereas mine still has that boyish chime. You're nearly a man, afraid of only failure. And here I am, with my light voice, falling before my fear of storms.
"It's alright, Gen. There's no shame in being afraid of something." Easy for you to say. You're braver than some full grown men. You got over your fears long ago: the fear of the dark, of monsters…of demons and hell. I remember when you used to have nightmares about being dragged from your bed sheets, through your floor boards, down and down into the pit. You had quite the imagination back then.
You're the lucky one. Rationale has replaced all thoughts of horror in your mind. You're not the one who's cowering under the sheets, begging for the dawn's light.
No shame you say? It fills me with more shame than my lack of understanding for things at times. Whereas you're the one who can comprehend the world, set morals, and have an unshakable code of honor, all I have is partial detachment for everything. But I still fear.
You swing from the branch, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of your arms. You've filled out more in one year than I ever could in my entire lifetime. The roping tendrils of veins on your arms burst on your skin, and within moments, you're on my level. Both figuratively, and literally.
"I have an idea. When it rains next…come to my house." There's this intensity in your eyes, this unwavering obligation that takes my breath. You always steal my breath. Angels are known for taking great care of their companions.
"Alright. I'll do that." I want to apologize for revealing this, for making you worry. I know that if I were to speak those words, words that would coat my tongue and throat with chagrin, you would wave it off. You'd say I did nothing wrong with being honest. Veracity is best, the truth is honorable…and so forth.
You smile, and it splits your hardening features. How you've grown up so much is beyond my understanding, faraway from my grasp of comprehension. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. You grew up faster than I ever could have, faster than me. I'm still a child compared to you.
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Sometimes I think you're psychic. Alright, maybe not psychic to the ability of reading minds, but rather a deep sense of intuition that allows you to act on that feeling.
You offered me your house, your protection, and your unrelenting friendship whenever it rained next, whenever it next stormed. This night, the rain began pouring. It came from the heavens, from the thick clouds that formed in the skies, meant to give the earth water, quenching its thirst. As beautiful as that is, what comes with rain terrifies me.
My parents were sleeping, slipping peacefully into their dreams. I know that if I return before they wake up, they'll never know I left. The multiple times I've slipped out of my house and into your home are forever branded into my memory.
My shoes go on, laces tied and ready to brace the storm. A light jacket with a hood is selected and I zip it up in haste, wanting to get to your house. I put my house key in my pocket, clench it in my fist, and stand. The room, the room that I'm perfectly happy with in the daylight, or in the night when there are no storms seem oppressive somehow. The shadows are thicker, tangible and very real. If I tried to touch them, I could probably grip the darkness.
'Hush now. Don't scare yourself. It's bad enough you need this anyways.' My shame still hasn't ended over telling you this, Angeal. I just want you to know that. You'll protect me with this…idea of yours. But still; don't think that I won't repay you in full someday. Seriously, if you ever need anything of me, just ask. I'll do anything to make you less afraid.
I rise from the bed covers and take one final look around my room. There's nothing more I need here, no objects or anything else. A light flashes through my window, thunder rumbles, and lightning strikes an unfortunate piece of earth. Get up, get out now.
I open the door, close it, and walk across the carpeted hardwood landing. In certain places, the floorboards squeak, places that I'm well accustomed to avoiding. When someone's prone to sneaking out at night, they need to be prepared not to get caught by the sounds of their own house.
I take the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping in my haste to get to you. That's kind of funny if you think about it. You claim I'm the graceful one Angeal, yet I'm always tripping over myself when it involves you.
I open the door, shut it behind me without a sound, and lock the house up. I've been a latchkey kid for as long as I could remember. Mom always called me a little wanderer, stroked my hair, and had a key made for me. Though everything's protected here, I don't want to leave Mom and Dad unprotected by an unlocked door. I know how terrible the world can be; I'm not blind to it.
The rain soaks my neck and back as I sprint down the hillside, sliding through the mud, the grasses, the weeds and flowers to get to you. You live in that little house that I always loved, the simple one with only your parents for company. You're happy there, amongst humble items and your frugal nature. You're one of those rare people who don't need wealth, material items or flashy trinkets to make you happy; happiness is found in the way you look at life.
Thunder booms above me, and a small yelp slips from my lips. I hate the way it sounds. When I'm SOLDIER, I'll break this stupid fear. Recruiting day is next spring, and I have until then to break this stupid, stupid fear of mine. I'll need every bit of sleep I can get if I'm going to survive the training, much less become a hero. I can't be waking up in the middle of the night if there's a storm.
'Heroes aren't afraid of storms.'
