JJBA ONESHOTS

(Giorno-centric) Eclipsed by the Sun

<Major part 5 spoilers, for characters, plot, and character deaths>

Description: Thirty One Steps to Becoming a Gangstar, narrated by Giorno Giovanna.

(Giorno Giovanna grows up.)

This is made in a very experimental style for me. Second Person POV. I hope you give it a chance and enjoy regardless. 

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1. Test your new surroundings. Observe. Take mental note. They speak a different language. The sounds garble and roll over themselves in a way they never did back in Japan, but that's alright. You're good at learning. No one needs to help you. You—you can do this. You can speak, and write, and interact the way you should—

The other kids throw stones and little wads of paper. When you speak, the sounds come out all wrong, and you aren't good at this, and everyone knows you aren't good at this. And god, why did you even try? The teachers don't want to deal with you, you're too much trouble. They get that uncertain look on their face whenever you do anything.

So it's simple. Don't speak. It's useless. It only brings trouble to you and everyone around you.

Find that school is just like home; quiet is best.

2. Count seconds on the clock. Mother left thirty minutes ago. That man is drinking downstairs on the living room couch. If you snuck out the front door, it would alert him. But it's the weekend, and you've spent the whole day puzzling over homework in your room, and there are still hours of daylight left, and you don't know when that man will—and the thought of remaining here is almost unbearable.

Breathe in, breathe out. Count seconds. Calm down. There's nothing to be worked up about, you know this. Stop freaking out. Just because the walls seem too small, and you aren't sure if the man's drinking will spiral into a violent mood doesn't mean...

Solution. There's always a solution. Your room has no windows, but Mother's does. Okay. Alright. Tiptoe down the hall. Open the door carefully. Crack open the window. The wall is full of footholds. Bricks that stick out, vines, all sorts of—

The vine gives. You're falling. A clatter, crash, tin cans go rolling. The trash broke you fall but it's full of sharp metal edges and your skin is all shredded and scraped and it doesn't hurt yet but it's about too. And that was so loud. That man must have heard. He—

That's illogical. People create ruckus in the alley ways all the time. But still, just to be careful, you should leave. You shakily stand you your feet. The pain starts to set in, hot and burning and sharp. God. No one is going to help you with this. You need to—to find an abandoned building with running water. Wash the cuts. Bandage them. No one is going to help you. You—

Crying is useless. You know that.

3. Sneak out at night and climb rusted metal stairs up to the top of some building. Settle yourself onto the cold stone edge and contemplate, for a moment, if it would be that terrible to fall. What a silly thought.

You have no fear of heights, but the ground is boring. Look at the sky instead. It's dark blue, almost obsidian, and spreads out above you like a timeless ocean. The moon is—pretty, lights up the sky and reflects silver on the harbor's water, but you like the stars best.

Little suns. So far away. They glitter brightly above the whole world. There is nothing like them. Dawn will break in a number of hours, and then the brightest star of all will shine. The sun will be so bright that you'll be unable to look at it without its brilliance burning you. It will chase away this darkness and bathe all of Italy in its light. Day. Day.