JPHiP Forum
The Hello! Project Fanfics => H!P Fanfics => Library => Topic started by: OTN1 on March 06, 2007, 06:43:51 PM
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I think this story makes a lot more sense if you read this one (http://forum.jphip.com/showthread.php?t=6221), but I guess it can be a stand alone. This is not what I intended to post next, but I listened to a sad song this afternoon at work and ended up with this. I spent the evening fixing it up. Every time I swear off this world, I come back to it.
My Own Private Funeral
My eyes opened slowly, naturally. No alarm clock woke me up this morning. I looked around my room in the darkness. The sun had not yet risen, although the faint beginnings of light were showing themselves. The sun was just below the horizon, waiting patiently to appear. Everything was still young, untouched by the aging light of day.
I rolled over onto my side and stared at the wall, my mind a blank. The whiteness of the plaster was going to be bright within half an hour. Bright like a fluffy cloud in the sky. Now, though, it was a muted off-white, looking no more appealing than the sky on a cloudy day.
I took a deep breath in and closed my eyes in order to properly picture such a sky.
I looked up at the grey sky and saw the light struggling to get through but failing. A slight shadow was cast on the land and the trees, but not a depressing one. It simply dulled the shininess a slight bit. People could hardly notice it. The uniform cloud across the sky was not threatening, but comforting. Protective.
I continued to stare up at the sky, imagining I could see through the clouds and out into space.
I looked back down to the land and saw trees, grass, and mountains. A river in the distance.
It was a foreign land that I had never been to, although it did not surprise me to be here. It was interesting. Everything smelled different and the mountains were huge. Much bigger than the ones I grew up around. I looked at them, awed by their enormity. The tops were capped with snow. They were impenetrable fortresses. The perfect border for a country with so much to protect.
The clouds that covered every corner of the sky seemed to bend and shape themselves around the mountains in a blatantly impossible disregard of the rules of weather systems and nature. I was not a scientist, however, so I did not particularly care. "It looks neat" was the best way I could describe it.
I carried on watching the sky. I saw a break in the cloud cover. A sole ray of sunlight thrust itself through, and as if setting a trend, more rays followed, seeming to widen the tear in the cloud. A bit of warmth emerged and touched my face. I smiled as the heat travelled through my skin and into my bones, heating them up in a pleasant way. I felt at peace with everything in the world. I was comfortable where I stood, comfortable in my skin. I was truly and simply happy.
My peace was shattered by a terrible sound - a loud rumbling like a train - making me cringe. From behind me it came like a charging bull out of control, rabid, leaving behind it a trail of dust so thick it could choke up an ocean.
As the plane passed overhead, it seemed to screech out words I could not understand. Maybe it was the people inside yelling. I watched in horror as the plane headed straight for the mountain. I knew that it would never clear it.
I was right when the plane crashed nose first right into the side of the mountain, high up where the snow started. It hardly made the sound I thought it would. It was so far away that it sounded like someone had blown up a paper bag and popped it and then muffled the echo. A few mini explosions occurred and I saw a small fire start up.
Watching the scene unfold, I stood paralysed with fear, my stomach churning and making me feel sick. I could swear that I heard screaming from the wreckage. People begging for help... But it would have been impossible to hear any voices from such a distance.
I was helpless. I could do nothing. I did not even have a cellular phone.
I overcame my paralysis and started to run, mapping out in my mind an impossible mission to scale a mountain with no equipment, no proper clothing, and no experience. Each step I took I felt the sinking fear in me become worse and worse. I was going to find something I did not like.
This did not stop me, though, for every step I took also made my sense of urgency increase tenfold. I needed to get to my goal. I needed to know some things.
I somehow scaled the mountain. It was like I flew. The wreckage of the plane was in my line of sight. We were on the same level now.
I crawled over to it, exhausted, my hands and legs freezing up in the snow that covered the ground.
The fire I had seen break out was on the opposite end of the plane. Conveniently, the side I was on was untouched by the flames. There was a huge tear in the body of the plane where the wing had once been attached. There was a perfect space beside it to crawl inside. I did so.
The plane had been tipped over so that the wall of windows had become the floor. As I reached the entrance, I could see bodies scattered along it. They must have not had their seatbelts buckled up properly. I ignored the disgust I felt welling up at the back of my throat and I crawled through the bodies, which I soon found were in fact dead bodies.
I kept going, looking for something.
I heard a whimper. I looked sideways immediately.
There she was strapped into her seat, hanging from the "side" of the plane like a dead rag doll.
But she had made a sound. She was alive.
I stood up quickly and undid the buckle at her stomach. She started to tumble down, but I grasped at her, my hands slipping unexplainably as I helped her down safely. I put her on an empty space on the windows, resting her on her back.
Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. Shallow, infrequent breaths. She whispered something.
"What?" I asked, my voice sounding hollow.
"Water..." she rasped out. I could not help but break out into a smile. She could at least speak and evaluate her position. She felt thirsty. She knew she needed wa-
"W-water?" she repeated, this time in English. I frowned. "And... ex...tra blanket? Please..."
I felt her forehead. She was burning up. She was delirious with what felt like fever but what was more conceivably shock and pain. She did not know what had just happened. She was speaking nonsense, probably repeating the phrases from her Learn English in 20 Minutes Per Day CDs.
When I brought my hand away from her brow, I noticed sticky blood on my fingers. There was a lot. Oddly, I did not feel hurt. I inspected my hand for a cut, but I could find none. I realized with a sinking heart that it was not my blood.
I pulled back to take a full look at the incapacitated girl. Her shirt was wet. Scared, I reached out to touch it. It was cold and sticky. When I pulled my hand back, my fear was confirmed by the blood that coated my fingers. This was why my hands had slipped about when trying to help her down.
I pulled her torn sweater and shirt up ever so slightly and peered under, almost gagging in horror. Something must have fallen in her lap during the crash. There was a vicious, gaping wound in her stomach that I knew could not be repaired in time. I pulled her clothes back down and looked for something to stop the bleeding. I found a blanket and pressed it into her stomach. I am sure that was not what she had wanted when she had asked for an extra blanket.
"Just keep breathing," I said quietly as though I were a paramedic.
"Water," she choked out, this time in her native tongue. Then a miracle happened - she opened her eyes and looked right at me, tears of pain in her eyes.
"Help me," she pleaded in a weak, pathetic voice.
Gone was strongest girl in the world, replaced by a feverish child who could barely breathe on her own. My heart, had it not already broken, would have broken at that sight alone.
What did you say to someone when you knew her fate was sealed? She knew what was to come, too. I could tell. The fear in her eyes was not born from nothing.
I nodded and I could not help starting to cry. The tears overflowed and fell as I blinked them away. My vision became blurred from too many tears. I had to wipe my eyes quickly with one of my blood-covered hands. My other hand took hers and squeezed.
"I'm helping you," I cried, my voice breaking.
"Water..."
I shook my head.
"I don't have any."
She suddenly gripped my hand in a surprisingly tight hold and looked directly into my eyes, her eyes wide open. With a reserve of strength like that, maybe she would be all right and pull through...
"Mama," she whispered. "Mama, I'm scared..."
I could not even begin to react to being mistaken for her mother because her hold on my hand slackened in an instant and she stopped breathing.
I shook her gently and then put my ear to her chest. I could hear nothing. No heart beat. I put a hand over her mouth, but nothing happened. No warm breath emerged.
She was dead. No hope.
I knew it. I knew it before I had reached the crash site.
That is why I did not scream out her name, nor tell her to hang on and demand that she wake up. She was fated to have gone, and nothing I could do would change it. I resigned myself to this fact.
I touched her forehead once and then stood up, looking down at her. She looked like she was in such pain. Her eyes open in terror, her body twisted in an awkward position.
But she did not feel a thing. Not a thing anymore. She was off somewhere, flying to some other place where nothing could hurt her anymore. Somewhere where she did not have to remember the pain she had just gone through. It could be endless darkness and nothingness or it could be eternal light and bliss. I did not know and did not presume to judge what did or did not happen after death. All I knew was that she was there and I was not.
I left her body there. I was not meant to bring it with me. I walked out of the plane and out into the cold mountain winds.
I walked away from the plane. I knew that it would eventually burn up. The remaining fuel in the engine's tanks would make certain of it. It would convert everything in that small flying machine into the elements that would float up into the sky and become smaller parts of the universe once more. In a way comforting, in a way upsetting.
I walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out across the Italian Alps, mountains being all I could see. The sun had fully emerged from the curtain of clouds that had held it hostage, and it now warmed my cold hands. The blood on them began to dry and crack. The snow below me became saturated with little red flakes. I knelt down in the snow and put my hands in it, scrubbing them vigorously. The snow at my knees turned a pale red. I stared and thrust my hands deep under, keeping them there until I felt such burning that I had to pull them out. Tears of pain came to my eyes, but I ignored them.
I stood up and looked behind me. The whole plane was on fire. I could feel the heat on my back. I watched as Aya's body floated up to the sky as smoke.
Bye bye, I thought. I blinked away more tears.
It was like my own private funeral. Saying goodbye. Burning the body. Seeing off her ashes.
All the things I never had a real chance to do.
I opened my eyes. I had dozed off and had the same daydream.
Correction. It was a new dream, but it was a variation of an old dream of eight years.
The wall in front of me had become brighter. The sun was peeking out over the horizon, signalling a new day.
A sad day for me. The anniversary of a loved one's death was never a good day. It seemed my subconscious was trying to help me overcome some of that remaining grief by giving me a sense of closure (albeit a strange one), but the grief would never be fully removed. It could never be.
I turned over for the second time that morning and looked at the sunlight coming in through the blinds. I lay in bed lazily, wishing that I had someone that would come in and yell at me for being so lazy.
But the one person who I would allow to scold me like that (besides my mother) was gone. She had burned up into tiny atoms and floated into the sky along with two hundred strangers and a few tonnes of metal and fuel.
Maybe at night when I looked up at the stars, the brightest ones contained a bit of her in them. She had always looked over me and taken care of me. Maybe now she was in the position to take on the duty fulltime from above.
This was how I comforted myself. Or maybe tricked myself.
Because I knew deep down inside that my dreams meant nothing. My thoughts had no effect on the outside world. Romantic ideas of souls surviving and guardian angels watching over me would get me nowhere.
