Part 1: A rough start

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A/N: Just curious; what brought you here?

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The weather on Flower Fruit Mountain is much like its ruler: mostly stable with occasional violent thunderstorms. That said, one must be used to warmer climates should they choose to make themselves at home within its fiery borders.

Yet today, the heat feels suffocating, weighing him down and clogging his throat. It pulls on his limbs and presses him further into the cloud he's resting on, and leaves him powerless to do anything but lay still and think.

And think he does, though he wishes he didn't.

The memories band together, vivid and heavy and so, so loud. He has many regrets, too many to count, yet any path he takes, a single face stands out. Always there, by his side. A familiar presence. Until it isn't, and it's all his fault.

It's all his fault, and it's so, so heavy. It's so, so loud. And then he's sinking, and nothing helps though he claws and claws, and he needs out.

He knows the remedy. Knows it intimately enough to know it's poison. Yet the need to escape is far greater than what remains of his lucidity, and old habits die hard.

He drowns with his name on his lips.

-_-_-

Some might say Macaque had a rough day.

He would say it was an absolutely hellish day that just would. not. end.

It started early in the morning, as he woke to sunlight burning his eyes through blinds he'd forgotten to close, and birds screeching in his ears.

He pulled his pillow over his head and rolled to the side in hopes of catching a few more minutes of sleep, just to promptly tumble off the left side of the bed.

A hell of a way to wake up, truly.

Still, it was nothing but a minor inconvenience. Nothing to lose his mind over.

It was only after he spilt his coffee and hit his head on a doorframe not once but twice, that he should have known better than to leave his home.

Nevertheless, work called and the rent wasn't going to pay itself.

Besides, he thought, as he tried fruitlessly to wipe the coffee stain from his new jacket. It's not like this misfortune could last much longer.

Later, after realizing his alarm had failed and he was late for his bus, he beat himself over it. Only a fool would jinx himself so blatantly, without even realizing it.

He left his apartment in a hurry, stumbling down the steps. It was only when he rounded the second corner that he realised he'd forgotten to lock the door and darted right back.

It had only been a week since the last break-in attempt, and Macaque was sick of dealing with the no-name thughs who were dumb enough to chance an encounter with the Six-eared Macaque.

They were unworthy of his time, and he was yet to find an efficient method to remove bloodstains from his hardwood floors.

Not to mention the one time he'd been sloppy enough to allow a human of all things to land a hit on him. It had been more shameful than actually damaging, but it had caused a reconsideration of his living quarters, and a minor breakdown over whether he actually was a fearsome warrior or he had somehow been replaced without realizing it.

He was almost glad he lived in a backwater alley with no person in sight. If anyone - god forbid - Wukong found out, he'd never live it down. The old bastard had enough dirt on him anyway, what with all the years they spent together.

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