I reach your house, and my mood is as black as the night skies. Gently, I tap on the window, trying to catch your attention. Your parents like me, and I know they'll be alright with me spending the time with you, even in the dead of night like this. Besides, you more than likely told them they would be expecting me.
All of a sudden, your face appears in the glass. I catch a brief flash of your smile through the window, and you gesture to the door with your hand. I shiver a little as the rain pelts my head, but before the chill sets in, the door opens. You're protecting me from the very elements of nature itself.
I walk in, shiver, and take off my dripping coat. I want to apologize for coming, for getting your floors wet, and for having to lean on you in my hour of need. However, I know that even if I were to apologize, all you'd say was that it was what friends were for, what brothers were for.
"It's alright." You take the coat from me, and hand me a towel. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it easily takes most of the moisture out of my hair. My teeth begin to chatter, and I wrap the towel around my shoulders, taking in the sights of the room.
Sometimes, it makes me sad to see you live in this house. All I can make out is the table and chairs, the wooden table that your father bought, along with a set of chairs. There's only one level to this house, whereas in my own home there's multiple levels. And yet, there's no shame in your eyes to live here. Every time I come here, I know I'm more welcome here than in any other villagers home. They look at me with a mixture of awe, wonder, and sometimes, jealousy. Yes, I made the Banora juice, yes I can recite LOVELESS cover to cover, and yes I'm wealthy.
Here though, in this one-level home, with humble people, minimal furniture and posh items, I belong more than I do in the outside world.
That's not what grabs my attention however. The few chairs you have were used to create a type of tent with sheets, an indoor shelter from the elements. Pillows, blankets, and various items representing comfort are packed in the tent, the fort you created for me.
"Is this for me?" You laugh behind me, and the sound is smooth, masculine, and deep. When I laugh, sometimes I feel as if I'm choking on nails.
"Yes. I wanted to do a small campout. I wanted to show you storms are nothing to be scared of." You turn, and in the lightning flash from outside, for a moment, it appears as if you're shrouded in nothing but light. An angel, coming down from the skies during a lightning storm, an angel of protection, of strength. It stupefies me at times, how I can foresee how strong you'll be when you're older.
Thunder crashes everywhere outside, the sound stirring my irrational fear. I can't help the way my neck tenses up, or the way a small scream escapes my lips.
Then, I'm in your arms. How did that happen? "Come here." Gently, you guide me to the tent, almost as if you were trying to lead a stubborn child to bed. I tense, but immediate regret washes over me. You're just trying to help me, and here I am being so unwilling to accept it.
The soft plush of the pillows beneath my legs comforts me. I'm on solid ground at last. Your left hand is on my shoulder, and you gently place my head on your shoulder. It's as if you want to be my physical armor, my barrier from my fear. "It's alright, Genesis. I'm here."
This is something brothers would do, comforting one another in the dead of night, if there's a rainstorm, or a terrible nightmare they can't shake. What I feel for you, my angel, is thousand fold of any such brotherly notion.
"Why are you scared? What's the reason?" Put a face to your fear, and conquer it. Reason with the terror, and you emerge the victor. I figure that's your way of thinking.
It takes me a few tries, but I find my voice at last. "I like control. I'm not scared of the dark, of monsters, or death. All those things are natural. I know they're coming, and I know they're a part of life. I can predict that. The sounds, and the way storms make me feel…that's what scares me. I can't control the weather." You squeeze my shoulder, and I know the warmth from your hand will be burned into my skin for quite some time.
"Supposedly, there's Materia in SOLDIER that can do just that." You laugh, and I know this is your attempt to get me to smile. It worked. "See, there it is. There's your smile." For a moment, you become pensive, silent. "Want some hot chocolate?" I shake my head. I don't want you to go to the trouble. You're willing to turn on your gas for me, boil water, and waste a cocoa package just so I can have a hot drink. If I could be half as selfless as you, half as brave, I'd live my life without shame, and with more honor than I was born with. The person in the mirror though, is me.
"I'm alright." You rustle around, and a light comes on, illuminating the white sheet of the tent with our silhouettes. I feel as if I'm encompassed in white, deep in the heart of a mountain. The flashlight tilts under your face for a moment, and then you place the object in-between us, an obstruction of light. Who knew that light would cause our rift?
Light flickers outside, and I brace myself for the blow of thunder, for the booming noise of meshing clouds. It doesn't come, and the moment I release my guard, the roar comes as a shock. I yelp and cling to you like a mollusk. I'm so pathetic sometimes.
"Sorry." The only response from you is the gentle encircling of your arms around my thin frame. Where did all those muscles come from, all that strength?