So I heaved a sigh, rolled out of bed, and went to brush my teeth. It was all I could do. I was living in the world.
The End
bedtime. :yawn:
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you did it again, turning me into a sobbing shuddering heap
oh and welcome back!
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Oh, the pain. As if my writing my own fic hadn't put me in enough pain! Oh sweet angst, how I love thee and how I hate thee. *clutches chest dramatically*
Anyway, it was good. It made me sad before going to bed. I hope you're proud of yourself for doing that! :P That's a compliment, btw. XD
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welcome back. I dared read this in a public place. I had to wipe on the sunnies to make sure no one got a look at my eyes.
I do like the title and I do like the story line. I was reading the other day a few messages about the ending of the last story regarding Miki and her dreams so this came up at a convinient time for me, really..
Its sad yet really sweet at the same time. Miki found closer for Aya but will I find it for Lovex2? Tune in next week to find out
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Looks promising, I love how it started out. :3
I really like those storys where they describe everything around them, lets you get really good visions in your head. :kgreat:
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Welcome back dude...fuckin' brilliant as always.
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How can I even find the words to describe what this story makes me feel? I'm speechless.
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Thank you. I feel very welcome here as usual.
That part was it. That was my whole story idea.
But Brat-san planted the idea of continuing it. Blame him/her for this next part.
2
I had never smelled burning flesh before and I had never seen a dead body, yet these things seemed so familiar to me. I did not dream of them every night, but often enough to remind me of mortality. My own, as well as that of all the people around me. We were fragile things.
But I had learned long ago that the thing more fragile than the body was the heart. Especially mine. I had always thought I was so strong. That I could keep my real emotions packed tightly within me, hidden from view.
My opinion changed when I met Aya. I am sure she never meant to, but when she started to become my friend, her mere presence made me realize how weak I was. How fragile my mind was. Instead of seeing this as a bad thing, I came to see it as something special. Something that was so human and essential. It made me feel more like a person who was worthy of the pleasures of life. As simple a thing as smelling a sweetly-scented flower became more of a treat when I thought of it her way.
Aya had two sides to her personality. One side was incredibly easy to please. That was the side that I appealed to more often, whether I needed to tell her something important or I just wanted to make her laugh. That side also influenced me, relaxed me, made me realize that basic things had great value.
The other side of her was tougher than me, and I wished anyone trying to reason with that side a dry "good luck." That was the side that I appealed to when I needed strength. That side also reasoned with me when I was doing something stupid. It kept me balanced when I overreacted. She was not always right, though, and I learned how to tell her that. I learned how to talk to her so that she would listen to me and understand me. Perhaps my greatest accomplishment in the world was that.
However, I only let myself become like that around her. To the rest of the world, my attitude was closer to the cold and calculating bitch that I am sure many of my coworkers wished to publicly label me as. If my natural reaction was too strong or too personal, I would hide it and pull out one of my set expressions or responses. I tried to appear in control of myself every second of the day, although I did not go so far as to alienate myself from everyone. Of course I had my moments of weakness. Moments when I would cry, laugh uncontrollably, or show a friend or co-worker pity. Genuine displays of those were infrequent, though, and after they happened, I would quickly revert to my composed self. It was my coolness. I gave myself a little more leeway on television. Everybody knew TV was mostly an act anyway and that we were ordered around and scripted to no end. I could not be held entirely responsible for the things I said and did there.
Over the years, Aya had been my unwavering post. A dock where I could land and roam around free, anchored by nothing. Thinking about it now, it was very therapeutic, especially after I became fully comfortable around her. In all the years we stood together, I grew into a respectable person because of her. I learned to love properly because of her. Even if I had not been in love with her, she would have taught me how to use my heart. If it had not been her I gave my heart to, whoever I did give my heart to would have Aya to thank for its ability to work. We had a special connection that transcended everything else. One that had nothing to do with romantic love. We had just happened to take it that way.
If Aya-chan taught us and the people on this world how to do something, it was to love and how to use our hearts. I think you've learned the most out of all of us. Don't let that knowledge go to waste.
Shiba-chan's words echoed in my head. She had spoken those words eight years ago, and I had forgotten them until recently. Until last night, in fact. I had taken a trip through my memories and had finally had the courage to sit quietly and think about my first conversation with Shiba-chan after we had found out about Aya's death. Before yesterday, it was one of my most reviled memories. I never let myself fully recall all of its details. Since remembering every little detail the previous night, however, it had remained lodged like a stubborn thorn in my mind. Those few sentences repeated themselves over and over in my mind.
With a start, I realized where I was. I was kneeling on the floor of my kitchen and picking up some uncooked grains of rice that I had spilled the night before. I had become lost in thought, something that happened often around this time of year.
I got up and threw the rice in the sink.
Aya always yelled at me when I did something like that even when there was a little net in the drain to catch unwanted particles. I smirked. She was probably screaming her head off now if she was watching me. I wished I could tease her about how uptight she was about that sort of thing, but of course I could not. I felt a chill go through me as I sobered up and went off to make my bed.
Shiba-chan was absolutely right, I thought as I tucked the corners of the sheets under the mattress. I should not let the valuable lessons I had learned from Aya go to waste. I knew I would never find someone I could connect to the same way I did with Aya, but that should not have been something to stop me from finding new friends and finding a new environment for me to get along with people in. I knew at the very least I should revive those feelings, remember how they tasted, and channel them into something useful.
It was easier thought than done.
I found myself standing beside my bed with the pillow in my hands. I shook my head and continued fixing up the bed, putting the pillow where it belonged.
At 7:00am I took my jacket and left my apartment, walking briskly to the station. It took me almost forty minutes and two transfers to get to where I was headed. It was worth it, though. The powerful feelings that welled up in me were a welcome change from the constant drone of halfway feelings.
I walked up to the concert hall doors and put a hand on one of the handles. I knew it was locked so I did not try to open it. I looked up at the building and tried to remember a day about fifteen years ago. The day that I first met Aya. The concert we had attended. How we happened to find each other there and recognize each other. We had clicked. I had been polite and civil to her, but some sort of excitement had rumbled beneath my surface. I knew who she was, and I had my assumptions about the kind of person she would be, but I had thrown away my expectations after a few moments in her presence because she was so much more than what people saw on television. It felt like instant friendship.
I was wary for a while, of course, hardly able to believe that she could be such a good person. I waited nervously for the day she turned on me and transformed into a horrific purple monster. That moment had never come, and my fears dissipated and were forgotten. She became my best friend. I had never had one like her before. Back home I had called some friends my "best friends," but they did not come even close to what Aya and I had.
I moved away from the doors and walked around the complex.
The first meeting. Fifteen years ago. We had lived on the earth while knowing each other for seven years. That was hardly anything. A couple of footsteps along a thirty kilometre long road.
I grit my teeth in anger. I fought my anger on a regular basis. I had been getting better at keeping it in, placating myself when I became distressed over the unjustness of the world, but it had a habit of lashing out from within at bad times.
My anger turned to pain and then into sadness. I did not hold back my tears, however. Not today. I was allowed to cry, and so I did. I stopped walking and sat down behind the building near a fire exit. I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them, letting my tears flow with no worry of being discovered.
But I had trouble figuring out what I cried for. Was I crying for Aya, a girl who had died prematurely? Or was I crying for myself? For my situation - my loneliness, my numbed state, my loss?
I grimaced at the thought of such selfish tears. I was sickened. I hoped that my grief went beyond that. I tried to bring up my least favourite memories and aspects of Aya and cried harder because there was nothing I did not like about her. Our most vicious of fights was better than nothing. Her most biting words would be like a warm bath to me now.
I began to cry harder as I remembered her. I let out a sob. A little too loud. I looked around to see if anybody was around. I could not see a soul, but I began to not care. I put my face down and wrapped my arms around my head, crying loudly into my knees.
The harder I cried, the more I began to understand that I was crying for the both of us. I cried for myself because I was lonely and miserable without her. I cried for her because she had been in the middle of living with such vigour and happiness when it was all torn away from her in a few minutes. I cried for the both of us because if we were not together, then there were two hearts in the world that were incomplete and crying out for something.
"It'll never..." I squeezed out of my tight throat as tears wet my lips. "It'll never..."
I could not finish my sentence because I was choking. My throat constricted and I started to breathe spasmodically as I tried to control myself. I was crying so hard I could not catch my breath. I heard Aya's soothing voice in my head.
"Calm down. Shhhh... shhh.... You're safe here."
She stroked my hair slowly and held my hand as I lay curled up in pain on my bed.
"Shhhh. I'll stay here." .
Whenever I became so depressed that I felt like I was going to suffocate, I would remember times when Aya had calmed me down when I was sick. They were some of my most vivid memories because she was so perfect in them. She did not tease me or make jokes. She gave me one hundred and fifty per cent of her caring attention and would sit beside me, hold my hand, and tell me it would be okay.
My breathing slowed down and became steady again. I stopped sobbing so hard. I concentrated on the memory and imagined that Aya was here with me, leaning her shoulder against mine and letting me know that I was not alone.
I took a few minutes to compose myself before I stood up and continued to walk around the building. My eyes must have still been red, but at least I could breathe again.
Aya was not coming back. She had died eight years ago in a fiery plane crash in the Italian Alps after the plane had lost control in a bad weather system and veered off course. When I had wordlessly said my goodbyes to her in Tokyo before she left for her three month business trip, I had not known that it would be goodbye forever.
My circle around the concert hall complete, I left without a look back. Being there was too painful. I wandered to my next goal.
I had done this same thing for the past seven years. I had visited the places that had meant something to me and Aya. They varied from year to year, but I always did go to a few. I would visit where we first met, first took purikura, first went for coffee... One year I had even travelled down to Kobe and stayed at the same hotel we had stayed at after her nineteenth birthday concert. Many firsts there, too.
That had been the most painful day. I barely succeeded in containing my tears until after I had gone through the check-in process. When I had reached my room - the same room we had stayed in - I had broken down and not moved for the entire night. Maybe I had overreacted. Now that I was on Tokyo soil, I could think so. But I knew that once I was in the situation, it was hard to keep a level head and judge my behaviour. In layman's terms (my preferred way of thinking), bad things happened and I got sad.
