Post by Mizukithepanda on Sept 26, 2005 10:54:15 GMT -5
A/N: This is a new story I just thought up. It’s kind of tragic and sad. I hope you like it. It’s AU. If you don’t like AU then don’t read.
Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII or any of its characters
Death and Rebirth
By Mizukithepanda
Chapter 1
A girl sat at a desk in front of a computer typing away furiously, hammering at the keys with fury, with regret, with sorrow, with happiness. The words didn’t make sense at first, merely a jumble, but then they slowly started to twist themselves into something more, something powerful.
It all started the day I lost my home and my family....
-
I walked with my best friend, Avery Centala. She was a tall girl of nearly six feet with bushy, fluffy dirty blonde hair and warm brown eyes. She was always cheerful and happy it seemed and quite hyper too. Just like me.... Or more rather how I used to be....
We crossed Preston Rd. and made our way down to Waggoner Dr., where we both lived, next door to each other. Her mother, who shared the same fluffy blonde hair and tall gracefulness as she walked as her daughter, stood at the door beckoning us to come in. I happily obliged and skipped to the Centala’s kitchen where afternoon snacks were already set out for us. It didn’t matter that we were thirteen, teenagers, and too old for afternoon snacks in our opinions. What mattered was the fact that we were enjoying something so childish together, merely being happy that one another was near and was happy that the other one was happy as well.
We sat there, laughing and giggling despite our attempts to stop and to swallow the homemade ginger snaps that her mother had made. Her mother came in and looked at us with a smile on her face. Everything was peaceful.
Then came the sound of a gunshot.
It pierced through the happy bustling of the street and the neighborhood. I have a feeling that everyone in the city heard that gunshot, for its echo in my ears was so loud that I felt as if I were going to collapse under the pressure of it.
Everything was still.
No one moved, nor made a sound after that moment. It was like the world had been put on pause; like it was in a standstill that could not be remedied.
“MOM!”
A voice yelled from somewhere near. I then realized that it had been my own and that the shot had come from my house. I broke into a run and tried to make it through the door, but strong arms stopped me. They wrapped around me comfortingly and held me close, even though I was struggling and punching and kicking and cussing the world and any god that I may have believed was out there. She shushed me and cradled my head to her shoulder with one hand while the other was rubbing my back comfortingly.
Avery just stood there, eyes glassy, caught up in the shock that still lingered over the neighborhood. Suddenly, her eyes became soft again and fear was etched in them clearly. She ran over to where her mother and I were huddled on the ground near the door and fell to her knees, gathering me in a bone-crushing hug from behind.
“Yuffie... Yuffie... I’m so sorry... Please don’t leave us,” she whispered into my long, curly black locks.
I merely nodded in response for I was still in shock over what had just happened. That gunshot had come from my house and I knew that my parents didn’t own guns. My parents, especially my mother, were too peaceful and soft to carry around guns as if they were worried about the world attacking them.
I knew that my mother was dead.
A car drove down the road at that exact moment, breaking the silence that permeated from everything around us. It stopped in front of a house. I turned my head to see which one and nearly screamed when I saw that it was mine. Avery and her mother clung to me tighter as my father stepped out of the car and walked up to the door. He opened it and I screamed with all my might.
His head turned in the direction of the Centala’s house, but it was too late.
Another gunshot was heard and I saw blood, his blood, splatter across the steps as the bullet pierced his heart.
I wanted to scream, I truly did, but my throat was suddenly so dry that I could do nothing more than break down sobbing softly in Avery and her mother’s arms.
Police sirens wailed in the distance coming closer with each second. One of our neighbors had called them. I heard crackling and reddish light could be seen through the bright sunlight, reflected almost on the pale concrete.
My house was on fire.
I screamed and struggled against the arms of my best friend, but no matter how hard I punched or kicked or screamed she wouldn’t let go, and neither would her mother.
The police sirens got louder and were now accompanied by the faint sound of the fire truck’s wail. The policemen stopped and rushed out of their vehicles with their guns drawn, yelling and aiming at the dead body of my father as they looked for whoever had done this.
They never did catch my parent’s murderer.
