Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Memories like blemishes ❯ what hurts ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: jackalsscalpel 
A small ficlet on Akito feelings. Spoilers!!
Anime/Manga: Fruits Basket Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Angst | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 03.30.2006 | Updated On: 03.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 732 | Visits: 790 | Status: Completed
A small ficlet on Akito feelings. Spoilers!!
Anime/Manga: Fruits Basket Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Angst | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 03.30.2006 | Updated On: 03.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 732 | Visits: 790 | Status: Completed
Title: Memories like Blemishes
LJ Author: pikapicokitt
Theme: What Hurts
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket is property of its original creator; I can only be credited for the story idea. The song “What Hurts the Mose” and the selected lyrics I’ve chosen from it are property of Rascal Flatts.
Spoiler warning ahead!!
I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house
That don't bother me
I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out
I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while
Even though going on with you gone still upsets me
There are days every now and again I pretend I'm OK
But that's not what gets me
There are some memories that can't be forgotten, that try hard to be forgotten, that you don't want forgotten. Memories of black and red, that bleed from your heart and leave you thirsty, and cold, and scared, and a million unhappy and unsettling feelings. Feelings that leave you even more numb and rigid than the coldest day of winter, and you bundle so close into yourself but there's no source of heat, and you're so cold, and it hurts so much, and you don't know what to do. The memories of him, the memories of your so-called friends, the memories and pains and promises that were meant just to be broken because they were there.
She wants to cry, wants to be angry, wants to hate him, and yet there he sleeps, alone and dying and repeating the pain he brought forth on her over and over again in her heart. She wants to reach out to him, wants to curl next to him, sleep on his lap like when she was little; but now he is gone and she is scared, and she wants to be a little girl once more, with her father and his laughter there beside her. She's been twisted, and shaped, and molded, and burned into everything she never wanted to be because of promises broken. Her body is disgusting. Her soul is shaped jagged and mournful, and her life she hates for its lies and trickery.
It is a sad deception to live in. A sad truth to face that everything you've grown to know, grown to love and cherish will leave you, hate you, and love you not because it's in them to want it, but because it's beaten into them to have to. It's hard life to live in. Pain upon pain to shatter one's core and leave you so dry that you can't even begin to find tears because you're afraid someone might notice you're weak. Afraid someone might notice you're hurting, try to help you, and lie to you once again. Everyone lies to you, everyone hates you, everyone wishes you gone; but you can't help go on wishing that they might someday love you.
She can't control herself, can't control her anger. She means to be calm, but can’t find her head above that sand and shards that bury her deep beneath its impending walls. She screams and shouts and belittles until her voice has run coarse. And when no one is watching, she curls into a corner and cries. Cries her silent, unseen tears, feeling her body and insides die all around her. It's not fair, it's not fair! Everyone else can be so happy, but not she. She must be God, she must be miserable, she must die for no real purpose. And she knows she'll die, fears it so, because all the hurts, all the doubts leave her wicked and sour. And she'll die unloved, without love, because no one dared to show her how. A pitiful little thing that only learned by being taught.
A little rag doll, forever left to rot in the corner.
What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was trying to do
LJ Author: pikapicokitt
Theme: What Hurts
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket is property of its original creator; I can only be credited for the story idea. The song “What Hurts the Mose” and the selected lyrics I’ve chosen from it are property of Rascal Flatts.
Spoiler warning ahead!!
I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house
That don't bother me
I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out
I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while
Even though going on with you gone still upsets me
There are days every now and again I pretend I'm OK
But that's not what gets me
There are some memories that can't be forgotten, that try hard to be forgotten, that you don't want forgotten. Memories of black and red, that bleed from your heart and leave you thirsty, and cold, and scared, and a million unhappy and unsettling feelings. Feelings that leave you even more numb and rigid than the coldest day of winter, and you bundle so close into yourself but there's no source of heat, and you're so cold, and it hurts so much, and you don't know what to do. The memories of him, the memories of your so-called friends, the memories and pains and promises that were meant just to be broken because they were there.
She wants to cry, wants to be angry, wants to hate him, and yet there he sleeps, alone and dying and repeating the pain he brought forth on her over and over again in her heart. She wants to reach out to him, wants to curl next to him, sleep on his lap like when she was little; but now he is gone and she is scared, and she wants to be a little girl once more, with her father and his laughter there beside her. She's been twisted, and shaped, and molded, and burned into everything she never wanted to be because of promises broken. Her body is disgusting. Her soul is shaped jagged and mournful, and her life she hates for its lies and trickery.
It is a sad deception to live in. A sad truth to face that everything you've grown to know, grown to love and cherish will leave you, hate you, and love you not because it's in them to want it, but because it's beaten into them to have to. It's hard life to live in. Pain upon pain to shatter one's core and leave you so dry that you can't even begin to find tears because you're afraid someone might notice you're weak. Afraid someone might notice you're hurting, try to help you, and lie to you once again. Everyone lies to you, everyone hates you, everyone wishes you gone; but you can't help go on wishing that they might someday love you.
She can't control herself, can't control her anger. She means to be calm, but can’t find her head above that sand and shards that bury her deep beneath its impending walls. She screams and shouts and belittles until her voice has run coarse. And when no one is watching, she curls into a corner and cries. Cries her silent, unseen tears, feeling her body and insides die all around her. It's not fair, it's not fair! Everyone else can be so happy, but not she. She must be God, she must be miserable, she must die for no real purpose. And she knows she'll die, fears it so, because all the hurts, all the doubts leave her wicked and sour. And she'll die unloved, without love, because no one dared to show her how. A pitiful little thing that only learned by being taught.
A little rag doll, forever left to rot in the corner.
What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was trying to do