My next destination was reached. It was the one place out of all that I went to every year. I entered the coffee shop and ordered tea. The place was one that we had gone to often because it was quiet and out of the way. I could not remember the first time we had discovered it, but apparently we liked it enough to keep patronising it for many years. I often wondered how it could still be in business after so many years. I had expected it to suddenly go out of business and disappear without a word, much like many things in this city.
The owner of the place was somewhat of an enigma. She had come to know me and Aya by sight, but she rarely spoke to us. Occasionally she would ask if we were well. When Aya had died, I did not visit for a year. After, I would go infrequently. At first I had been afraid that the staff would start acting strangely around me. Aya's fame was not a secret from them, and neither was news of her death. They did not say a word, however, and they treated me no differently than before. The owner asked no questions about the girl missing from my side and continued to putter about behind the counter, asking me how I was every few months.
There was one thing that the owner did do for me. She had probably pieced together my tradition after the first two times, and from the third time I went there, I noticed that for that dreary week in October, she put fresh floral arrangements on all the tables. Simple white flowers in small glasses. Neither of us had said anything, but my continued patronage at that place said enough: I appreciated the gesture.
This year, the owner came and sat with me for the first time.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked in her whispery voice. She reminded me of an American hippie from the olden days.
I did mind, but I did not want to be rude. I shook my head and she took a seat.
"I have a bone to pick with you," she started.
I sighed. I did not want to fight on this day.
"What?"
"Why don't you ever order the recommended desert?"
"What?" I asked in surprise. What kind of question was that?
"You order all of them except for the recommended one. Why?"
I was at a loss for words. There was no reason. I just did not look at that part of the menu where the recommended desert was written. I told the owner as much.
"Fujimoto-san," the owner began, addressing me by name for the first time in the ten years I had been going to her shop, "for the past six years I have struggled to come up with the most appropriate desert for this day especially for you, yet you have snubbed my efforts six times. I've had enough!"
I looked at the woman in horror. Had I snubbed her? I had done no such thing!
"I'm... sorry?" I apologised unsurely.
"Don't apologise. Just order the damned recommended desert!"
I made an 'eep!' sound and ordered the dish.
It was brought out quickly and placed in front of me. The owner looked on proudly as I inspected it.
It was a slice of vanilla cake with white icing, served with white powdered sugar on a shiny white plate.
I'm sensing a white theme here, I thought sarcastically.
"I made it myself."
I nodded my thanks and tried it. It was delicious.
But why had she been making deserts for me for the past six years? Because I had lost my friend? Was I really important enough a customer to be slaving away at the kitchen over?
I looked up at her to ask, but she was gone. I looked around and could not spot her. Had she disappeared into the back? How had I not noticed her leave the table?
I poked at the cake with my fork. At least the fork was silver.
But the cake was entirely white. The flowers were white.
The colour reminded me of Aya. Or rather, the interpretation of the colour reminded me of her.
There were two ideas. One was the obvious. Death. White was the colour of death. Aya was dead.
The other was along the lines of pure and innocent. Now, Aya was never the little goody goody everyone thought her to be, but her heart was good. When she felt things, she did not go halfway. She gave everything her all. I could give a hundred examples (all involving me) of her complete lack of innocence, yet she had still sometimes retained a childlike view of things that would make me laugh as our roles reversed.
Sometimes I would picture her dressed all in white, floating above me like an angel in a movie, but without the religious connotations of one. She would watch over me, guide me through trouble, celebrate with me in times of happiness, hold my hand when I was sad, and laugh at me when I was silly.
It was the same role as the one she had had when she had been alive. That was part of what she had been for me. A guardian. She had taken care of me.
She had taken care of me!
I took a quick bite of cake and chewed thoughtfully.
She had taken care of me, and in my own way, I had taken care of her. Now that she was gone, there was nobody there to take care of me. Conversely, there was nobody for me to take care of.
That meant....
I chewed some more cake.
That meant...
The giddiness in me started to fade. I had thought I was on the verge an idea. Some sort of revelation that would make life from now on as perfect as it could get without Aya. I was excited for nothing. Nothing came of my thoughts. There was no meaning behind the white flowers and white cakes. The owner of the coffee shop was simply being hospitable and showing her respect, not trying to send me a message.
With a sigh, I finished my cake quickly, swallowing down my tears, and I left the shop without trying to find the owner to thank her.
I went back home and lay on the covers of my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The white ceiling. I turned on my side and looked at the wall. The white wall. I closed my eyes in frustration, but all I could see was the imprint of the white wall. This presence of white was beginning to annoy me. It meant nothing. It was an empty symbol.
Except...
As I lay there with my eyes closed, I remembered a day almost ten years ago. It was winter and we were lying on the carpeted floor, covered in blankets and reading magazines.
"Hey, Miki."
I looked up from my horoscope.
"It says here that when you die, all you see is white."
My eyebrow twitched.
"Why are you reading an article like that?" I asked.
"It's interesting. You've read about near-death experiences before, haven't you?"
I nodded carefully.
"This talks about seeing white at the end of the tunnel. Some people have survived it, but they guess that when the time comes and you die, you're thrown into a room of white light."
I had no good response.
"What do you think? Don't you think that would be strange? Closing your eyes and finding yourself in the light?"
I squirmed uncomfortably.
"Why are you thinking about this? You're not dying anytime soon," I said, trying to brush off the scary topic.
"What do you think?" Aya insisted.
I shrugged.
"I think when you close your eyes, you see what you always see: black. And bits of colour. But eventually just black," I murmured. I shook my head. "Anyhow, when you die, your eyes stop working and you can't see anything. The question is meaningless. You wouldn't see white or black or anything."
"There you go being all practical," Aya grumbled. Funny, that was usually my complaint about her.
"I just don't want to talk about dying. It worries me," I said in a small voice.
She took the hint right away and closed her magazine, leaning over my shoulder to share mine. I forgot about the conversation as she read horoscopes with me.
A room of white light.
Is that where Aya had gone? Had she seen white after she took her final breath?
I thought about it hard.
I wanted her to have seen that white light. To have seen black would have been too gloomy. Too unforgiving.
I wanted her to have been happy in her final moments.
I wanted her to have smiled and to have had no regrets.
I wanted her to have known that I would never forget a thing about her.
I would never know what really happened, though. Thousands of kilometres and eight years lay between me and her. An eternal distance.
The only thing I could do was remember.
So that is what I did on that day. I remembered everything. I remembered and cried.
Forever goodbyes were too hard.
end
It jumps around a lot. Let's just say... Miki has trouble staying focused (when it's in fact ME who can't stay focused)
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Oh. Wow. Loved the look into Miki's head. I went all :cry: at many parts. It was a very deep, very enlightening experience, a very illuminating journey through Miki's psyche. I'm impressed. Great job!
And you so have to write more. :P
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It does seem very Miki-like in it's jumpiness, given the circumstances. You always write these two so well.
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:MKcry1: really really sad *cries* but really good that everyone else have said
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Oh, welcome back! The way you commented a few days ago, I didn't expect you to return anytime soon. :D
I was about to comment yesterday, but something happened. But I'm glad to do it now, since I got to read both parts at once...
I liked the surrealistic approach of the first installment, the sense of useless was adequately conveyed, IMHO.
In the second part, the interaction between Miki and the owner was funny. It's something that can actually happen, and that's why I considered it amusing. Your explanation of the thing about white and death is interesting, but also is your depiction of Miki's reasoning.
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I simply want to give Miki a hug right now. Even if conciously I know Aya isn't dead. :ONtantrum:
Thanks for the Chapter! I needed to read something like this. :3
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:bow: :bow: :bow:
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Holy crap. I actually cried during this. And trust me, it takes a LOT from a story to make me cry. A LOT. I don't even think I cried in "Red Dawn" and Aibon and Nono are two of my favorite characters!
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Stars?!
When the heck did this thing get stars?!
Thank you. :lol:
I liked the surrealistic approach of the first installment, the sense of useless was adequately conveyed, IMHO.
Thanks. I'm glad it got through. In the second part, the interaction between Miki and the owner was funny. It's something that can actually happen, and that's why I considered it amusing. .
That coffee shop scene is a by-product of my Murakami worship. Hah, his novels are filled with occurrences that have no deeper meaning. I think it really works to inject a bit of randomness into the story. It somehow makes it feel more real and normal to me.
I'm very lucky (and Tanachan's tear ducts are very unlucky) that I've got a lot of extra time lately. Working very hard now to type this next part up. I've been wanting to write a certain scene ever since I set it up in Love x 2. Now it has a direction.
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Stars?!
When the heck did this thing get stars?!
Thank you. :lol:
*raises hand* Guilty as charged. XD You deserve them though. ;)
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Much appreciated. =)
3
That memorial was a big waste of time.
That is what someone looking from a cold, rational point of view would think.
I did not believe that was quite true. Yes, I got nothing practical done and I spent the entire day essentially moping, but it was cathartic. I was able to cry it all out.
The following day was always hard to face. This year I had to go into work, but bits and pieces of sadness still lingered in me.
Shibata e-mailed me. She said hello, asked if I was well, and confirmed our late evening coffee date for next Thursday. She mentioned nothing about the anniversary of Aya's death, but the act of sending an e-mail on that day (when she could have sent it much later) said it all. Why say "I'm sad, too" or "I thought of Aya yesterday" when she could just poke her head in and remind me that I had someone to talk to. Like I said time and time again about my friends, they knew what gave me comfort and what made me uncomfortable. If Shibata had sent me an e-mail saying "I'm thinking of you," I would have felt embarrassed and she would have lost points. She knew that.
Not once had Shibata asked what I did on that sad memorial day. I had always preferred it that way. I did not want to talk about something so personal. However, for the entire week, all I had wanted was for Shibata to ask me. This perturbed me, but made me even more eager to meet her.
I wrote back and said I was fine and that I would see her next Thursday.
The week passed by in a blur. Thursday came quickly and I found myself standing in front of an Italian restaurant, waiting for the tardy Shibata. We had both changed our coffee date to a dinner one at the last minute since neither of us had eaten yet. She arrived running and her evident happiness outshone my own eagerness to talk to her.
