First ficcy post here. :)
I know this is rather strange and rather blunt... it's somewhat inspired by a lot of things, mainly the fact that it has been raining solidly for the past four days, and the fact that I'm trying out new styles, and the fact that I love the quote that is the only bit of dialogue in here.
It's from Sakaki's POV.
You could have seen the rain, had you just looked out the window. But no, you couldn't do such a thing like that. No, you couldn't ever go near a window, especially to look out of it! They say you might be a genius, but you, not you. Never could you even pick up a pen and write; never could you pick up a brush and paint, for you wouldn't know your left from your write, the black from the white.
Words would be mangled by you; passive when you should have been active; tensing in the future when you should have done it in the past; you wrote with dangling modifiers and comma splice errors, but still, they said that you might have been a genius. You could have put down your brush and your pencil and looked out the window, and you would have seen that it was raining.
But no; you put down your pen and picked up your pills, and off you went into that world where you dream. And you see things that aren't there; things that might've been but you know they aren't and that they never could be. But you want them to be, you want them so much. You could come down from the high, sentences fragmented and your pastel colours opaque.
Somebody told you, when you were young: "If you win, you're a genius, but if you loose, you're mad."
And you could've been a genius, but now you're just mad. Even if they say you're a genius, you're only made. You are a stupid, genius. A mad genius who could have looked out the window and seen that it was raining; seen that it was raining before you went out the door, your colours running and your voice in the passive. Everything was conditional, a conditional rhapsody in blue.
Now look at you!
You're on the ground, lying there, dead to the world. Look what you've done! You're standing there, watching yourself and wondering, why, just why are your colours fading? What could you have done to deserve such an imperative demise? Why in the subjunctive, what could you have done to stop it? What little thing that affected everything was it that you did? Why are you fading?
You could have looked out the window and seen that it was raining. You would have seen the droplets and what they did to the puddles on the ground! You could have opened your ears and listened, and opened your nose and smelt. You would have heard the thundering rain and you would have smelt the dampness in the air. But you didn't, because you're there on the ground and they're watching you.
You're watching yourself, and it dawns on you.
You sat in your dark little room, and your pencil in one hand and your brush in the other. Your fragmented thoughts and your passive verbs; the running colours going opaque, you're favourite colour splashing in it's wake. Black and white, like an old movie, because you're fading and you're body lies on the ground. Don't listen to what they say, just let go!
They say you're a genius.
But that was I.
You tried to keep me away, with you're drugs and your words and your paintings. You tried to keep me inside, because I was Beelzebub, and you were Michael. And if you have listened to me, and looked out the window instead of taking your drugs you would have seen that it was raining! You would have known and you wouldn't have done it, wouldn't have gone outside in your daze.
Would have known what to expect. Would have heard the screeching tires. Would have felt the smashing bones. Would have tasted the blood on your lips. Would have felt your life flow away. You would have. But you didn't. And now, the rain is taking us away. Look at us! Look what you did to our body!
I hate you, because you're mad.
And still, it's raining harder.