-
The girl looked up from her computer when a noise came from the door of the room.
“What do you want Cloud? I’m busy.” She asked quietly.
“Are you okay?” the man known as Cloud asked.
“I’m fine Cloud. I’m just writing something is all. I’ll come to bed when I’m done okay?” she replied.
“Okay,” he whispered.
He turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Soon the only thing you could hear was the soft tip-tapping of her fingers typing almost frantically on the keys.
-
I was in a police station sitting uncomfortably next to a big burly man with skin so dark it made the whites of his eyes almost luminescent. I shifted uncomfortably and raised my gaze to look at him. He stared back at me and then spoke.
“You’re Yuffie Kisaragi correct?”
I nodded my ascent.
“I’m sorry kid, but you’re gonna have to live in a foster home ‘til someone adopts ya.”
I smiled grimly. No one was going to adopt a Japanese thirteen year old who had been born in the United States. People only wanted Asian children who had been born in Asia and were young enough to be molded into something worthwhile, not a rambunctious teenager like me.
“We’ve already gotcha assigned to one and yer ride should be here shortly. I promise ya yer new parents are nice people. Accordin’ to records they have five foster children and a son. I hope you’ll be happy there.”
I didn’t answer. There was no point. I knew I wouldn’t be happy there no matter how nice the people were. Those people weren’t my parents and those six children weren’t my siblings.
A long black car pulled up at the front of the building and the man next to me said, “That’s yer ride kid. It was nice meetin’ ya.”
I nodded and mouthed the words ‘It was nice meeting you too.’
He grinned at my back as I walked out the door and got in the car.
-
We had driven for hours on end through the city and its suburbs and finally reached the largest airport in the Dallas/Ft. Worth Metroplex, DFW.
I looked at the woman who had driven me here. She was paler than a sheet of paper with reddish-brown hair that was pulled tightly into a bun and piercing, cold, grey eyes. She wore a black suit and had a white nametag pinned on the front of her blouse. According to it her name was Megan Lanford and she was with Social Services.
She parked the car outside of a gate entrance and rushed with me up the escalator and through the doors. She shoved me and pulled me, dragging me through the throngs of people with their luggage.
“Last call for flight D1202 to Philadelphia, PA,” a voice said over the loudspeaker. “Last call for flight D1202 to Philadelphia, PA.”
“Come on Yuffie! That’s your flight!” she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I gulped and got ready to be dragged with extreme speed through the clustered crowds moving slowly through the airport. Megan started running and I was tripping unceremoniously behind her as she made her way to the gate that my flight was leaving from. She marched me up to the ticket taker and handed him a ticket from a bag that I hadn’t even noticed was there. He ripped a piece of the ticket off and gave me the larger part.
“Have a safe flight miss.”
I wrenched my hand from the Social worker’s grasp and ran in the hallway type thing that led to the plane. The captain and flight attendants nodded and said hello as I ran by them into the plane. I sat down in a comfortable leather seat near the front and closed my eyes. Hopefully this would be over soon so I could die and be with my parents.
-
The blue Lincoln rolled to a stop in front of a large two story house in Freeland, Pennsylvania. The house was of yellow painted wood and the yard was fresh and green. It looked like a cottage out of stories, except much larger. A man and a woman with silky black hair ran out to the car to greet us. The social worker that had picked me up at the airport greeted the man and woman with a nod and a soft hello.
“Hello Mr. and Mr. Valentine,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As you already heard and agreed to you have a new foster child. Her name is Yuffie.”
The black haired lady, Mrs. Valentine, extended her hand out to me.
“Hello Yuffie. My name is Cordelia Valentine and I’m going to be taking care of you for a while. This man over here is my husband, Richard Valentine. So, how old are you now dear?”
I stared at her with a blank expression in my indigo eyes. I wasn’t going to answer that. I couldn’t answer that. I-I... I can’t bear speaking to people after what happened, so I don’t.
The social worker spoke up rather quick in my silence. “She hasn’t spoken since the accident. Don’t worry Mrs. Valentine. I’m sure that while she’s here she will regain her voice. In answer to your question she is thirteen.”