We greeted, went inside, and ordered dinner. As we started sipping white wine, we began to get into the meat of the talk. I started us up.
"Okay, enough pleasantries. What's your news?"
I was certain I knew what it was. Certain.
"Well, you know I've been dating Yuya for four years," she started, her tone giddy, her face absolutely beaming.
I smiled because of it. I looked down to pick a piece of fluff off the table and then looked back up at her.
"Yes," I urged her on.
He asked her... He asked her...
"I asked him to marry me!"
My prepared exclamation of "congratulations" got stuck in my mouth and never made it past my lips.
I had not expected that.
"Whh... you...? You asked him ?"
"Mmhm," she responded in a peppy voice.
"And he said... yes?"
"Of course! We've set the date for next summer," she grinned.
I groaned.
"Shiba-chan, you forgot the first rule. Never ask him. He's got to ask you. That way you can be sure he approves of the idea. Marriage is a big, scary deal for guys."
"I thought you'd be way more open-minded than that," Shibata sighed.
"Well, no. I mean... It's sort of..."
It was just the way I had grown up. The way I had been taught to think.
"Besides, what would you know?" she deadpanned teasingly.
Double ouch. She had a point. But oh, how uncharacteristic of me it would be to simply accept my loss.
"I've been proposed to!" I cried out defensively, taking a nervous gulp of wine.
"Yeah. By your sixty-three-year-old boss," she continued to tease.
"He was serious at the time!"
"You mean he was drunk at the time," Shibata corrected. "But did his asking mean he was ready for marriage?"
"He's already married..." I said, feeling the need to argue dwindle. I was losing this one fast.
"And your reply to him?"
"Was no..." I shrunk in my seat.
"Because?"
"I wasn't ready for it," I said defiantly.
Shibata laughed at my dismal attempt to save my pride. I let her have her laugh before we moved on.
"I'm happy for you," I said genuinely.
"Thank you."
We made a toast to happy summer weddings, and then I made her tell me all the details. For twenty minutes I grilled her with questions and she answered. Everything from the month of the ceremony, the proposed honeymoon destination, and even the wild idea of having children.
When our food arrived, we ate in silence for a bit, both hungry from a long day of work. All the while, I begged some higher power to make Shibata ask me about last Tuesday.
"So what about you?" she asked. I looked up and finished chewing. "Anything new in your life?"
I knew she meant to ask anyone.
"No," I replied. "Busy with work. I'm recording an album. No time for play."
I winked, but I guess the smile fell off my face a little too quickly.
"You know..." she said, her voice going into a certain zone that I knew was serious. "I think you need to lighten up."
Talk about being frank.
"I take plenty of time off. Last Tuesday, for example."
It was my subtle hint to ask me what I had done, but she did not go for the bait.
"Ever since Aya died, you don't make any real effort," she said bluntly.
My stomach twisted at hearing the abrupt mention of her death and at the sounds of a fight I heard building up in Shibata’s voice. We had had this argument before.
I sighed.
"That's not true. I make an effort," I responded, getting ready to list off my examples. I could not get another word in edgewise, for she continued.
"No, you don't. You sit around and think about the past. You cry about it, but you don't make any effort to change it."
Never before had she bitten into me with such aggression. It hurt me enough to make me want to cry, but of course I did not. My defence mechanism started up.
"Well, what else can I do about it? I can't change it. The past happened. You know that," I retaliated angrily.
"You could stand to learn from it. Eight years, Miki. Eight years and you haven't grown up one bit."
Why was she ragging on me now all of a sudden?? I hushed up and did not speak a word. I sat there staring at her, fuming.
"You're still the same. No... gloomier. Destroying yourself bit by bit."
I swallowed my fear and looked at her through narrowed eyes. She put her fork down and stared back. We sat, locked in a battle of wills in a cozy Italian restaurant in Shinagawa. It was not exactly an ideal situation.
What she had said... she was right.
But what did she know? What kind of connection did she have with Yuya? What did she understand?
"And if you think I don't understand what you and Aya had," she said, displaying her ability to read minds, "then you're right. I don't. But it doesn't mean I don't appreciate it."
I fought the urge to walk out of the restaurant.
"I know you hate hearing this kind of thing, but I do care about what happens to you. There are lots of people around you who do. If you would give us a chance, you could be happier. Maybe be able to love some people a bit. Don't think that associating with other people and being happy is some act of betrayal."
Inside I cringed. Yet deeper insider, I agreed.
"I don't think it's a betrayal," I spoke tentatively. "I just... I can't let go. It hurts too much."
I was comfortable enough to admit that much.
"Of course it does," Shibata said, her tone doing a one hundred and eighty degree flip and turning soft and sympathetic. "I told you already before that it's not easy. But after a few steps, it gets better. You have to make an effort."
I remembered her words. Eight years ago.
"Remember how you told me that Aya had taught us - me - how to use our hearts?"
She smiled knowingly and nodded.
"And how you told me not to waste what I'd learned? I think I've wasted it."
I could tell that she knew my admission hurt me.
"No you haven't."
But she gave me no further evidence. I must have blown it big-time.
"Do you know what I did last Tuesday?" I asked, finally opening up the touchy subject myself.
Shibata shook her head, so I explained. I went on to tell her that I had done it every year for the past seven years. She listened, holding her comments back.
"And so my whole life revolves around that one day. My year is spent preparing to go on my little walk down memory lane. You're right. All I do is sit around and cry," I said bitterly.
"Miki-chan, I had no idea you did that every year. All alone?"
"Yup."
She looked sad.
"You need to share it with someone. You need to talk to someone," she said passionately.
I arched an eyebrow.
"The last set of friends I had that tried to convince me to see a shrink got the eternal brush off," I warned her.
"No, not a shrink," Shibata said in a repulsed way as though such a thought would never occur to her. "I mean friends. Friends! Me, whoever else you talk to, family. We can help you. A shrink can't give you love, but we can."
I sighed for the nth time that night.
"I'd love to, but not many people know the whole story. My best kept secret, remember?"
"I know it. But people don't have to know the whole story to help."
"I can't," I said dejectedly, lowering my voice.
"Can't what?"
"Confide in you."
I truly could not. The only person I could talk to did not exist in this world anymore. I was unrelenting in my opinion about that.
"What do you think, Miki?" Shibata sighed. "That Aya's going to come back? That the universe is going to go 'oops, mistake!' and spit her back up?"
Gone was the niceness. Back was her cold, hard tone.
Aya still alive? I knew it was impossible.
But what if something crazy happened? I did not go so far as to believe she would be resurrected, and I did not believe any sort of conspiracy theory that claimed Aya was an intelligence officer who had faked her death in order to go into deep cover (I had actually read a piece in a magazine that had suggested something so idiotic).
But what if...
What if this was all a dream? A nightmare, rather.
Or what if she had survived but had lost her memory and was now living in a reclusive northern Italian village with a kind, adoptive family that had never seen an Asian before?
No, that was unlikely. All I knew was that I could not let go for reasons that were unclear even to me. It was a gut feeling that told me remembering Aya was important. It was all that I was familiar with anyway.
"She's not coming back."
Hard words that felt like sandbags in my ears.
I knew it. I understood it. But the irrational part of me had had too many years to grow bigger and stronger.
"I know that," I scowled darkly.
We were silent as we ate for another few minutes.
"Miki-chan, have you ever been to Italy?"
"Excuse me?"
"Italy. Have you ever been?"
Another one-eighty. This time no anger. Just curiosity.
"No," I answered.
"You should go. It's a beautiful country. I've been once."
Shibata took a casual bite of lettuce, the crunch clearly audible.
I nodded blankly.
"When Yuya's finished his dissertation, he's going to move to Tokyo."
More words out of the blue. If she had been anyone else, I would have thought she was desperately trying to change the subject to keep the awkwardness away from our table. But this was Shiba-chan, and she would never do something trivial like that. She always had a point. The trouble was sometimes it was hard to get.
"Oh?" I said politely.
I knew that Yuya was studying in a university in Kyushu. He had six more months before his final paper was due. Shibata's was due a term later.
"Then we can live together once our papers have been judged and the decision has been made. We're just waiting for our universities to seal our fates,” she said with a chuckle.
"I see."
She smiled at me.
"And you're wondering why I'm suddenly saying all this."
I gave her a silent, affirmative look.
"Come on," she said, looking down at my plate to see I was finished. "Let's get out of here and go for a walk."
She drained her glass of wine, wiped her mouth carefully on a serviette, and stood up. I scrambled to copy her, following her to the cash register. We paid for our meal and left.
We did not speak for some time. Without warning, Shibata linked her arm around mine and walked in stride with me. I became very uncomfortable. She was not the overly-affectionate type.
"Why don't you take some time off work?" she asked.
"And do what?"
"Travel. Go somewhere. For example, Italy."
The symbolism of travelling to Aya's final resting place was not lost on me.
"Now's not a good time," I mumbled, reminding her that I was recording an album.
"Now is a perfect time," she insisted, playfulness working into her voice.
I shrugged out of her hold and walked alone once again.
"What are you angry at?" she asked as she walked a pace behind me. I looked back at her.
"I'm not angry with you," I said quickly to kill any misunderstanding.
"No, you're angry at something. What is it? The mountain for being in the way?"
What a cruel, tasteless joke! I could not believe she had just said that.
And yet she was right. Was I angry at plate tectonics for creating the mountain that Aya's plane had crashed into? The Earth for not being a flat plain? The plane's manufacturer? Whose fault was it?
Nobody's.
"No, it's not anybody's fault," I said quietly.
"And you don't have some sick, hair-brained idea that it's all your fault, do you?"
I laughed involuntarily.
"No, I'm not that stupid."
I had learned my lesson about being that insecure.
"Then why the anger?"
It was the only question I did not try to deny or answer. I just looked at her without expression to show her I did not know the answer.
"Don't be scared," she said.
The last person who had said those words to me and had meant them was Aya. And now, today, someone was saying them to me again and she meant them.
Suddenly I felt like a rotten, selfish, blind, hypocritical moron. Here I was ignoring all of this girl's attempts to help me, while inside I was crying out for someone to listen to my fears. Could I have been any stupider?
But I could not tell her this. I did not know the words and the correct way to say it, so for the time being, I concluded, I had to keep silent.
