(no subject)

[convault]

rating: PG
media: fic
characters: Marco
word Count: 181
prompt: ephemerality

Marco sees red. Crawling in at the edges of his vision, in a pool on the ground. A deep, warm patch on Pop's chest. He's been seeing red for a long time now-- such is the life of a pirate-- and he's learned to filter it. Let it go, let it pass through him, let his blue flames engulf and smother it. People wither, burn, crumble to ash. He's come to accept that. With Thatch, that someday Whitebeard would die, and maybe someday even everyone else he'd come to care about. The thought of Ace dying-- Ace, who never slowed down and never shut up and burned so that pillars of fire would split the clouds-- was always there. He was young, reckless, foolish and loyal and sometimes just asking to be killed. Still. Marco wishes there was still some spark he could rekindle, some sort of glowing ember he could breathe life back into, but there isn't, and he's burning out in a sea of red. He supposes the only thing left for a guy like him to do is rise from the ashes.

x-posted @ onepiece_300