Utena, Revolutionary Girl Fan Fiction ❯ The Darker Shades of Green ❯ Reflection ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: Here I go! I’m writing an actual fanfic this time around and a multi-chapter one at that. I usually write poems and post them here. This is my first attempt to write something of this nature.

Saionji’s past has always intrigued me, so I came up with my own little rend ration of his past. This is basically my theories about him; you can either agree or disagree. Just remember that I do not tolerate flames. They are the product of ignorant people who have nothing else better to do then be jealous of people who have talent. (I find that most flamers can’t write, or rather, those who are childish enough to flame.) That sounded arrogant ; Oh well. Anyway, to end my ranting, here is my dedication.

DEDICATED TO SELENITE1 THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION AND IDEAS!

Now for the warnings:

WARNINGS: HIGH ANGST CONTENT, SUICIDE DISCUSSION AND TENDANCIES, DARK THEMES, VIOLANCE, LANGUAGE, GRAPHIC AND SAIONJI’S P.O.V.

Big enough?

Now for basic information:

Summary: A look into Saionji’s past. Who Saionji really is, the secrets he hides and characterization abound. ANGST. DARK. Saionji’s P.O.V.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, though I wished I owned Saionji.  

The Darker Shades of Green

By: Red Rose Touga

Chapter 1: Reflection  

Him.

His reflection set out before me, staring me right in the eyes. The figure’s eyes seem so unfilled, so frozen . . . and yet, if you gaze deeper into this man’s eyes. You can see something that is . . . in a sense much deeper. Beyond the amethyst orbs you can see the dejection, the loss, the sheer misery and sense of false pride…

What pride?

There is no pride because he has failed at everything and failed everyone else. Every pace he has taken, has failed him. He’s no prince, he’s no kendoist…Hell, he’s not even the Seitokai Vice President anymore. He’s let everyone down, though he’s tried so hard, his labors seem disregarded.

I slowly extend a hand out to him, but I touch the smooth surface of a barrier. An obstruction between us…is separating what seem to be two halves of a whole. Two sides of a being. At the same time, he reaches out to me, but we can’t touch each other …this barricade prevents it. As if in harmony, we both draw our hands down the smooth, perfect surface of the glass.

Perfect.

The one thing that both of us could never be. The one thing that seems so far out of reach. The one fixation we could both never attain. We both had worked so hard to obtain something…To seek something eternal…I must do more then divulge, the both of us have some pretty shitty luck.

Or perhaps, we’ve both been damned.

Both of us are identical, yet dissimilar. My eyes are vacant, and often blinded by antagonism and malevolence. His eyes are grief-stricken, seeming to be drowning in wretchedness. His gaze makes him unfamiliar to me, unrecognizable. I could swear at times, the once vivacious colors and hues of purple churn around in such a haunting pattern that it seems as if he is mutely crying invisible tears…Or, perhaps one day, that color will become the tears and run out, all sensation locked within escaping his face and body, leaving him a dehydrated hull. There had been far too many times he had wished that it would. Perhaps feeling vacant would be better then feeling those emotions and getting impaired over and over again, like a skipping record. The pain and manipulation at times is too much to bear. I frown, as does he.

But why smile?

A smile is hardly ever authentic anymore, just a smug demeanor or a counterfeit front. Then again, if you don’t put on a fake front, you have 500 people asking you the same damn questions.

“Are you all right?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you okay?”

I swear if one more person asks me that damn question, I’ll sincerely do something to them. Both of us seemed to push on the barricade, the thin plate of glass between us, it was emitting cracking and rupturing noises. Our hands shook in unison, both unrestrained emotions that seemed to emit from both of us.

The contrast between us seemed so major, yet negligible as well. He was the light, the virtuousness, the emotion and I was the delusion, the bare shell, the conceit and the sadism. I was the dark.

He looked ghastly, decrepit in feelings, a silhouette of his former self, a being filled with so much grief that you’d think that was the something eternal they had, and the something eternal they had sought was fatality.

It’s odd really…is this what one feels while staring at their reflection? Do they see their own ache like this?

When many look into the mirror, they don’t really bother to look into themselves enough. They’d rather take a glance, or apply makeup…or some bullshit like that.

Perhaps this image I see before me is some sort of irony or symbolism, telling me that I shouldn’t be hiding behind such an arctic façade’. I heard an inhumanly, loud snapping noise from beneath my fingers my head jolted and I think my brain did as well. My amethyst eyes widenened for a moment, pulling me out of the deep contemplation.

After that, they looked over to our hands, both matching on the surface. There was an outsized crack in the mirror. Had I caused that? I suppose I did. Making a frown, I thought for a few moments, eyebrows furrowed…then eyes tapering. My hand pushed a little more on the glass…and I could feel the shards going into my hand, cutting the tender flesh, drawing blood.

Blood…

The life giving quintessence, the force applied to it. A small stream of blood ran down the glass. I watched it as it tainted the bathroom mirror. Why does it feel a bit better now? How can that small amount of pressure released tranquil me so?

I smiled a small smile and looked comfortable as I watched the thick, scarlet liquid trail down the clear glass and onto the ashen, ceramic surface of the sink.

I lifted my hand off of the glass to notice the large cut on it. Slowly, I picked the glass shards out of my hand and chunked them into the trash alongside of me, still smiling a contented smile as I looked at the palm of my hand. The blood still oozing out of the open laceration.

I clenched my wounded hand and put it into my pocket, concealing it. There seemed to be no one in the bathroom, I was unaccompanied…as usual.

So, feeling as if I should do something, other then staying in an unoccupied room, I headed for the door. Besides, if I stuck around, they would be suspicious of me, considering the fact that I didn’t even bother to clean it off.

I walked out of the door, and a few feet away from the bathroom, some fan girls eyed me as I stood there. I put on that, ever so fake smile and waved with my uncut hand.

Later after, I heard some of the school boys chatting amongst themselves.

“Hey, did you see what happened in the bathroom?”

“No, what?”

“Well, when I went in to wash my hands. The mirror was cracked and there was a giant blood stain on it.”

I sighed in a huff. They always exaggerated things. That’s how rumor spread. Some say someone got hit by a car, and the next thing you hear they got hit by a bus. Gossip is unreliable.

I began to walk away, with my hands in my pockets. Good thing this shirt extends over my pockets, covering whatever blood decided to trickle on my uniform.

When I got to my dorm, I washed my cut out and put a bandage on it. Staring at the bandage, I seemed in a daze, my thoughts void.

Then came the ramification of my thoughts. How would I handle the question of “what happened to you?”

I would tell them it was a miscalculation in preparation. That I had sliced it cooking or something to that effect. Seems plausible. Hmpf. What I should tell them is it’s none of their damn concern and they shouldn’t ask such personal questions.

I walked down the hall, my stature seeming to vanish in the student body of Ohtori, a renowned figure…if that was so, then why do I not feel so renowned?

Why do I feel so alone?

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Preview for next chapter:

I would conquer the world 7 times over, but would you notice my achievements?

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A/N: God, hoping not to get OOC here. I tried to make this sound as plausible as possible. I know there are no explain nations for this and his attitude now, but there will be. Please stay with me, this is my first fanfic. It was intended to be dark.

This is a little how I envision Saionji’s deepest darkest thoughts. Please give me some feedback here