Mrs. Valentine looked a bit disappointed at the news but her smile was back up and running not a second later. She grabbed my hand and started leading me towards the door.
“Thank you Mr. Shaw!” she called after the social worker.
She led the rest of the way into the house and sat me down on a sofa that was in a room adjoining to the entry. There were five young children of varied races sitting on various chairs and sofas in the room all with smiles on their faces as they saw me come in. Mrs. Valentine then turned to the five preschoolers and kindergarteners with a clap.
“Ok children! This is your new sister! Her name is Yuffie and she’s thirteen years old. She just recently lost her parents in an accident so she’ll be living here for a while! Isn’t that wonderful?”
I groaned. They were all like five years old! How was I supposed to ‘regain my voice’ if I was around a bunch of babies? It wasn’t as if I could talk to them about my problems or about what I’d seen and what happened. Jeez these people were dense.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and abruptly turned my gaze to a doorway. There was a boy, about fifteen years of age by the looks of it with messy black hair down to his chin and blood red eyes.
Mrs. Valentine’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. She pulled him in the room and turned him so that he was facing me.
“Yuffie, this is my son Vincent. Say hello Vincent.”
Vincent looked down and muttered an inaudible “Hello” before breaking out of his mother’s grasp and storming out of the room. Mrs. Valentine called after him in annoyance and turned back to me.
“He’s just shy because you’re so beautiful!”
Somehow I highly doubt that.
-
The girl looked up from her computer and moaned as she stretched her arms.
“Oh man I’m tired. I’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
She saved her data and shut down the computer. Tired feet carried her to her room and she changed before climbing into bed next to Cloud. She snuggled into his warmth and fell asleep.
-
A/N: I wrote this at 3:00 am several months ago. I actually still think it’s an ok piece three months after I wrote it which is pretty decent in my mind. Anyways, this is posted on FF.nazi and though it has not been taken off I am posting it here because my account was wrongly terminated as well. It is the reason why I have stories posted under both the names Tomodachigai and Depressed Mizuki rather than Mizukithepanda as it used to be. Well, read and review! I’ll enjoy replying to them!
Ja ne!
Mizuki
Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII or any of its characters
Death and Rebirth
By Mizukithepanda
Chapter 1
A girl sat at a desk in front of a computer typing away furiously, hammering at the keys with fury, with regret, with sorrow, with happiness. The words didn’t make sense at first, merely a jumble, but then they slowly started to twist themselves into something more, something powerful.
It all started the day I lost my home and my family....
-
I walked with my best friend, Avery Centala. She was a tall girl of nearly six feet with bushy, fluffy dirty blonde hair and warm brown eyes. She was always cheerful and happy it seemed and quite hyper too. Just like me.... Or more rather how I used to be....
We crossed Preston Rd. and made our way down to Waggoner Dr., where we both lived, next door to each other. Her mother, who shared the same fluffy blonde hair and tall gracefulness as she walked as her daughter, stood at the door beckoning us to come in. I happily obliged and skipped to the Centala’s kitchen where afternoon snacks were already set out for us. It didn’t matter that we were thirteen, teenagers, and too old for afternoon snacks in our opinions. What mattered was the fact that we were enjoying something so childish together, merely being happy that one another was near and was happy that the other one was happy as well.
We sat there, laughing and giggling despite our attempts to stop and to swallow the homemade ginger snaps that her mother had made. Her mother came in and looked at us with a smile on her face. Everything was peaceful.
Then came the sound of a gunshot.
It pierced through the happy bustling of the street and the neighborhood. I have a feeling that everyone in the city heard that gunshot, for its echo in my ears was so loud that I felt as if I were going to collapse under the pressure of it.
Everything was still.
No one moved, nor made a sound after that moment. It was like the world had been put on pause; like it was in a standstill that could not be remedied.
“MOM!”
A voice yelled from somewhere near. I then realized that it had been my own and that the shot had come from my house. I broke into a run and tried to make it through the door, but strong arms stopped me. They wrapped around me comfortingly and held me close, even though I was struggling and punching and kicking and cussing the world and any god that I may have believed was out there. She shushed me and cradled my head to her shoulder with one hand while the other was rubbing my back comfortingly.
