Author: Chauni

Website: www.oocities.org/asukalangley2nd/

Warnings: Angst, Suicide, Death, Language, P.O.V.

Disclaimer: I don’t own GW, Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” or anything else. I made no money from this.

Notes: I’m going to say right now, you might not want to read this if you wish to stay in a good mood. This right here was my therapy, the only way I could express what I felt. All these thoughts, all these emotions are the real feelings that come from the surviving members of friends and families of a suicide victim, as I have discovered painfully over the last two days. All I can say now is this; if you ever even think of such a thing, please, please, seek help from a friend or family member or a loved one. They will always be willing to help, no matter what you think. It is never that bad; there is always another path. This is dedicated to my late cousin, Charley…I’m so sorry.

Thoughtless

So, so you think you can tell

Heaven from hell,

Blue skies from pain

Can you tell a green field

From a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

So, there you go, all said and done. You thought you were the greatest, thought you were invincible, but it was all some act. We were stupid, taking your standoffish, silent ways for something so much less than what it truly was.

You screamed for help, and we heard white noise in the din of an ocean, and God knows we’re sorry. We should’ve…could’ve…

Damnit, you selfish fuck! How could you? How could you leave us?! What were you thinking, other than not about peace, about your friends, about me?! Now I’m left alone, lost in the mix of a war between hate and anguish, and with only Quatre here to console me, even though he can’t control himself. He’s crying all over me, and I can’t hug him because my arms won’t move, my mind won’t move other than to curse your stupidity and your life, a life that I miss more than anything.

So, what, are you happy now? Living high up in some vast expanse of nothingness, I’m sure you’re all bliss. Well, do you see the suffering you’ve left behind? Can you feel the tears that course down our loose cheeks in flurries of rainstorms as lightning crackles in our eyes and thunder roars through our heads and blocks out all coherent thoughts? I hope they burn your flesh like they burn ours.

No, I don’t want your excuses; don’t want them even if you had a set of living lips to give them. I don’t care about why, damnit, ‘cause that won’t change a fucking thing anymore. The others, that’s their main idea, that’s their main concern, more so for the fact they can’t think of anything else to dwell upon. Guess that makes me different, not that that’s some big surprise. No, I don’t care why, not now…not now that I found you.

Found you sitting in the front seat of a stolen car in the driveway.

Found you wearing a red shirt I don’t remember you putting on last night.

And did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

And did you exchange

A walk on part in the war

For a lead role in a cage?

And now it’s two days later, and I can’t think of what to say, standing up here at the makeshift headstone, which is really just some huge-ass rock we found about a quarter mile away. Took three of us to lift the fucking thing, but we brought it back, brought it back and sat it at your head, only about six feet above it on the patch of disturbed dirt. When they weren’t looking, I carved our initials in it, yours and mine, and all theirs, too, cause a little of all of us died that day, some little part of us, be it innocence or compassion or humanity, that we can never claim back.

Yep, bet you didn’t know that putting that bullet through your chest put it through each one of ours too, did you? Bet you didn’t know you effectively destroyed and brought ten times more agony than you were feeling in that one moment to all the people who loved and revered you for years upon years to come.

How such heroes must have fallen within you, such borders must have quaked for you to take your own life that misty fucking morning.

My arms are around the rock, clinging to it like I either want to follow suit or to remind myself that I am alive and need to remain such, which I have been doubting for hours now. I’m crying for the sixth time today, and my eyes burn like someone poured butane into them like it was Visine. I can’t think, and my moods change like the direction of a tornado; one minute I’m trying to dwell on the happy thoughts, the other it’s all hell, everything around me is a livid burning reflection of the rage that has built up inside me, black around the edges with the darkness of grief. Other times, I’m neither of these, just floating by on seconds that are imaginary eternities and minutes that span galaxies.

I’m here and I’m there, and I’m nothing all at once.

And it’s all your fault damnit!

So, why can’t I bring myself to hate you as much as I want to?

How I wish,

How I wish you were here

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,

Year after year,

Running over the same old ground

what have you found?

The same old fears

Wish you were here...

I thought we were friends; we were family, so why didn’t you turn to me? You knew where the fuck I was, at your fucking heels nine times outta ten, so damnit, why did you forsake me? Why did you fucking turn away and leave me behind to deal with this…with all this fucking emptiness?

Quatre’s trying to pull me from the rock, to coax me inside. Doesn’t he see that I don’t want to go? That this, by your side, is the only place where I’m not lost anymore?

But your side ain’t here anymore, is it? It’s packed down under a shitload of dirt, and I’m left with memories that play like old movies, with the flickering glimpses and the lines that never match the mouths.

Yeah, Q, I’m comin’, and somehow, I’m walking through the fog that’s become my life, all because I couldn’t save you, cause you took a copout, the cheap way. Wufei hands me a drink, and the firewater is blazing down my throat. Shit, yeah, I can feel; I almost had forgotten how.

Ushered and deposited, I find myself in a creaky kitchen chair, finger lightly tracing lines in the small wooden groves of the worn table. I’m reminded by a looming voice that sounds like yours (which after a moment I realize that is Trowa’s), that I haven’t eaten today, and my stomach curdles like it wishes to deposit all that it ever possessed.

I pass on dinner and push myself away, locking myself in the confines of our (MY!) bedroom and my mind, where I can’t escape the ghosts of such thoughts that plague me like nothing ever could. Outside, the guys are murmuring, and I can’t tell if it’s about me or their own demons concerning the situation, but within a second, I realize I don’t care. Nothing matters at this moment, aside from these inner walls of reflection.

This is the bed you wish to lie on, sleep on, dream of mechs and war and peace, where reality was far away and sometimes the nightmares crept up, but the Shini- no, I won’t call myself that right now… But this where you used to be, strewn out in messy sheets only in the hottest of nights where we couldn’t get comfortable.

Your face is vivid behind the darkness of my closed eyes: the way your famous Prussians burned like a frozen flame under the dim light within your cockpit; the way you would get so fucking mad at me when I didn’t pull my hair from the bathtub drain. I remember your arms around me, leading me from my prison hell, and the way you smelled like how I imagined oily freedom would.

Your jacket, that light blue windbreaker you would wear sometimes, is too big for my stick-figure arms, but I don’t care as I slide them on through. You used to wear this…You used to…

Your smell is still in the blankets, and I refuse to let Quatre wash it out. I refuse to let him take this fine line away from me. I refuse…

I know, this is all part of grieving. I know what I’m supposed to do.

But how can you expect me to do so much, when you couldn’t even live? How can you expect me to do…

How can you expect me to be?

But, I’m not a copout. I’m not a quitter. I will not wallow; I will not collapse.

I can win.

Heero…

How I wish you were here.

Thoughtless

The End