Disclaimer: I don't feel like writing anything witty or humorous. It's not mine, okay?

Author's note: Usually, I don't write like this...but I'm depressed today and I'll probably be depressed tomorrow. I hate angst, I really HATE angst. But for now, I'll let Her demon guide my fingers across the rattling keys to find solace in Her shadows...

 

Broken Glass

 

I feel pain. I feel pain...but that isn't unusual...I feel pain when I wake up, I feel pain when I go to sleep. It's not unusual. Rain streaked the windows like tears, sparkling and furious, gleaming with an inner fire. Why may the heavens cry? Why may they scream their grief while I am forced to silence; this doll of blood and flesh? The winds shrieked, rattling the panes of glass beneath it's blows at it drove against the walls, as if seeking to shatter her only defenses, and she shivered, taking fingers away from glass. It was cold.

Not unusual. The world was...is...cold, a population of capitalistic businessmen and politicians, all seeking to dig their fingers into my peace. Each one wondering what they could get from me. What more they could gain. What more they could take. Not unusual...The rain clattered against the window. Who is that girl in the reflection? She was pale, eyes that once flashed cerulean were almost colorless with lack of emotion. Her blonde hair, once alive with honey tint, had grown lank, it's luster faded from apathy and indifference. She's a wraith...only a reflection in the mirror...

One hand reached out to trace the bloodless white lips of the other, nail barely touching the glass. Lines around her mouth, darkened circles around her eyes...a doll used once too many times by those who she trusted...a fool...She stared at the girl with virulent hatred, eyes narrowing as the identical orbs in the glass did the same. She was weak, she was pathetic...heart too twisted by pain to love, innocence stripped by war and strife...she didn't deserve to be a safeguard for peace. How could she? When she hardly believed in that any more...

Oh, poor Princess. The reflection writhed as the light of a passing car adulterated the clear form of the girl, twisting her mouth into a derisive grin, mocking eyes like a cat. Tired of the toy that's been given to you? Ready to give up? To leave? Awww....poor, poor, selfish Princess...

Shut up! You know nothing. I've given everything for pacifism. My life, my heart, my soul. Everything! I live and breathe the polluted stink of political turmoil every day, every Godforsaken minute of my life! Is it so horrible to wish something for myself?

Poor, poor Princess...laughter, so similar to her own, played around the room, the pure notes of wind chimes gone awry.

Shut up!

So tired of peace? So tired of your father's ideals? Will you leave after the blood of thousands have been shed to maintain peace?

Shut up!

Dimly, she saw the girl shatter into crystal tears beneath her hand, fragments cutting deeply into her unprotected face and arm. The wind howled its triumph as it breached her last barrier, bringing a torrent of water into the room to slap at her body, completely drenching her with it's wet, clinging touch. She gasped, bringing her trembling hand to lips and froze, eyes riveted on the runnels of blood that welled from the glass-cut skin. The red fascinated her, so full of life, full of vigor, amidst the blanched white as it made it's way slowly down her upraised hand, slipping with almost laconic grace to drip on crystal shards that lay at her feet...

See? I too, have bled...

Crimson splashed against glass, her cracked reflection staring back in cold shock and reproach from the slivered edges. So many eyes, so many faces...She knelt unsteadily to her knees, feeling more glass splinter beneath her weight. She stared, oblivious to the storm that battered her form, spraying shards around the room in a furious tornado of sound and glass.

Her hand reached out of its own volition, straying towards the glass like a child, fascinated by the draw of a fire...So beautiful...lying there...A hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist in an unrelenting grip, and she turned, startled, to drown in Prussian blue eyes. Unemotionally, he surveyed the damage before yanking her into the restroom, wrapping a towel around her bleeding hand, not condemning her, but not speaking either. Finished, he turned to leave, walking into the bedroom before a hand caught his own.

Will you stay, Heero? He looked back at her beneath a mass of unruly hair, eyes as cold as a winter night's...

Will you stay?

He didn't say anything, not moving as blue locked on blue, ice on pale cerulean... An eternity? A minute? Will you stay?

"Foreign Minister!" A voice called frantically through the door as a fist pounded repeatedly against the wood of the door. "Minister Dorlain! Please answer!" She looked up in surprise, and felt the quick slip of flesh to air as he pulled away.

Only a second...The flapping tatters of drapes were her only companions, their frantic movements her only succor. "Prime Minister!" A body slammed against the door, the impact causing it to shudder, then swing wide.

A young bodyguard stumbled in, his gun already out of his holster as he glanced wildly around as the gale of wind and rain whipped at him through the gaping maw of a broken window. "Are you all right? What happened? Who did this?!"

Relena stepped back, the shadows obscuring her features as she adjusted her sawdust façade, conjuring a mannequin's smile and spurious serenity to her features.

"Prime Minister Dorlain, I must know, who did this!"

"No one."

"Prime Minister?"

No one, but a doll in the mirror...

 

 

I told u, I'm depressed. When I'm depressed, my writing suffers. You don't have to r&r this one if u choose not to. I think the subject matter's stupid too. Oh, btw, I guess it's not really angst, just depressing...so none of the other authors...*cough*...can fault me for it. See? Not angst!