Avery just stood there, eyes glassy, caught up in the shock that still lingered over the neighborhood. Suddenly, her eyes became soft again and fear was etched in them clearly. She ran over to where her mother and I were huddled on the ground near the door and fell to her knees, gathering me in a bone-crushing hug from behind.
“Yuffie... Yuffie... I’m so sorry... Please don’t leave us,” she whispered into my long, curly black locks.
I merely nodded in response for I was still in shock over what had just happened. That gunshot had come from my house and I knew that my parents didn’t own guns. My parents, especially my mother, were too peaceful and soft to carry around guns as if they were worried about the world attacking them.
I knew that my mother was dead.
A car drove down the road at that exact moment, breaking the silence that permeated from everything around us. It stopped in front of a house. I turned my head to see which one and nearly screamed when I saw that it was mine. Avery and her mother clung to me tighter as my father stepped out of the car and walked up to the door. He opened it and I screamed with all my might.
His head turned in the direction of the Centala’s house, but it was too late.
Another gunshot was heard and I saw blood, his blood, splatter across the steps as the bullet pierced his heart.
I wanted to scream, I truly did, but my throat was suddenly so dry that I could do nothing more than break down sobbing softly in Avery and her mother’s arms.
Police sirens wailed in the distance coming closer with each second. One of our neighbors had called them. I heard crackling and reddish light could be seen through the bright sunlight, reflected almost on the pale concrete.
My house was on fire.
I screamed and struggled against the arms of my best friend, but no matter how hard I punched or kicked or screamed she wouldn’t let go, and neither would her mother.
The police sirens got louder and were now accompanied by the faint sound of the fire truck’s wail. The policemen stopped and rushed out of their vehicles with their guns drawn, yelling and aiming at the dead body of my father as they looked for whoever had done this.
They never did catch my parent’s murderer.
-
The girl looked up from her computer when a noise came from the door of the room.
“What do you want Cloud? I’m busy.” She asked quietly.
“Are you okay?” the man known as Cloud asked.
“I’m fine Cloud. I’m just writing something is all. I’ll come to bed when I’m done okay?” she replied.
“Okay,” he whispered.
He turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Soon the only thing you could hear was the soft tip-tapping of her fingers typing almost frantically on the keys.
-
I was in a police station sitting uncomfortably next to a big burly man with skin so dark it made the whites of his eyes almost luminescent. I shifted uncomfortably and raised my gaze to look at him. He stared back at me and then spoke.
“You’re Yuffie Kisaragi correct?”
I nodded my ascent.
“I’m sorry kid, but you’re gonna have to live in a foster home ‘til someone adopts ya.”
I smiled grimly. No one was going to adopt a Japanese thirteen year old who had been born in the United States. People only wanted Asian children who had been born in Asia and were young enough to be molded into something worthwhile, not a rambunctious teenager like me.
“We’ve already gotcha assigned to one and yer ride should be here shortly. I promise ya yer new parents are nice people. Accordin’ to records they have five foster children and a son. I hope you’ll be happy there.”
I didn’t answer. There was no point. I knew I wouldn’t be happy there no matter how nice the people were. Those people weren’t my parents and those six children weren’t my siblings.
A long black car pulled up at the front of the building and the man next to me said, “That’s yer ride kid. It was nice meetin’ ya.”
I nodded and mouthed the words ‘It was nice meeting you too.’
He grinned at my back as I walked out the door and got in the car.
-
We had driven for hours on end through the city and its suburbs and finally reached the largest airport in the Dallas/Ft. Worth Metroplex, DFW.
I looked at the woman who had driven me here. She was paler than a sheet of paper with reddish-brown hair that was pulled tightly into a bun and piercing, cold, grey eyes. She wore a black suit and had a white nametag pinned on the front of her blouse. According to it her name was Megan Lanford and she was with Social Services.
She parked the car outside of a gate entrance and rushed with me up the escalator and through the doors. She shoved me and pulled me, dragging me through the throngs of people with their luggage.
