Categories > Games > Zelda
A Moment of Silence
2 reviewsThe boy left too soon and the moon has fallen on the clock tower, destroying the land and taking all but one life. Lame from his leg and deaf from the silence, the surviver walks blind and dumb thr...
5Original
A/N: First solo Zelda fic in FOREVER, so yay me. Many thanks to Nina for this glorious idea. I owe every part of this fic to her, so much thanks there. I don't own Zelda, because if I did, the new game wouldn't be delayed til next year XD
.-.-.-.-.-.
The quiet was deafening.
It was a horrible, hollow quiet, much like after someone had said something they hadn't meant to say a little too loudly. Or as if someone had broken something and all they could do is stand and gape at their mistake.
At the moment, he didn't want to stand at all.
His whole body ached in ways he never knew bones and flesh could. His head spun wildly inside and out, unable to stay stable long enough to let him think. Low groans pulled themselves out of somewhere deep inside his throat, which was dry from inhaling too much dust and not enough water. Time slipped in and out of his fingertips, minutes dragging their feet until they became like hours. He lay still, only breathing soft and shallow, for what felt like days.
Finally, after an eternity of pain and a thoughtless mind, he found himself able to pull his broken body from the floor. The ceiling had caved, his left foot and lower leg becoming crushed under the stone. Luckily, near by him a pipe had fallen and using it as leverage he was able to remove the small boulder from his limb. A few tears of pain slid between his eyes, clutched tightly together as a sudden serge of agony raced up his side on removing the rock.
After the pain subsided, he tried to move his leg.
It did not respond.
He tried again and was greeted with the same result.
An oath to the goddesses was muttered through his clenched teeth.
Using the pipe from earlier, he pulled himself to his feet, or foot, and slowly began to make his way out of the petty thief's hideout. His brain again forgot to think, his eyes not seeing anything before him as he limped outside, his now broken foot dragging slightly behind him.
He had yet to notice that his shadow had doubled in size when he reached the morning light outside.
His eyes did not trail down to see his now adult clothing or his lean, mid-twenties body.
They only looked forward, at the destruction before them.
Even from the mouth of Ikana Canyon, he was able to see the horrors of the scorched and mangled land before him.
The boy had been right.
The moon had fallen.
Suddenly his body was weighted down with sorrow, willing him to collapse and let out the sobs of heart-ache his eyes and throat were so ready to give. But he pushed onward, his movements slow and sluggish, towards what used to be the gate into Clock Town.
The field was in no shape for travel. Flaming debris was scattered across the once lush, green land. Craters and pit-holes had been formed, his legs betraying him ever so often to let him fall helplessly into a few on his way. He would lay on his back or on his side and stare in front of himself, mind still unable to grasp quite what was going on before he once again pulled himself to his feet with his make-shift cane. And he would keep going.
As he reached the high walls of Clock Town, everything looked as it should, even if the looming clock tower had disappeared from the sky-line. But inside...
There was nothing left.
Rubble sat in unrecognizable heaps, littering the once beautiful streets, now filled with dust and the foul stench of death. Yet, his nose refused to smell. His mind refused to comprehend.
And his feet refused to stop.
He stumbled through the ruins as the quiet, oh that deafening quiet, somehow found a way to get louder. His ears buzzed, wishing to hear something besides dead wind and lifeless air. As if answering their prayers, a sudden gentle gust brushed up from the ground, rustling his purple-blue hair into the way of his distant, dull eyes. It moved on with him as he passed the crater where the clock tower should have been, spanning nearly the entire South portion of the used-to-be town, catching a small straw hat in it's ghostly arms and making it fly sadly out into the sky, far away. It's owner wouldn't be needing his hat ever again...
And again, it was quiet.
His feet continued to carry him, deaf, dumb and blind, to East Clock Town. His now lame foot dragged numbly on the ground, all feeling leaving the possibly rotting flesh. Some how despite this, he managed to climb stairs and over fallen rocks and timber. It was slow, but he never stopped.
