Absolution I: Forsaken

Disclaimer: Nope, Seifer still ain’t mine, but the girl with blue hair is. What else is there to say, really
WARNING: Drug use in this chapter, as well as in future ones. If that bothers you, just hit the “Back” button and read something else.

You see, you'd love to run home, but you know you ain't got one
Cuz you're livin' in a world that you best forgotten
When you’re thinking of a joke and nobody's gonna listen
To the one small point I know they've been missin’ around here
~ Goo Goo Dolls- Broadway
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Everything’s settled down now and people have gone back to their regular business, but they still don’t pay more attention to me than they have to, which is a good thing. The last thing I want or need at this point in time is some nosy brat asking me a lot of questions, especially the ones I know someone’s bound to ask sooner or later – “What’s that weapon called?” and “How’d you get that scar on your face?”

I hate this damned scar. It links me to Squall and I remember him defeating me every single time I look in a mirror and see it. Wonder if he thinks of me when he sees his...probably not; he’s probably gotten on with life, stopped caring or wondering about where the hell I happen to be. Can’t say I’d blame him, either.

Over the time since the celebrating began, I’ve come to realize that there’s only so much self-hating I can do at a time. After a while, it gets really repetitive, and I have to force myself to stop thinking and focus on watching the lives of the losers around me.

A group of four or five people, around my age or maybe a little older, have taken interest in me and spend hours just staring at me, most likely trying to see what they can figure out about me by watching me move. All they’ll probably realize is that I’ve had military training. Why else would I walk so ramrod straight? They’ve got no balls, just big mouths, or else they’d do something more than look at me.

Or maybe I’ve spoken too soon.

The one I’ve guessed to be their leader, a tiny girl with bright blue hair who’s always dressed in jeans that look as if one yank would pull them off her hips, walks up to me, holding something small in her hand. I look her over from spaghetti-strap tank, although why she’s wearing it is beyond me, she ain't got a chest, noting the hint of a tattoo on her stomach, to the hideously purple shoes on her feet and decide that she’s scrawny enough to make a better guy than a girl.

“We’ve been watching you. Wanna smoke, get that stick outta your ass?”

Gotta give her points for bluntness. What’s in her hand isn’t a normal cigarette, that’s for sure, but I’ll try anything once, just to see what it’s like and to see if it makes me forget. Wordlessly, I take it from her, stick one end in my mouth, and she lights it for me before sitting on a trash can. Apparently, she’s going to watch to make sure I smoke the thing.

I slide up from my spot on the ground, rest against the wall, only briefly realizing that I’m mocking Squall’s typical posture, and inhale slowly. Ain’t exactly pleasant, but I manage to go without coughing, for a bit at least. The girl giggles as she hears me, but shuts up as soon as I give her one of the glares everyone at Garden used to hate being on the receiving end of. And why in the hell do I keep thinking about Garden?

It was your home; of course you’re going to keep thinking about it. Just like you keep thinking about Squall.

Stupid fucking voice in my head. Maybe smoking more will get it to shut the hell up for a little while. But then again, it’s usually helping me hate myself, so maybe the smoking is making it be evil right now. Either way, I don’t really care.

I keep smoking slowly, feeling her eyes never once leave me. Once I’m almost done, I look at her and see that her eyes are just about the same color blue as her hair, which strikes me as one of the funniest things imaginable. But laughing makes it hard to finish whatever this stuff is, so I force myself not to do anything until my fingers are almost burned because I’ve smoked enough.

“Feeling any better now?” she asks me. Wait, was her voice really that high-pitched and whiny before? My response is to laugh and slide back down the wall, chuckling even more when my feet slip out from under me and I fall on my ass. That’ll probably bruise.

The girl, maybe I should ask for her name, giggles at me before pulling another…whatever the hell you call what I just smoked, out of her pocket and lighting it for herself. All I can do is lean back against the wall, wondering why I’m almost relaxed right now. She was right; it did pull the stick out of my ass.

Staring at her makes me laugh even more and I’m too out of it to care that even my laugh sounds weird. She blows a smoke ring at me and I run my hand through it, then just keep laughing and begin saying random things as they pop into my head. Obviously, she thinks they’re funny because she keeps giggling that giggle that would drive me nuts if my head were more attached to my shoulders.

Eventually, the feeling of relaxation wears off, and I realize that I’m extremely hungry. I stand up slowly and follow her when she tells me to because maybe she and her friends have food. They do, I can smell it from here. Although it probably wasn’t paid for, food is food, and I take the first burger that gets pushed into my hands and chomp it down in a few bites.

You wanted a way to forget…well, it seems like you’ve found that.

Yep, it seems like I have. I’ve gotta smoke more of this, maybe ask if there’s anything that’ll help me even more. Wait, what was it I was trying to forget in the first place? I laugh to myself and keep eating, only leaving that group of kids once my stomach’s full.

I’ve found a way to forget about my failures. Thank Hyne.
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A/N: I apologize if my depiction of smoking pot wasn’t exactly the best. I’ve never touched the stuff, but I figured it’s a nice place for Seifer to start with his quest to forget. If anyone wants to give me input about pot and/or other drugs that may feature in this later, I’d greatly appreciate it.

And normally, this is the point where I’d respond to my reviewers and feel generally happy that people take the time to write what they think about this, but I didn’t get a single one. Nope, none of the 84 (at last look) people who read that little intro bothered to tellwhatwhat they think with the exception of my friends, who don’t really count because they’re biased.