"You shouldn't apologize for who you are. Don't do that." I find myself nodding, shutting my eyes. There's no ignoring the thudding of my heart in my eardrums. Damn. It was a mistake to come here, to allow you to comfort me. This only feeds that foolish thought that you'll look at me as more than a friend, more than the boy who you grew up with. It's best to not get ones hopes too high.
For now though, I'll just indulge in you
An insurmountable amount of time passes as I listen to the sound of your breathing. Comfort can be found in the darkness, in a tent made by a best friend, and enough love to fill a thousand lifetimes. All of that sounds so sappy, so cliché…but it's true. That's the thing about clichés sometimes: it's an age-old way of describing truth, of feelings.
Your voice shatters my fear, my shameful and hidden thoughts. As always. "Want to know why I like storms?" That's right: you actually like this.
"Tell me. Maybe that will make me less afraid." Knowledge beats fear, and other opinions banish fear.
You squeeze my shoulder, and start talking. "I like the power of it. There's this…this…"
"Intensity?" You chuckle, and the laughter makes a shiver race down my bones. Dammit.
"You know me; I don't really have a way with words like you do." Even in the dark, I can feel the heat rise to my face. How embarrassing; only females blush. "Yes, intensity. There's this power to the thunder, to the lightning. It makes me feel like I'm seeing beauty in its rawest form. I feel like I'm seeing the power of the gods." Well now. I always knew you were profound, a deep thinking and meditative person…but this reaffirms my belief to how much you've grown. "The rain gives the crops a drink, washes away disease…and it's beautiful to watch." Beautiful? I guess so.
"I don't see the beauty. I want to though." My fingers begin their nervous little habit, the habit in which I tear at whatever's in my hands. It's the sheets this time.
Your hand covers mine, and the habit stops immediately. Hazel eyes meet my eyes, and for a moment, I hear nothing; not the rumble of thunder, nor the burst of lightning outside the window. All is quiet, all is peaceful. You bring me to peace, time and time again. How you do that is beyond me. You're so magnificent at calming me down, even when I feel my lowest, my most shamed.
"Come with me." Your hand closes over mine, and you lift me without any strain. I think you have the potential to carry me across several leagues without tiring. It wouldn't surprise me if you become a General, or someone of great importance in SOLDIER. It'd be a bit of a fulfillment of your destiny: becoming a hero.
We walk to the window—the only one in the house—and we stop at the windowsill. You point outside, and my brow raises. All I see is gray glass, a pewter sky…and thousands upon thousands of dripping drops on the windowpane.
"I can't see anything." Is this a matter of perspective? The glass is blurry, both from our breathing, and the weather.
"Neither can I. I'm going to open the door a little bit. I want you to poke your head out, and look to the skies. If you're comfortable that is." If you're with me, I'd do anything.
"Alright. Stand with me though." You nod, and in the faint light, I see your smile. Even in this little light, I recognize that above all other things. Hesitantly, I walk towards the door. How silly of me, being afraid of an open door.
The door opens, the handle is turned, and the night air hits my face. It feels good…but it's chilled somehow, not pleasant at all. The rain has this sweet scent, a lingering moist odor that's never refreshed me. Others like it; I've never liked it much. Still, I see you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and inhale the smell.
"It's fresh, earthy." Your eyes open, and you motion for me to do the same. Alright, fine. I won't like it though.
I close my eyes, breathe through my nose, hold the breath…and then release it. No difference. I do it a few more times…and then at the very end, there's a bit of a change. There's this invigorating feeling that comes over me, something that I love. There. There it is, the feeling I've looked for in a rainstorm: freedom.
'The rain gives the crops a drink, washes away the disease…and it's beautiful to watch.' To watch? Yes…watch.
My eyes open—truly, truly open—and I see the rain now. It falls from the skies, like thick needles hitting the earth with splashes of water. It's sharp, biting; but it's also calming, a lullaby of pattering drops.
I see the flash of lightning, hold my breath, and thunder crashes everywhere. The sound causes a small sweat to line my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand erect. I tremble, but your hand's on my shoulder again. There's no need to fear anything; not with you.
There's power here, in the way that those white jagged stripes cut the skies. There's might here, in the harsh cacophony of clouds hitting clouds. There's beauty in this rain, grace in this storm. The force of nature is just that: a force, something to marvel at. I understand what you feel.
Still, something about this force, this energy beyond my control terrifies me. In a fancy, I picture myself collapsing to my knees in a storm, lifting up my head, and letting the rain drench me from head to foot. Maybe then I'll find some sort of divine connection.
Thunder claps a few times in a row, and though my heart hammers in my ribcage—old habits linger—I'm not as scared as I was. I feel as if I could actually sleep through this now, without the fear of my house getting torn apart by the storms might. Lightning strikes, and it could cause fires. Thunder could wake me, and I could spend the rest of the night in a cold sweat.
