Dead Letter

[storyspoiler*]

Words are not my usual medium.

I tried to make art of you, Raidon, I really did. I found the footage, not just the parts they showed, but all of it, on the internet (including the parts where they lied about our deaths). I'll admit, because you're dead and because I can, that I watched all of it. That's days, isn't it? Yes, it was days. I was a little obsessive.

I missed you. I hated you, when I first woke up, when I realized what you'd done. I started--I wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself, taking away my autonomy like that (philosophical curse 'till the end, I told you). But what I wanted then--that's not relevant anymore, is it? The future is here; the past is dead.

(The past is never dead. It isn't even past.)

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I finally understand why you did that.

We always say, when we're overwrought--"I would die for you". In a way, that's an easy thing to say, or at least an easy thing to know when to say truly--when you're more willing to take a gamble that death is worth it than you are that life will be worth it without the person you're talking to.

I was lucky enough to talk to you.

Here's a harder thing to say--"I will live for you". When is it correct to say that? When you're dead, I suppose, dead and gone, and dying for you is no longer an option. One of the STAR people read my profile, and told me later, their evaluation of me; one of their phrases was I don't "have a psychological need for people". And it's true. I've never been close to anyone in my life. Not Mom, not Dad, or any of my siblings; not Life On Enceladus, or the people I hung out with before them; freegans, vegans, protestors, artists. It didn't really bother me; I could draw things, and they understood, and maybe other people could understand things through them. I was Radio Asuka, and I could be famous, talked-of, adored from afar. And everything was fine.

And then I met you, and I couldn't be without you.

You were a killer. You knew you were going to play, even in the beginning. Even when you met me. And I was scared--you can see it on the tapes now, I was so scared.

But I challenged you, and you listened.

I suppose, in a way, we were too much the same. We both knew what we were doing--why we were living, or why we were dying. You were living because life is beautiful--and it was worth it to you, no matter the costs. I was dying to make a statement, to prove to someone--Danya, STAR, a lost audience--that the show couldn't warp who I was.

And I warped, and you died, and life wasn't always beautiful, and now I'm living for you, and not dying for you, because that's what you wanted me to do.

I still resent you for that, sometimes. But it's getting to be less and less. So I guess I say now what I should have said long ago: thank you. Thank you for saving my life--twice, was it? No, three times. Thank you for finding me worth it.

I tried to make you a tribute. Something to do with all the footage; the things broadcast and the random crap they just put on the internet for obsessives like me. I tried to cut pieces of it, I told myself I couldn't keep the 'boring' bits; you sleeping, you waking, all the parts no one but an obsessive could possibly care about. I tried to cut bits, but you see now, I'm an obsessive, and I couldn't cut. I couldn't bring myself to. I'm sorry; I don't think there will ever be art of this. Some things I can't make art of.

But I can live, like you told me to. I can live for you. When I can bring myself to touch your money, I will spend it, and as much as I can, I will sculpt the world--and perhaps, in your name, I will leave it a little kinder and more beautiful than I found it. If my life is the only tribute I can leave you, then I will make it worthy of you, I swear it.

I think I love you, Mizore Soryu.

I love you, Naoko Raidon. I love you. I love you. I love you.

See you on the other side,
Radio Asuka