“Last call for flight D1202 to Philadelphia, PA,” a voice said over the loudspeaker. “Last call for flight D1202 to Philadelphia, PA.”
“Come on Yuffie! That’s your flight!” she said with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I gulped and got ready to be dragged with extreme speed through the clustered crowds moving slowly through the airport. Megan started running and I was tripping unceremoniously behind her as she made her way to the gate that my flight was leaving from. She marched me up to the ticket taker and handed him a ticket from a bag that I hadn’t even noticed was there. He ripped a piece of the ticket off and gave me the larger part.
“Have a safe flight miss.”
I wrenched my hand from the Social worker’s grasp and ran in the hallway type thing that led to the plane. The captain and flight attendants nodded and said hello as I ran by them into the plane. I sat down in a comfortable leather seat near the front and closed my eyes. Hopefully this would be over soon so I could die and be with my parents.
-
The blue Lincoln rolled to a stop in front of a large two story house in Freeland, Pennsylvania. The house was of yellow painted wood and the yard was fresh and green. It looked like a cottage out of stories, except much larger. A man and a woman with silky black hair ran out to the car to greet us. The social worker that had picked me up at the airport greeted the man and woman with a nod and a soft hello.
“Hello Mr. and Mr. Valentine,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As you already heard and agreed to you have a new foster child. Her name is Yuffie.”
The black haired lady, Mrs. Valentine, extended her hand out to me.
“Hello Yuffie. My name is Cordelia Valentine and I’m going to be taking care of you for a while. This man over here is my husband, Richard Valentine. So, how old are you now dear?”
I stared at her with a blank expression in my indigo eyes. I wasn’t going to answer that. I couldn’t answer that. I-I... I can’t bear speaking to people after what happened, so I don’t.
The social worker spoke up rather quick in my silence. “She hasn’t spoken since the accident. Don’t worry Mrs. Valentine. I’m sure that while she’s here she will regain her voice. In answer to your question she is thirteen.”
Mrs. Valentine looked a bit disappointed at the news but her smile was back up and running not a second later. She grabbed my hand and started leading me towards the door.
“Thank you Mr. Shaw!” she called after the social worker.
She led the rest of the way into the house and sat me down on a sofa that was in a room adjoining to the entry. There were five young children of varied races sitting on various chairs and sofas in the room all with smiles on their faces as they saw me come in. Mrs. Valentine then turned to the five preschoolers and kindergarteners with a clap.
“Ok children! This is your new sister! Her name is Yuffie and she’s thirteen years old. She just recently lost her parents in an accident so she’ll be living here for a while! Isn’t that wonderful?”
I groaned. They were all like five years old! How was I supposed to ‘regain my voice’ if I was around a bunch of babies? It wasn’t as if I could talk to them about my problems or about what I’d seen and what happened. Jeez these people were dense.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and abruptly turned my gaze to a doorway. There was a boy, about fifteen years of age by the looks of it with messy black hair down to his chin and blood red eyes.
Mrs. Valentine’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. She pulled him in the room and turned him so that he was facing me.
“Yuffie, this is my son Vincent. Say hello Vincent.”
Vincent looked down and muttered an inaudible “Hello” before breaking out of his mother’s grasp and storming out of the room. Mrs. Valentine called after him in annoyance and turned back to me.
“He’s just shy because you’re so beautiful!”
Somehow I highly doubt that.
-
The girl looked up from her computer and moaned as she stretched her arms.
“Oh man I’m tired. I’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
She saved her data and shut down the computer. Tired feet carried her to her room and she changed before climbing into bed next to Cloud. She snuggled into his warmth and fell asleep.
-
A/N: I wrote this at 3:00 am several months ago. I actually still think it’s an ok piece three months after I wrote it which is pretty decent in my mind. Anyways, this is posted on FF.nazi and though it has not been taken off I am posting it here because my account was wrongly terminated as well. It is the reason why I have stories posted under both the names Tomodachigai and Depressed Mizuki rather than Mizukithepanda as it used to be. Well, read and review! I’ll enjoy replying to them!
Ja ne!
Mizuki