Until he saw the bell.
It sat upright, untouched and golden in the clouded morning sun. As he approached it, his mind began to clear, his eyes opening at last to see the destroyed city for what it was.
A graveyard.
Suddenly the weights were lifted, his broken limb forgotten, as he raced towards the remains of the inn, his hands then flying to remove the rubble.
His eardrums almost shattered when he cried out her name, so used to the sound of the dead and the motionless wind being their only companions. But he could not hear himself, so he called again. And again. And again. And again.
Each cry was met with silence.
He threw lumber and stones behind him as he dug, his hands falling on nails and splitters, ripping gashes into his frail flesh. He did not feel them. He only called and dug, his mind racing with only her name and her face in it.
Finally, after what felt like a hundred lifetimes of searching and screaming and digging, he removed a large scrap of what could have only been the ceiling and a bloody, crippled hand emerged from the wreckage. He did not pause.
His hands flew over the rubble, throwing the chunks away with new vigor. Soon a face appeared, then another arm and torso, and finally legs.
Only then did he stop.
Anju lay, mangled and crushed, in her wedding dress, one hand clutching her wedding mask to her chest, imbedded into the rubble beneath her. On her now pale and lifeless lips laid the air of a smile of happiness, still waiting for him patiently, even in death.
.-.-.-.-.-.
The grave was a shallow one with no tools at his disposal. His hands pulsed in pain, raw and blistered from digging with only his long fingers. He leaned on his pipe, staring down at the fresh mound of earth with lifeless, sore, red eyes.
A few tears fell onto the soft soil, shed out of love and regret.
Solemnly he glanced behind him, the crumbling wall of Clock Town greeting him sadly.
There would be a lot more graves to make, more goodbyes to be spoken, more tears to be shed. Days, possibly weeks of digging awaited him. And that followed by mourning...
His hand came up to wipe the sweat and tears from his face. Looking down at his dusty sleeve, he noticed the brown smear of damp dust and grime he had left on the fabric absently before again dropping his arm. He turned to leave, his mind thinking restlessly now.
Had any others survived? Was he the only one left? How would he go on...
...without her...
Kafei didn't know the answers, but his feet pushed him back into the gates of Clock Town, always moving him one step forward at a time.
.-.-.-.-.-.
The quiet was deafening.
It was a horrible, hollow quiet, much like after someone had said something they hadn't meant to say a little too loudly. Or as if someone had broken something and all they could do is stand and gape at their mistake.
At the moment, he didn't want to stand at all.
His whole body ached in ways he never knew bones and flesh could. His head spun wildly inside and out, unable to stay stable long enough to let him think. Low groans pulled themselves out of somewhere deep inside his throat, which was dry from inhaling too much dust and not enough water. Time slipped in and out of his fingertips, minutes dragging their feet until they became like hours. He lay still, only breathing soft and shallow, for what felt like days.
Finally, after an eternity of pain and a thoughtless mind, he found himself able to pull his broken body from the floor. The ceiling had caved, his left foot and lower leg becoming crushed under the stone. Luckily, near by him a pipe had fallen and using it as leverage he was able to remove the small boulder from his limb. A few tears of pain slid between his eyes, clutched tightly together as a sudden serge of agony raced up his side on removing the rock.
After the pain subsided, he tried to move his leg.
It did not respond.
He tried again and was greeted with the same result.
An oath to the goddesses was muttered through his clenched teeth.
Using the pipe from earlier, he pulled himself to his feet, or foot, and slowly began to make his way out of the petty thief's hideout. His brain again forgot to think, his eyes not seeing anything before him as he limped outside, his now broken foot dragging slightly behind him.
He had yet to notice that his shadow had doubled in size when he reached the morning light outside.
His eyes did not trail down to see his now adult clothing or his lean, mid-twenties body.
They only looked forward, at the destruction before them.
Even from the mouth of Ikana Canyon, he was able to see the horrors of the scorched and mangled land before him.
The boy had been right.
The moon had fallen.