But perhaps I could do something - say something - to hint at what I was thinking. To show her that I was going to take her advice from now on.
"Where in Italy do you recommend?"
She smiled widely and took my arm again, a hold that this time I willed myself not to squirm out of, as she began to single-handedly plan my trip.
I think she got my hint.
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There's more? I mean, will there be more? :w00t:
This is becoming addictive...
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Miki searches for closure and Shiba-chan sends her to Italy. I like.
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Oh wow. More more more! Yay! Shibata popped the question to her boyfriend? XD How...upfront. XD
Would love to see how Miki eventually goes on the road of healing. :)
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There's more? I mean, will there be more? :w00t:
This is becoming addictive...
God I hope there's more. :) OTN1's writing is like crack!
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^Hahaha! Man, that's not what any of my past teachers would say.
Miki searches for closure and Shiba-chan sends her to Italy.
I laughed and laughed when I read this summary... because I realized it's perfect. I really do like how you put things so bluntly and truthfully.
(But I do get a silly image of Shiba-chan shooing Miki out of Japan with a broom.)
Amarghetta, there will be more. I'm going into this one a bit blind... but I started thinking of the ending this afternoon.
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Horse not dead yet I see XD
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^Hahaha! Man, that's not what any of my past teachers would say.
Those who cannot write, teach... XD
(It applies most of the time!)
I'm so excited at the possibility of reading more of this fic, really. It's amazing how much you can write in so little time. I have friend who's also like this, and there was a time when I was like this, too. :p
Anyways, keep it coming!
[In a totally unrelated note: Are you francophone? ]
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Moi? Non. :lol: Can I ask what made you think so?
I've had lots of free time these past few days. Too much, if you ask me.
4
The next day, Shibata skipped out on an important dinner gathering with several professors in order to help me plan. I knew what that kind of sacrifice could cost her, so I tried to be as amiable as possible as we sat at the computer in her apartment. I doodled on the pad of paper I had brought with me and then put my pen down as I was filled with doubt.
"Are you sure I should go?"
"What do you think?"
Ug, that infamous Shibata expression. Trying to make me think for myself!
"I guess it’d be nice to see a new place..." I said hesitantly.
She grabbed my shoulders and shook me enough to wake me up.
"Go. It'll be good for you. And if you don't go, I'll never talk to you again."
She was starting to sound a bit like Aya, which creeped me out more than making me feel warm and fuzzy.
"I don't even know where to start," I whined.
"How about Rome?" she said simply, and I groaned at the relaxed attitude showing through in her words.
"Fine. So I'll go to Rome. Then what do I do? Look at churches and fountains all week?" I asked caustically.
"No, you don't have to stay in Rome. Travel around a bit. Maybe go up north to the mountains," Shibata said with such nonchalance that I put my foot down right there and pierced her with a glare.
"Oh no. No, don't start with that. I'm not going to go on a pilgrimage to some plane crash site so that I can make peace with the ghosts of the past and come back refreshed and ready to open my heart to the entire world," I snapped, foreseeing where her suggestion was going.
"I never suggested that," Shibata said quietly. "I went up to the mountains when I was there. It's beautiful. I thought you might like it, too."
I could not tell if she was lying or speaking the truth. Because I remembered I was trying to be nice, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I grudgingly backed off.
"Any place in particular?"
Shibata thought briefly, no doubt sifting through the great amounts of information in her brain, and then nudged me over to type something on the keyboard.
"There's a tiny place right on the border. It’s where I went with my team."
"Team?" I asked, getting us off topic.
"Mmhm. My photography team," she clarified as she took the mouse and started to go through some websites.
Shibata had a photography team?!
"Since when did you join a photography team?" I asked in surprise.
She stopped clicking on links and looked at me.
"It's one of my hobbies. I joined a group a while ago, and every few years we go somewhere new in the world and take pictures. Just an amateur thing, really. I thought you knew."
She went back to surfing the internet and I looked around desperately for a hard wall to bash my head into. Was there nothing this girl could not do? I bet she had climbed Mount Everest, too. She resembled one of those overactive, eager-to-please high school students that joined every club and every cause. She wasn't as peppy and obnoxious as one, though.
"Here," Shibata said, pointing to a webpage. "It's small, but comfortable. The people there were fantastic."
I stared at the words on the page. They were meaningless to me because they were all in Italian. I told Shibata that, and after apologising in advance for her lack of Italian skills, she proceeded to translate the entire page for me.
Her modesty was far too exaggerated, but at least it was genuine and better than the boastful alternative.
"It sounds nice," I said with a little less apprehension in my voice.
As I looked at the pictures of snow-covered mountains, I felt an indescribable chill pass through me.
"Okay, then how about you start in Rome for a few days and move up to..."
We spent the evening planning out my trip, Shibata making suggestions and giving me advice as I absorbed it all and tried to make decisions.
When I went home that night, clutching a neatly folded piece of paper with price estimates, recommended hotels, and names of tourist sites to see, I felt a mixture of confusion and relief.
I was relieved because Shibata had helped tremendously. She had helped me map out an approximate route for my week-long stay, and she had provided me with helpful information and even the names of some Japanese friends she had in Florence.
I was confused because I still was not sure why I was going. I had gotten angry at the thought of being sent there just so I could go and make peace with the mountains.
The mountains that had caused so much pain for me. They jutted out violently from the earth and towered over me, terrifying me, threatening to devour me, swallow me up into the rolling, never-ending cold and darkne-
I shut my eyes tightly. I saw specks of colour dance across a backdrop of blackness.
I don't want to go and see where she died, I screamed in my mind.
I did not want to be reminded of it anymore. I was sick of seeing it in my head and in my dreams.
I sat on my couch, shaking at the overwhelming feelings in me that triggered an urge to run away. My fingers trembled as I tried to smooth out my hair a bit. I needed a semblance of order in a world that I thought had become a chaotic and spinning mess of all that was negative. I sat on my hands when they would not stop shaking and I took deep breaths, trying to push out of my mind the familiar vision of a plane crashing explosively into a mountain, people screaming in fear and pain, bleeding all over themselves and strangers, moaning for help, dying in unceremonious, disgraceful heaps on the freezing cold floor of the plane, burning into little bits as the flames consumed them indiscriminately, being forgotten by everyone that survived them...
I grit my teeth, closed my eyes again, and lay down on my side, curling up into a tight ball and holding my knees to my chest. I trried to conjure up images of ice cream, cherry blossoms, my parents' faces... Anything pleasant in my life. Anything that would flush out the nightmares that lived in my head.
Maybe my disowned friends were right. Maybe I did need help.
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Reading about Miki's pain makes me angst. Ahhhh. Pain! It's almost making me too constipated to write my own story. *cries*
I like the way you describe the feelings of Miki. It feels very real. :)
Write more soon! :)
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I was trying so hard not to cry but once I hit the part about the cake I just couldn't hold it in anymore :ONpleeease: I have 2 more chapters to go but my eyes are too blurry so I'll continue tomorrow :MKsniffle:
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wow OTN1 awesome dude. I just love your style. Please do more it's addicting :)
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Moi? Non. :lol: Can I ask what made you think so?
I've had lots of free time these past few days. Too much, if you ask me.
Ha, I figured you weren't, but I had to ask... It was just a phrase (can't remember which one at the moment), it seemed very French-like to me right then. :P
Another update! I'm starting to worry about this. If you suddenly leave, what will I do without my Miki angst fix? XD
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"Are you sure I should go?"
"What do you think?"
Ug, that infamous Shibata expression. Trying to make me think for myself!
Classic Miki. :yay:
If you have the inspiration, keep 'em comin' dude! :thumbsup
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One step closer and one step farther away.
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Exactly.
Ha, I figured you weren't, but I had to ask... It was just a phrase (can't remember which one at the moment), it seemed very French-like to me right then. :P
Hahaha! If you ever remember, let me know. I'm curious. Classic Miki. :yay:
If you have the inspiration, keep 'em comin' dude! :thumbsup
Okay, man. :lol: I like Miki classic and lazy.
I hope all of the mood switches in my story aren't "overly choppy. " They're supposed to be irregular to some extent, but I want it to look like I'm meaning to do it that way. Miki can't decide what she feels (read: I can't decide what she feels. Hah).
I had a bit of fun in some parts of this one.
5
For the first time in four years, I overslept and was late for work. We had a meeting first thing in the morning with bosses from our two main sponsor companies. I was supposed to be present at that meeting for reasons I could not understand. Maybe they wanted to check out the goods to make sure it was worth keeping their money in our company. They were always a bit sleazy like that, but I could not complain. It was business after all. We used them in other, worse ways.
I ran into the building at half past ten, trying unsuccessfully to catch my breath. The meeting had been slated for nine o'clock sharp. It was supposed to go for two or three hours, including a break at the midway point.
When Tanaka, the secretary, caught sight of me, she jumped up and grabbed me, ushering me into a little room beside the meeting room while scolding me for being so careless. I outranked her in our company, but she was older than me and I really respected and liked her, so I hung my head down and allowed her to unleash sharp words about how I looked like a mess and was not presentable to the rest of the world and that the inevitable fall of our company was entirely my fault, etcetera, etcetera.
When she finished her scolding, I found myself feeling bad. She took pity on me, smiled, and told me that I still had a chance to save everything.
"Just be yourself. Everyone likes that tough Fujimoto charm."
I snorted.
"Don't try to fool me. Nobody likes that."
She looked like she had been caught in a lie and then laughed while patting my shoulder.
"Well, they might not like it, but they'll definitely fall victim to it. They all do."
So I went into the meeting room. Feeling a bit stronger because of Tanaka, I bullied the two big bosses - by sweet-talking and complimenting them - into agreeing to a three-year binding contract with us. I had perfected the art of passive aggressive coercion, and I could see my boss almost tearing up with gratitude.
When the talks were concluded, my boss came up to me in private.
"You did a wonderful job here. Thank you very much."
I smiled and nodded. He lowered his voice.
"If you are ever late for another meeting again, I will fire you."
I sighed as he walked out of the meeting room. I knew he did not mean it, but this would be all over the company within hours. I could just hear the conversations now...
"Miki got the big boys to sign a three-year contract, but she was late for the meeting!"
"I heard Bossman threatened to fire her."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"From his secretary. She overheard."
