❝ ﹠. ONFORCE.
the silence laid in thick, aligning perfectly with the crystal clear blue - black sky and short, inconsistent puffs of cigarette smoke. these desert nights were repetitive, a recycling of the same insomnia and silent destruction that bloomed in his head as sore thoughts. thoughts of home, of his mother’s 7:15 on - the - dot dinners ( she’s never missed a minute of it, he isn’t sure how ), of her ‘going to school’ kisses that he found all too annoying, but he made sure not to leave without them. the pleasant thoughts of nostalgia for a simpler time were sometimes worse than the darker ones : about the feelings of creeping uncertainty, self doubt, and potential grievance. i have to do this ——— he rejected them with painfully cold reminders, i have to do this, even if i can’t, i have to. the vicious cycle that replayed every night, he could only sit up with his arm propped on a bent knee, curls of smoke providing the bare essential of relief. tank top on, no jacket ——— the desert nights were cold, but he had to lift the weight off somehow. any amount, anything he could get.
the abruptness of kakyoin’s voice didn’t startle him, he knew he was awake because he didn’t feel alone. maybe there was an underlying appreciation for that. a slow drag of his cigarette accompanies mutual eye contact, a hardened glance given to the other while he listens, unchanged and unmoving. kakyoin was a very distinctive character, a guy you just couldn’t get out of your head and forget. but behind his unique personality ( or rather alongside it ), he was like jotaro in a few aspects. two 17 year old students too pronounced to connect to teenagers alike, wrung out to constant exposure of the sicker side of reality. unlike jotaro though, he chose to participate in the race to save holly’s life, rather than having no choice but to fight for his mother’s life. after the flesh bud was removed, he could have ran back, reuniting with his own mother who was safe and not in danger. but he didn’t. instead, out of obligation, he took the stand with jotaro, a mere acquaintance at the time. he’s never brung it up, but he respects kakyoin a lot for it.
this one - sided conversation was a harsh reminder of what war does to the psyche. maybe too bold an assumption, but they all were hurting inside, at different levels and at different planes, but maybe not quite as much as either of them were. such a bizarre personality with such a deep wound of a conscious. jotaro always knew that there was more to him than others had realized, maybe even appreciated, but to hear his unfiltered thoughts at such a fragile time of night.. it almost stung.
a response delayed into well after kakyoin’s confession, yet his eyes never left the sight of him. he could see it, feel it, hear the hurt that although they shared, was different in many regards. another slow drag of his cigarette, dangerously close to the end of how many huffs he had left. ❛ no… we’re a lot alike, you and me. i don’t know about the brain worm part but.. ❜ he craned his head away, hesitating on continuing on with what he was going to say, or lack of. a shadow falls over his eyes while his hand raises up to his forehead, flicking at the curly strand of hair that stood alone from the rest. ❛ we’ve both got worms on our hair……….. ❜ what an awkward joke, how do people like gramps do it all the time.. ? a short period of silence ensued, unable to think up of something appropriate to say. good grief, these thoughts are better handled when they’re on the inside..
❛ …i’m sure they’ll be relieved when you finally come back home. after all this.. we’ll all be relieved when we go back home. ❜ another short silence. ❛ i’m sure she misses you. you should write her a letter or call her.. get in contact. your dad too, that is.. it’s up to you. ❜ it hits a little bit too close to home. he tilts his head away to the side of the floor. once more, a silence follows, but this one lasts the longest before a sudden break.
lifting his head up, jotaro pinched the brim of his hat to continue to conceal his eyes with darkness, the other hand stretching itself out in exaggerated inquiry. ❛ give me a break, what are you going on about.. ? as if.. i’d ever be able to forget your scarred - up face… you aren’t making any sense, just go to bed. i can handle not sleeping a lot more better than you can. ❜ he didn’t want to address it, but deep down he knew. he knew of the possibility that they were all way in over their heads, he knew of the hard learned lesson that not everyone’s life was guaranteed. he didn’t want to think about it, he refused to.. not when it involved someone so close to him.
❛ WORMS? You mean... worm-worms? In our hair, Jojo? ❜ He places a hand on his head, running his skinny fingers through his red locks. A natural trait he donned from his mother, much to shock. He was very proud of his hair and was specific about it ——– the curly bang had been his trademark for quite a while. No doubt, he felt the grime from the mud, sand, and maybe a mite or two nesting in his hair. They have been in the desert for a while, haven’t they? A choke. A splutter. A snort, and then a full wave of goofy, ugly laughter. HEHE’S and HOHO’s and all sorts of snorts and splutters. He breathes through his nose, trying to catch his breath. He puts his head down, slamming his hand up and down on the ground, throwing sand everywhere. IT WAS SUCH AN UNEASY JOKE ———— WHY WAS HE LAUGHING?