Suddenly his body was weighted down with sorrow, willing him to collapse and let out the sobs of heart-ache his eyes and throat were so ready to give. But he pushed onward, his movements slow and sluggish, towards what used to be the gate into Clock Town.
The field was in no shape for travel. Flaming debris was scattered across the once lush, green land. Craters and pit-holes had been formed, his legs betraying him ever so often to let him fall helplessly into a few on his way. He would lay on his back or on his side and stare in front of himself, mind still unable to grasp quite what was going on before he once again pulled himself to his feet with his make-shift cane. And he would keep going.
As he reached the high walls of Clock Town, everything looked as it should, even if the looming clock tower had disappeared from the sky-line. But inside...
There was nothing left.
Rubble sat in unrecognizable heaps, littering the once beautiful streets, now filled with dust and the foul stench of death. Yet, his nose refused to smell. His mind refused to comprehend.
And his feet refused to stop.
He stumbled through the ruins as the quiet, oh that deafening quiet, somehow found a way to get louder. His ears buzzed, wishing to hear something besides dead wind and lifeless air. As if answering their prayers, a sudden gentle gust brushed up from the ground, rustling his purple-blue hair into the way of his distant, dull eyes. It moved on with him as he passed the crater where the clock tower should have been, spanning nearly the entire South portion of the used-to-be town, catching a small straw hat in it's ghostly arms and making it fly sadly out into the sky, far away. It's owner wouldn't be needing his hat ever again...
And again, it was quiet.
His feet continued to carry him, deaf, dumb and blind, to East Clock Town. His now lame foot dragged numbly on the ground, all feeling leaving the possibly rotting flesh. Some how despite this, he managed to climb stairs and over fallen rocks and timber. It was slow, but he never stopped.
Until he saw the bell.
It sat upright, untouched and golden in the clouded morning sun. As he approached it, his mind began to clear, his eyes opening at last to see the destroyed city for what it was.
A graveyard.
Suddenly the weights were lifted, his broken limb forgotten, as he raced towards the remains of the inn, his hands then flying to remove the rubble.
His eardrums almost shattered when he cried out her name, so used to the sound of the dead and the motionless wind being their only companions. But he could not hear himself, so he called again. And again. And again. And again.
Each cry was met with silence.
He threw lumber and stones behind him as he dug, his hands falling on nails and splitters, ripping gashes into his frail flesh. He did not feel them. He only called and dug, his mind racing with only her name and her face in it.
Finally, after what felt like a hundred lifetimes of searching and screaming and digging, he removed a large scrap of what could have only been the ceiling and a bloody, crippled hand emerged from the wreckage. He did not pause.
His hands flew over the rubble, throwing the chunks away with new vigor. Soon a face appeared, then another arm and torso, and finally legs.
Only then did he stop.
Anju lay, mangled and crushed, in her wedding dress, one hand clutching her wedding mask to her chest, imbedded into the rubble beneath her. On her now pale and lifeless lips laid the air of a smile of happiness, still waiting for him patiently, even in death.
.-.-.-.-.-.
The grave was a shallow one with no tools at his disposal. His hands pulsed in pain, raw and blistered from digging with only his long fingers. He leaned on his pipe, staring down at the fresh mound of earth with lifeless, sore, red eyes.
A few tears fell onto the soft soil, shed out of love and regret.
Solemnly he glanced behind him, the crumbling wall of Clock Town greeting him sadly.
There would be a lot more graves to make, more goodbyes to be spoken, more tears to be shed. Days, possibly weeks of digging awaited him. And that followed by mourning...
His hand came up to wipe the sweat and tears from his face. Looking down at his dusty sleeve, he noticed the brown smear of damp dust and grime he had left on the fabric absently before again dropping his arm. He turned to leave, his mind thinking restlessly now.
Had any others survived? Was he the only one left? How would he go on...
...without her...
Kafei didn't know the answers, but his feet pushed him back into the gates of Clock Town, always moving him one step forward at a time.
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