"That Miki. She's got it coming to her."
"Yeah. What's up with her anyway? Always so stoic. Gives me chills."
"But she's so hot. I mean, she's two years older than me, but she doesn't look it."
"Huh! Yeah, I'd do her. I don't care how old she is."
"I hear she's single."
"Haha, I bet she goes through 'em like fire through tissue."
"Well, I heard she hasn't had a boyfriend in over ten years."
"Yeah right. She's probably been fucking the boss. Why does he always get the hot girls and we don't?"
"Because we're only security guards. And you're married, you wanker."
"Yeah, but that didn't stop me before."
"You two are horrible!"
"Uh... ah... Fujimoto-san. H-how can I help you?"
"You can start by confessing to your wife and apologising to her!"
"AAAAAAA!!!!"
Screaming ensued.
I smiled as I imagined scolding them, unleashing my sexy and dangerous words on them.
Sometimes I let my imagination run wild with the conversations that the people around me must have had regarding me, and they often ended with me bursting onto the scene and scaring them.
"Fujimoto. Call on line two!" Tanaka's voice called out, breaking me out of my reverie.
I walked out of the empty room and over to the phone at Tanaka's desk. My heart sped up to insane speeds and I swallowed down my fear as I picked up the phone, pressing the button for the correct line.
"Hello?"
"Have you done it yet?"
I groaned.
"Shiba-chan, leave me alone."
Last night after my strange fit, Shibata had happened to call me to give me a final pep talk just before going to bed. She had made me promise to tell my manager the next day about my upcoming trip and then she said good night and hung up while I sat there wondering why I felt like a tamed lion that was being made to jump through the hoops that she held.
Since when did I get totally and completely owned by Shibata?!
"You haven't, huh? Do it now!" she encouraged me.
Ordering me around like she's my master.
"I'm gonna do it in a second. Relax!" I snapped in reply.
Nobody but one person had ever owned me.
"I am relaxed. You're the one who's uptight," she laughed lightly.
Teasing me. Nobody got away with teasing. Just one person.
"Why didn't you call me on my cell phone?" I demanded.
I always insisted that calls to me on the main line at work were in the case of emergency only. Emergencies like having to notify me of a sudden death...
"I did but you didn't pick up."
I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and used both hands to search through my purse. I could not find my phone.
"Shit," I swore quietly. "I left it at home."
I tried to picture in my mind where I would have left it.
"-an, are you okay?"
Did she just call me Miki-tan? If she did, I'm going to kill her!
"Miki-chan?"
I'm hearing things. I'm hearing things...
"I'm fine!" I barked into the phone, quite obviously not fine. "Don't call me again here. I'll call you later."
I slammed the phone down on the hook and Tanaka jumped.
"Get drunk and give your work number to a stranger last night?" she asked jokingly, but I was in no mood for kidding around.
"A really annoying friend," I growled, and I stalked off, probably killing my chances of ever becoming friends with Tanaka.
I headed to the little alcove they called my office and I sat down on my chair, turning the stereo on and plugging my earphones in to listen to music. The digital readout said that my files were being played randomly. Old Christina Aguilera music started to screech into my ears and I picked up a pen and doodled on a piece of paper on my desk.
Christina switched to Suzuki Masako. Suzuki Masako switched to Koda Kumi. Koda Kumi switched to Matsuura Aya.
I hit skip.
Britney Spears' earlier works. Two tracks played.
It switched into Matsuura Aya.
I hit the skip button.
Natsukawa Rimi. Boring. Not in the mood. Skip.
Matsuura Aya.
SKIP.
Matsuura Aya.
SKIP.
Matsu-
SKIP!
I yanked the earphones out and slammed my hand down on the stereo's power button. I got up and went over to the window, opening the blinds.
"It's not funny," I mumbled to the city that lay before me. I had a good view of Shinjuku from the twenty-fourth floor.
"Stop playing with me. Stop it."
I was not quite sure who I was addressing. Maybe a higher power.
Maybe a ghost was playing with me. A mischievous spirit.
She was always mischievous. Always liked to cause me grief. Maybe she was here controlling my stereo, urging Shibata to call me at work, filling my mind with visions of her death.
I hit the glass of the window and turned around slowly. I knew what I had to do. I walked to my desk and sat in my chair again. I thought carefully about what I was about to do. I did not like it, but I needed to do it.
I took a deep breath and then picked up the phone.
I dialled a number that I had not dialled in months. Quite possibly a year.
The phone rang five times. I was about to give up when a never-changing, sweet and cheerful voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi," I said shakily. "Can I talk to you?"
~
-
The whole thing was so...Miki. No other word for it. You really know how to write her. XD
The part with the evil stereo really got me. I know the feeling sometimes, when the shuffle mode switches to the music you least want to hear at the moment, and it makes me wonder if something isn't controlling the stereo to be evil that way. Haha.
Who did Miki call, I wonder??? I really want to know! Sweet and cheerful voice??? *has a few options* Ahhhhh I don't know...I must see what happens next!! *sits quietly and patiently in a corner* :)
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This is a very well written and utterly compelling piece of work. I especially like the way you write your characters, everything they do comes off as natural and real; nothing seems forced or awkward or like they're only doing something to help advance the plot. And speaking of the plot, it feels the same as the characters, nothing forced or unnatural, just a graceful unfolding of events. I have a great desire to read more of this, please, keep up the good work.
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Woah, first I thought Tanaka??? Not Reina, a secretary, hahaha.
I smiled as I imagined scolding them, unleashing my sexy and dangerous words on them.
I did too XD
I think the mood swings really work fine with the story. It's Miki after all and it's all very real and believable.
Really wonder who she calls.
*off to make a new hot chocolate*
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Who would Miki call? *racks brain*
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nothing seems forced or awkward or like they're only doing something to help advance the plot. And speaking of the plot, it feels the same as the characters, nothing forced or unnatural, just a graceful unfolding of events.
That's a relief to hear. Thank you. That's what it feels like. It's unfolding slowly in my mind, revealing itself to me as I write. I've already changed my mind twice about how I'm going to end it, but I'm sure that once I hit that last chapter, it'll change again. I'm glad that it doesn't seemed forced. The last thing I want to do is have everything seem stiff. I want it to flow.
Who did Miki call, I wonder??? I really want to know!
Hrm, me too. I'm not sure yet. :lol:
No, just joking. I started writing the next part and I know who she calls, but to be perfectly honest, I didn't see that one coming at all until I wrote it. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm wondering... Hahahaha.
Just gotta have faith faith faith in daddy otn.
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No, just joking. I started writing the next part and I know who she calls, but to be perfectly honest, I didn't see that one coming at all until I wrote it. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm wondering... Hahahaha.
I know that feeling, it happens to me all the time when I write. Impromptu ideas can be useful. :)
Just gotta have faith faith faith in daddy otn.
Of course we have faith! *nods* You haven't disappointed us so far anyway. XD
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That's a relief to hear. Thank you. That's what it feels like. It's unfolding slowly in my mind, revealing itself to me as I write. I've already changed my mind twice about how I'm going to end it, but I'm sure that once I hit that last chapter, it'll change again.
you could always write all of them, making alternate endings like "bonus material"! XD
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Hahaha, I would consider doing that if I wrote the scenes and felt like they simply had to be shared.
6
"Mi... ki...?"
Uncertainty and disbelief filled her voice.
"Yeah."
"It's been a long time."
She spoke quietly, probing for an explanation. We had not spoken for a year for a reason. She wanted to know why I was calling her out of the blue.
"It has."
I felt guilty. I could not offer an explanation.
"What... What can I do for you?"
She became cheerful again. All the questions were swallowed down. She could tell I had something serious to say. She could sense it with some special sixth sense.
"Listen, I, uh... I want to ask you some things. Do you have time now?"
"Yes. I don't have any appointments this morning. What is it you want to ask?"
She had no idea what was coming.
"Eight years ago," I started, pausing to let her mind go back eight years. "That year was a bad year, don't you think?"
I cringed at my own words. They sounded so stupid.
I knew that she had realized what year it was I was talking about when the air between us changed for a second. Even on the phone, I could feel her small intake of breath.
"It ended very badly, yes," she said solemnly.
"You know what I'm talking about," I said just to confirm.
She hummed a response in the affirmative.
"I want to ask you something. After that happened - after Aya died in that accident-" I forced myself to say it, "did I change?"
Deathly silence.
Her cheer was evidently not perpetual. She could laugh at gunpoint, make a co-worker giggle after a break-up, make everyone look brightly into the future after a disaster, but never had I seen her able to talk about Aya's death with the same sanguine attitude with which she addressed all things in life whether depressing or joyful.
"Change? Um..."
"Be honest. You know I can take it," I added in before she could find some diplomatic way to answer my question without offending me.
"Yes, you did."
Her tone was resolute. Besides being a very happy person, she was also a very determined, very firm person. She was strong. It may not have seemed that way on the outside, but I had gotten to know her much better since we first worked together, and I could say without a doubt that she was so much more than what met the eye at first sight. She was more than just a pretty, sweet face.
"Was it for the better?"
A pause.
"No, it wasn't."
I knew that would be the answer. I did not want to hear it, but I knew it was the truth.
"Did I push you away?"
"Yes, you did."
"But we were still friends, right?"
She hesitated and I swallowed. I had thought I would have had a chance of her saying "yes." I guess even my worst predictions had not been pessimistic enough.
"Yes," she said, uncertainty in her voice, "but we drifted apart eventually."
"Because of me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Pardon?"
I blinked and decided I had to stop being so cryptic. Talking with Shibata so much was making me go a little loopy.
"Sorry. I mean, why do you think I changed like that? Why did I push you away? I want it from your point of view."
It was a huge thing to ask of her, and I understood that, but I needed to hear it from an outside party. Someone who had known me and Aya fairly well but who had not known the extent of our relationship. Someone who was close, yet kept an arm's length away.
"Well, I always assumed that you were affected by the, um, accident. I mean, she was your best friend."
That she was, I thought sadly.
"And then maybe other stuff happened to you. I know that the next year was kind of hard for you with having to move and switching your job... I guess somewhere along the way, you lost touch with your old life."