I'll never be free from fear. No one can be. There are those who are willing to help us face them though.
The rest of the night passes with hot chocolate, an invention of stories you make up, and at last, slumber. Mom won't mind if I stay here tonight; she always liked your mother.
The pillows are fluffed, goodnights are exchanged, and the deep sound of your breathing tells me that you're asleep. I'm almost there, in the limbo of unawareness and focus.
"Thank you," I whisper. You roll in your sleep, turning away from me. This wasn't intentional, I know. There were multiple times in our childhood when we slept over and shared bedrooms. Sometimes, we woke up tangled in one another's limbs. Back then, we didn't pay too much mind to such things. Now, it's deemed inappropriate.
Still, I wrap my right arm around your shoulders. Gently, ever so gently, I snuggle into the space between your shoulder blades. The warmth found there could be some sort of divine warmth, a holy heat that would thaw even the most freezing of winter nights. There's comfort here.
I wonder, if in your sleep, you can feel the steady thumping of my heart. Also, I wonder if you know that this heart, this fragile, stubborn, damaged organ beats for you. There's no one else, no girl who I'll fall for, or someone who can recite LOVELESS to me and make me happy. You make me happy. You make me strong. You're my best friend, my brother, the one I trust with my life.
Come Spring, that might just happen. We'll be fighters' together, warriors. Heroes even.
"Thank you. I'm not afraid anymore." I can still hear the steady thrumming of rain against the windowpane. Normally, I would think that with this storm, your house was at risk of getting destroyed. Anything can get destroyed, at anytime. It's part of nature: destruction, demolition…devastation. However, I'll never think like that again. You've shown me otherwise.
You shared with me your secret, your fear of failing. You'll never fail. You go above and beyond any expectation I have, time and again. Angels don't fail.
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Two days later, and there's the promise of rain in the air. Instead of that awful feeling, the one I once experienced when there was a coming storm, I go back to climbing. We're in the trees again, as always.
I hoist myself up on your branch, and you turn and smile. Your reverie is broken, but I know you don't mind. You never disturb me, or bother me in the least, and it's the same with you.
"A storm's coming." I shrug, for it doesn't bother me much anymore. There's power there, the might of the goddess in the lightning. Storms connect me with Her, with the gift that man has always searched for.
"That's fine. I don't mind. Thanks to you of course." A smile turns your lips skyward, and the gesture reaches your eyes, making them twinkle.
"You did this all on your own. You're getting really brave Gen." Gen. I love that nickname, that little term of endearment. Sometimes though, I pretend to hate it, just so that you don't know how much I love it. It shows me you care.
"I couldn't have done that without you." Your hand grips my shoulder, and you pull me close. My head rests on your shoulder, the scent of rain is everywhere, and there's no fear.
"If there's anything you need to tell me, anything at all, do it. I'm here for you. You're my best friend." I do need to tell you something. But not today.
"Thank you. I'm alright though. Sorry I didn't tell you that sooner."
Again, you're consumed by silence. For a few moments, I wonder if you're mad, if you're angry that I didn't say anything to you. It's all about trust.
Then, you speak and I'm reassured. "Everything happens in its own time. I'm glad you told me though. Never feel like you can't come to me. Even if it's the middle of the night, daybreak, or I'm in the middle of something, tell me."
Your compassion for people astounds me sometimes. Not that I don't think that you could ever be anything but kind, but I wonder if you know how special you are to me.
"Thank you. I'm sure I'll take you up on that offer at some point. I don't want to hide anything from my future comrade in arms."
You turn from your perch, and for a moment, our faces are centimeters apart. There's no reaction on your face, but mine is blistering with heat. How embarrassing to have such evidence of my love for you everywhere. My heart is killing me now, beating, and ricocheting in my ears. What are you doing to me?
"Let's promise that. Let's swear, right now, to tell each other everything. No matter how old we grow…let's always know what's going on in our hearts." Your eyes are shining, burning with an ever-tumescent flame. There's a small sheen of sweat on your brow, and with the way the sunlight throws shadows across your face…it's almost too much for me to take.
But I take it. "I promise. I'll share everything with you. We need to be close if we're going to survive SOLDIER. We'll be heroes together, without petty fears." We shake on it, but I don't feel close to you at all. I'm being dishonest.
I have another fear too: losing you. That's a force of nature as well: death. I've lost one fear to gain another.
If my shock was prevalent on my face, you don't notice it. "It's settled then: friends for life." You seem so happy, so pleased with everything. For the moment, the world can't do you wrong.
"Yeah. Friends."
The fear's back.
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