He always got a good kick out of what anyone or anything said, it didn’t matter if it was stupid or not, Kakyoin laughed at the dumbest and grossest things you could even think of. It was just another quirk of his weird personality. He thinks in his head amidst his fit, the idea of worms crawling into the crevices of their brains and eating away at the flesh, like parasites. They keep eating and eating until there’s nothing there and they die. He laughed harder. ❛ PFFFFFFFFFFFT ——– ! HAHAHAHAHAHHEEHEHEHEHEHOHHOO! ❜
He felt his eyes sting again, tears beginning to stream from his eyes. He wipes them, his smile fading slowly. But despite the end of his laughter the tears kept flowing from his eyes like a faucet. WHAT IS THIS…. WHAT IS THIS…. WHAT IS THIS ? WHY AM I CRYING RIGHT NOW?
Go to bed, huh? How can I go to bed when my mind is thinking of a million thoughts per minute? One creeps in, a vivid image of bugs crawling underneath his eyes. Another one now, this time of a scorpion stinging him as he collapses completely in the desert, eyes rolling up into his head and a drool dribbling out of his chin. They all had the same pattern, not being completely fucking gross and melodramatic, but they were all of him dying. Every single one of them. And in every one of these pictures and thoughts, he was alone. He was somehow stranded, isolated from all of the crusaders. But him. Just him. Dying, alone, at only seventeen. BUT IVE ALWAYS HAD THESE KINDS OF SICK FUCKING THOUGHTS! Another one flashes in his brain, an unknown person prying off his fingernails as he slumps in a chair and bleeds out. His mouth getting ripped open in two complete halves and splits, and then another where his torso is completely sawed in half. The kind of thoughts that made you go, ‘ WHAT THE FUCK? ‘ They were so morbid and grisly and fucking weird that you just couldn’t stop thinking about them. And when you did, another popped in, then another, and another.
THAT’S JUST HOW I HAVE LIVED, EVER SINCE I WAS YOUNG.
❛ J-Jojo… J-Jojo… ❜ His voice comes out in a choke, breathing through his mouth as his nose was filled with snot. His eyes continue to stream tears that were almost opalescent, tears that kept falling no matter how many times he told himself to FUCKING QUIT IT. He’s always hated crying. It made him look weak. I don’t want pity, he thinks. I hate being looked down on. I hate being thought of as a weakling, a freak, a weirdo. I just want a friend, someone I can talk to. I just want someone who can listen to me and understand. That’s all I ever wanted. Even when I was a child, if I had a friend I could call my own, I wonder how different things would be. I wonder…
❛ Guuuhhh…… J-…..Jojo… F-FUCK! I’m……God, I-I don’t know what’s gotten into me…. Haaaah…… ❜ It was getting hard to breathe at this point, a feeling of choking tenderness he’s felt before, sleepless nights where he would wrap his hands around his throat and SQUEEZE —————- but he didn’t really think any of it at the time, just him, trying to figure out what it’d feel like if someone where to strangle him to death. Morbid, bizarre thoughts. He wipes his eyes using two hands now, it was just getting that bad.
❛ Jojo ————— ! ❜ He cries, hands wrapping around his throat. His voice cracked horribly, but he couldn’t think of it right now. He couldn’t breathe. He sits up in his cot in a hurry, grabbing at the ends of his blankets. His eyes widen as he feels himself coughing, a mixture of drool and blood leaking from his lips. Kakyoin had very poor medical issues, whether it was due to all the ghastly little things he ate or had it just been the events of the crusade, his health and stomach hadn’t been the same since he began the trip. They were the usual sick spells he often tried to hide from view of the others, times where he abruptly left and said he was ‘ going to the bathroom. ‘ He coughs, feeling the metallic taste of blood filling up his mouth and covering his teeth. He vomits it out, catching it in his hands. The blood comes out in pools, staining him red. He shuts his eyes, trying to cough out everything. The blood, the thoughts, the suppressed feelings. His eyes snap awake as he feels himself sway in his bed weakly. It was over.
He hadn’t had a spell so bad in a while ————- but a sudden thought crawls in. WHAT WAS JOTARO THINKING ? He swivels his head fast enough he could’ve dislocated his neck, tears still pouring and blood dripping from his chin. He raises a shaky hand, mid-way in the air, almost as if he was reaching out to him. Please, please don’t look. His heart lurches from within, all too human. Please just forget. ❛ Haaaah…. Haaaaaah… Jojo…..I’m….I’m sorry….. D-don’t look, please. PLEASE DON’T LOOK. ❜