It sounded reasonable. Anybody could have told me that. I could have gone to a shrink, told half my life story, and then had him tell me those exact same words.
"Yes, that's true, but that could happen to anybody. What is it specifically about me?"
There was an uncomfortable pause and I realized that she knew exactly what I was asking her but was too nervous to say it.
"Be honest," I reminded her. "I'm Miki the Blunt. You can't topple me."
I tried to insert a bit of humour into the situation to comfort her, but it was obvious that I was just desperate to hear what she had to say.
"Honest truth?
My silence told her "yes."
"The truth is that you've never been an easy person to get along with. I mean, at first. You and me... we clicked together as well as, um..."
She searched her brain for an appropriate image, having obvious difficulty.
"... as well as soap and a cookie," she finished.
I smirked. What a silly image. No doubt I was the soap and she was the cookie.
"Yes, I remember," I said, feeling a bit nostalgic at the mention of our past. Our Morning Musume days...
"I know you didn't like me so much-"
"No, I never didn't like you," I protested weakly.
"Okay," she said, re-evaluating. "Then I wasn't your favourite person."
"Hmph."
"But after a while - I mean after I grew up a bit - we got along much better."
I could not deny that. Quite a few years had matured her and had mellowed me out.
"I think - and this is just from me observing and from trying to get to know you - that it takes a while for you to trust someone.
That was not too hard to figure out.
"And I think Aya was one of those people that you really trusted. Like, really really. I think she changed you a lot."
"How so?" I asked, curious to hear her opinion.
"You calmed down a lot. You became a little easier to get along with. You, um, got nicer..." she trailed off nervously, thinking I would chew her out for saying that.
She picked up her courage again when I did not complain, and she kept going.
"And then when she, um, when she was gone, you got sad and then I think you just never recovered."
"What did I do? What exactly?"
She hesitated again.
"You just seemed to lose interest in the world around you. You seemed to not care. You drifted away from your friends and your family. You became obsessed with your job and your music."
She spoke as thought all of that should have been crystal clear to me. I knew that those things had happened, but I had not noticed the scope of what had happened had been so obvious to everyone.
"And to you? I did what?"
"To me... You seemed to lose interest in keeping in touch, to put it simply. A few years after Aya - you know - you didn't call so much. I always called you. And then we had that argument a year ago."
She stopped talking. She probably reckoned that she had dragged up enough of the past to the surface.
I thought back to the quarrel we had had. In retrospect, it was based on something stupid and was fully my fault. I had asked her for a professional favour, she had refused with good reasons, and I had gotten angry and lashed out. I said some things that we both knew were not true, and we had not spoken since.
"I'm sorry about that argument," I said. Apologies killed me, but this one felt liberating.
"I'm sorry, too. I couldn't help you..."
I smiled because it was so typical of her to feel bad for something that was not her fault.
"No, you were doing your job," I reassured her.
"But I think you wanted that argument."
My ears perked up.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I was getting too close."
This was interesting. She sounded determined, filled with fresh courage.
"Maybe to you, Aya was the only person you would let get that close. Maybe you wanted to keep it like that even with her gone. Not let anybody else have that role 'cause it was special. Hers only."
"I, um..."
No clue what to say, I shut up and listened. I had not expected her to be that observant. She was like Shibata the Second.
"And maybe," she continued, on a roll, "Aya's, like, your soulmate."
"What? Soul... huh?" I asked, starting to sweat.
"Oh, but not, like, in an icky way," she giggled and clarified.
I rolled my eyes.
"But some people find their soulmates in their best friends, you know."
I had read plenty of magazine articles about soulmates. I was fully aware of everybody's theories on this or that or the other. All complete nonsense. You could not define that kind of thing on paper with words.
"So you push people away because nobody's worthy of having that place of honour."
I thought of my actions the past few years. I thought of how the closer Shibata tried to get, the harder I pushed. I thought of my mother complaining about how I never called just to chat like I used to.
"But you end up really sad 'cause then you have nobody, uh, to talk to."
Had I really been that self-destructive? That stupid?
"How could one person affect me so much?" I mumbled out loud accidentally. It was a question I sometimes I asked myself, but only myself. Not others.
"She was special," came the reply. "She affected all of us. Some more than others. I mean, look at Rika-chan."
She had a point. Rika had taken it upon herself to improve her singing after Aya's death, inspired by the girl's life and wanting to help contribute to the world of music that Aya had loved so much. She had come a long way over the years. Even when she took up acting fulltime, she continued to sing.
It seems like that was what I heard from everyone - Aya had a big effect on the people around her. Since I was around her the most, she had had the biggest effect on me.
I sighed.
"Do you think I'm a bad person?"
"Well, you're certainly not a good one!" was the reply. "You've always been so baaaad."
She burst into a fit of giggles and then caught her breath.
"No, you're not bad. I think you were just, um, like, misguided. You got a little confused. But you know what that says about you?"
"What?" I asked apprehensively, scared to hear it.
"That you're like a soft little rabbit," she announced with glee.
"Oh brother," I muttered.
"And you just act like a meanie. But it's all a ruse! I should've noticed that sooner when I met you."
I had to give it to her. She could always make me laugh. I had not laughed with so much ease in such a long time. Years, it seemed.
"But really, no. You're not a bad person. I don't hate you. I always looked up to you even though you ignored bratty little me. You'll always be my big sister no matter how many fights we have."
Me? Her big sister? I never would have suspected that was what she thought of me. She had never told me, never spoken about it in magazine interviews, never mentioned it to any of the other girls. Her unanticipated words touched my heart, and even though that wannabe-cool-cat part inside my mind threatened me with bodily harm if I got sappy over it, I felt my eyes become a little misty.
"Thank you."
There was a pregnant pause in our conversation. It seemed to signal the end had come.
"Now that I've helped you, you have to answer a serious question for me. Be honest."
She sounded very serious, and I wondered if she was having issues, too.
"Of course. Anything," I said kindly.
"Who is the cutest girl in the world??"
My face twitched and my brain went into spasms.
"You are. Of course you," I groaned.
Nothing like an old joke (in her case, it was not a joke) to bring us out of that mood.
"I know! Just wanted to hear it!"
I thought of letting loose and pushing her around a bit, insulting her for fun like I used to. But then I remembered that I was, after all, talking to one of the biggest media moguls in our country, the head of the hottest fashion magazine to ever hit the Japanese market in all of printing history, and the woman who could make or break my career with a single nod of her pigtailed head.
I settled for gratitude.
"Thanks, Shige-san. You've helped a lot."
"You're welcome," she replied happily. "I hope this means you'll call again before the next millennium."
"Sure," I laughed. I meant it.
We said goodbye and we hung up.
~~~
I'm curious to know if anybody ever entertained the possibility of Sayu being the person Miki called. :lol:
I'm reiterating a lot of the things I've written before. It's time to move on. Go to Italy, Miki!
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Ok I'll say this first, I never expected it to be Sayu. o_o I was thinking of Rika at first. Haha. But the "cutest girl in the world" part clued me in. XD And the reference to Miki as a soft little rabbit...haha.
I really liked this chapter. Miki reminds me of myself with the whole having to hear it from a 3rd party opinion of herself. Mmm. So the next chapter is the Italy trip? Looking forward to Miki's step towards healing. I love how you are writing it, slowly and awkwardly on Miki's part as she tentatively moves towards finally moving on. Yup, you are good at this.
Write more soon, k? XD
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I thought Rika first, too. Then I was like, 'Nono?' at the cookie part. And when she mentioned being the cutest, I smacked my forehead.
-
Woah, Shige, I would've never guessed.
For the first few sentences I thought Yossie, then at the "we didn't get along well" part Rika, then Niigaki (the brat part) a second later I thoght maybe Ai-chan, because she seems to be spending the most time Miki compared to other MM members (with their radio show and now leader-sub leader) and for the rest I thoght maybe it's Yossie after all - but Shige - surprise move! XD
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I had no clue it could be Sayu, lol. But since she's harmless enough, it makes sense.
[And well, she's listed as your interest in your profile... ]
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Sayu!
never imagined it could be her. That "Who is the cutest girl in the world??" cleared up everything XDXDXD
you know.. there's a silly idea in my mind...
Miki's going to take a plane to Italy, same as Aya did eight years ago.. So, we have that side history that you wrote before about Aya waking up one day and finding that Miki had disappeared. Then she goes to Hokkaido to find an another Miki who didn't know her and blah blah blah...
So.. here's my point (silly point XD) what if fate wants to give them a second chance and makes crash Miki's plane too? Then the Universe could reorganize their lives; put Miki in Hokkaido working in a restaurat, make them meet again and live happily ever after.. XDXDXD
god.. I should go back to my own fic.. XD
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What the HELL o___o;
OTN1! You tricky bastard! I thought this was only a oneshot! Until I noticed how you were getting more and more pages which definitely signaled to me "Otn1 doesn't get THAT many reviews for a oneshot!" Until I seriously looked and BAM! Series! o______o;
Alright. Let's begin the summary review :]
Yet again, you never cease to astound me with your emotional driven words. And for the first time, I actually got teary eyed, and a few tears fell from reading this story; a first for you really xD I thought I saw a little of your influence on Miki's character when she was talking to Sayumi on the phone. I thought so too about her haha, how she may seem like a narcissist extraordinaire, but she really is a capable person to look up to, seeing how she is Koharu's mentor, and her psychological tests (especially the recent one) seem to say the same thing we say about her too, haha.
As for my obligatory prediction:
I can see that Ayumi is scheming as usual. Not in a bad way, but I can tell that she really wants Miki to get over herself, and had suggested (Or rather, force) her into going to Italy for the sake of the "final ablution"(sp?) as I would call it. In other words, where Miki gets hippy and finally realizes for good that what she had done in the past years moping. I guess that's where the title also comes to play, for Miki will probably set her moping side of her to rest. But then, this is just a prediction of what I think you might be doing in the future, as you seem like the kind of person to pursue that route for this kind of story.
Now. Write more, or I shall bestow the honor of my whip upon you, m'dear.
:]
Love your writing so freaking much! -glomps-
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I remembered that I was, after all, talking to one of the biggest media moguls in our country, the head of the hottest fashion magazine to ever hit the Japanese market in all of printing history, and the woman who could make or break my career with a single nod of her pigtailed head.
