Work Text:
Ah, the birds are signing, Kaneki was whispering, can you hear them?
It was morning and the sunrise was falling (how does the sun rise and fall? How does that work) colours was spilling, and he was on top of the rof watching the bright reds and oranges and the pinks spin and fan across the sky, turning the darkness of the night into light.
He was burning.
He was burning.
And the sky was laughing, the crows was singing. Black things in the sky, flying and signing, and everything was so beautiful. So beautiful that he couldn’t deal with it.
He dug his nails into skin just above his eyes and screamed.
He couldn’t hear himself, couldn’t hear his distorted and broken voice that roared and screetched and went soft and quiet as he fell to his knees, right at the edge of the roof.
He was burning.
Sunlight was turning everything dark to light, glowing up the word, raising the world up to see.
And Kaneki was burning, burning, burning.
He dug his nails in deeper into his skin and the pain was blinding and searing, not enough, nothing compared to how sunlight on his skin and making him be seen. Turning him to light.
And oh, what an ugly monstrous thing he was.