Sayu??? :shocked:
Heh, goes to show how while they might be ditzy when they're young, it doesn't mean they don't have a head for the business. :yep:
"I always looked up to you even though you ignored bratty little me. You'll always be my big sister no matter how many fights we have."
Me? Her big sister? I never would have suspected that was what she thought of me. She had never told me, never spoken about it in magazine interviews, never mentioned it to any of the other girls. Her unanticipated words touched my heart, and even though that wannabe-cool-cat part inside my mind threatened me with bodily harm if I got sappy over it, I felt my eyes become a little misty.
"Thank you."
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.:baa60776:
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I suspected many people would expect it to be Rika, and I toyed with the idea for a few seconds before I had my moment of revelation. Sayu would be a nice change, and Amarghetta has done his/her research well. I like Sayu very much, and since it's my story... Hahaha. It's my reward.
len.chan, that would be quite the story! But I'm not sure I want to turn this story into such a SciFi-ish deal like that strange other-dimension story (Ayaya @Hokkaido.miki, or whatever it was called) was. This is about as technical as I will get: Different versions of realities exist. In the case of Aya getting thrown into that "different dimension," travelling to Hokkaido and meeting Miki II, and then getting thrown back to Tokyo and to Miki I, that was just like the universe hiccupping and getting a few wires crossed, but it still counts as reality because it really happened (I don't know how it works since I'm not a scientist). In all other cases (Aya dying in a plane crash, etc.) that was also reality. Just a different one.
This is a not-so-cleverly-disguised disclaimer. If anyone questions my version of events, I will simply cite the "we're dealing with an infinite number of realities, so anything can happen!" argument and then I can't be sued for confusing people. :lol:
It took me over 45 minutes to write the above. It just wouldn't come out sounding right. I'm not good with mthinking in that scifi-ish vein.
At times like this, I ask myself one question: WWSD? (What would Sayu do?)
And the answer is: talk about hair ties for 45 minutes instead.
Yuuyami, it was supposed to be a "oneshot," but when have I ever been able to stop after just one page? Haha!
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.:baa60776:
Yeah. :oops:
The next chapter is not finished. It's a little strange. That's all I'll say for now.
-
I suspected many people would expect it to be Rika, and I toyed with the idea for a few seconds before I had my moment of revelation. Sayu would be a nice change, and Amarghetta has done his/her research well. I like Sayu very much, and since it's my story... Hahaha. It's my reward.
Ha, at least you didn't think I'm a cop! [It happened to me once, in other forum... Lol!]
I figured it had to be a reward of sorts, or a whim maybe. It's your story, your world, your rules... and if you want your fave girl to be there, then she'll be there! XD I tended to do the same, he.
And just for the record, I'm a she.
-
This was one of my favourite chapters to write, but I have to admit that it's way out of my league.
7
And so that was what propelled me towards Italy. Talking to the self-proclaimed cutest girl in the world had given me that final push.
It cost me a lot, and not just money. I had to take one week off from work, my manager was furious (although perhaps more perplexed about my sudden desire for a vacation), and my co-workers were all jealous. I battled my way through it, shamelessly reminding them all that I had just secured for our group a re-contracting agreement from the biggest companies we did business with, also reminding them that I was the uncontested star of our company and that if I wanted a rest, I would get it. Nobody could disagree with that. I hated to play the diva, but this was important.
Or so I thought.
The minute I set foot on the plane, all my doubts hit me.
All that was for what? Wandering around in a foreign country all alone and ripe for getting mugged. Not to mention being in the same place where Aya died. If anything, this was going to depress me, not make me feel better.
How did I let Shibata talk me into this?
I asked myself this question twenty thousand times. I spiralled back down into that dark tunnel where nothing was sure.
By the end of the second week of November, I stood on a quiet street corner in Rome, a map in one hand and nothing in the other, trying to find my way to the famous Trevi Fountain.
Rome was, simply put, breathtaking. The history that lived in the streets was overwhelming. It seemed like there was more in one neighbourhood of Rome than there was in all of Japan.
I could not find this famous fountain. It was supposed to be easy to find huge tourist sites. All one had to do was follow the hoards of people. But somehow I had wandered off and gotten lost. In a huff and feeling very lonely, I turned down a wide, empty street and walked into the first church I saw, Shibata's words of advice echoing in my head.
"If you get lost, find a church. Church people are usually nice. You're guaranteed hospitality. Just point out on your map where you want to go and they'll know how to get there. They're helpful that way."
The church was devoid of any signs of life, and my footsteps echoed loudly in the cavernous room. It had looked so small from the outside. It seemed as if I had willingly walked into the belly of a camouflaged beast. The dim lighting did nothing to help.
I approached "the main part of the church where all the things were. " I did not know the name, but it had all those statues, a stand from where the preaching was done, and a bunch of candles and other decorations. On the back wall, there was a huge sculpture of a barely-dressed Christ hanging on a cross, his head slumped to the side. I shuddered at the thought of dying like that and wondered why people would want to hang that grim sculpture in an otherwise pretty church.
Dazzled by this close-up view, I did not notice that someone else was in the church with me. He must have come from the back. I noticed his presence beside me suddenly, and my heart jumped in fear.
"Good afternoon," he said in a deep, rich voice, speaking the only Italian word I knew (not including food-related words. I knew my pastas and my meats).
I tried not to gape. The man standing beside me was a handsome priest. He was tall, had broad shoulders, a well-defined jaw, could not have been much older than me I, and, possibly the most captivating thing of all, he looked Japanese.
"Ah... um... I’m..." I stuttered, unable to recall any of the useful phrases from my Italian guidebook.
"How can I help you?" he asked with a warm smile. He spoke in fluent, accent-free Japanese.
"Yo-you're Japanese?" I asked in surprise. He nodded, his smile still on his face.
"I..." the words would not come. What was a Japanese man doing dressed as a priest in a Roman Catholic Church in Rome?
"I'm lost," I blurted out.
"I can see," he chuckled. "Where are you going?"
I brought out my map and pointed to the area I was trying to find.
"Ah, Fontana di Trevi."
I nodded.
"Now let's see. Where are we...?"
He studied the map as I stared at him brazenly, wondering how he had come to be here. He looked up without warning and caught my eyes. I looked away casually.
"You're wondering what I'm doing here playing priest."
I looked back at him and I did not apologise for my actions, although I did feel a bit bad for prying. I was definitely guilty as charged.
"I grew up in a small village along Osaka Bay," he said, ploughing through my shame in a move that surprised me. I wondered if I was about to get a full life story. "My parents were strict Buddhists, but I knew I wasn't meant to follow in their footsteps. I had always been enthralled by the Italian language and the Catholic Church," he said
He gestured to the grand church we stood in and I took a cursory look before he continued.
"My calling was to study and teach the words of God, and so that's what I worked towards."
"But how did you end up here in Rome?" I asked, bewildered.
He smiled at my curiosity, but his smile carried some sort of weight to it. It was not entirely happy.
"A terrible tragedy eight years ago," he said softly.
My heart skipped a few beats. Well aware of the pain it caused to speak of tragedy, but my mind suddenly alert, I probed.
"What kind of tragedy?"
"Eight years ago, my younger sister was caught in a terrible plane crash on her way from Japan," he explained quietly.
My heart stopped. I felt weak.
"There were no survivors and I was unable to bury her body. She wasn't Catholic, but she left everything up to me in her will. She trusted me more than anyone else in the world."
He took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind him, looking at the crucified Jesus.
"So I came here to serve God and the people. To watch over this land that my sister had died in. To be close to the place where she spent her final moments on Earth. It was the anniversary of her passing a few weeks ago," he finished with a sad smile.
I swallowed down my fear and disbelief at this utter coincidence, and suddenly, without warning, I started to speak.
"I lost a friend in a, um, plane crash in the Alps eight years ago," I said. He looked at me in surprise. "She was coming here from Japan. She was very important. She was like a sister to me."
We looked at each other for a moment. It had to be the same plane crash. Commercial airline planes did not have a habit of frequently crashing into the Italian Alps. Certainly not more than once within the same few weeks. Our dates seemed to match up.
"When did-" he started to ask.
"October," I jumped in quickly. "October twenty-sixth in Japan. Twenty-fifth in Italy."
He smiled unexpectedly.
"It seems God has brought us together. I have never met any of the other families or friends of the poor victims on board that plane."
I smiled nervously. I was sure his god had nothing to do with it, but I did not want to be rude.
"Tell me about your friend. This sister of yours."
I took a breath to ease my mind. It was all going by so quickly.
"She loved music," I started. "She was very dedicated to her job, but also to her family and her friends. She worked hard and never cut corners. She was confident in herself. She believed in me..." I trailed off.
Speaking in the past tense made something inside me ache. It started as a dull pain, but it grew worse and worse.
"Everyone around her loved her so much. And then she was torn away from us."
The priest kept his silence. I looked down at the wooden floor, thinking about the last day I had seen Aya, thinking about the last words we spoke to each other.
"See you, Miki."
"Take care, Aya."
The last time I had ever heard her voice.
Stupid Aya, I thought. You didn't take care...
Why could I not stop this torture? It was driving me to the brink.
I let my words slip out.
"I miss her."
"I understand completely."
The priest put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. At that moment, nothing else in the world existed but us. We stood at the front of the sanctuary of one of the world's most powerful religions, this stranger touching me, both of us sharing sad memories. I did not shy away from him because I felt like he was the only one who could understand me. I let him hold my shoulder and enjoyed this human contact. No questions of indecency between priest and visitor were raised, no cries of sexual harassment were heard. Those were childish, irrelevant things that we were beyond at that moment in time.
"What was your little sister like?" I asked.
"She was bright and cheerful and had a rogue streak you would never believe possible."
He flashed me a smile and I chuckled. It was nice that he could talk about her so easily.
"She always had to question authority. She was not God-fearing like me, but she never questioned my path. She loved me very much, and I returned that sentiment fully. She was my best friend. The one human who really understood me."
"Sounds like me and Aya," I said nostalgically. "Uh, except neither of us are - were - God-fearing," I amended quickly.
"Aya was her name? My sister's name was Naomi."
"Naomi," I repeated reverently. I felt like I had just been privy to a secret that only the worthy were meant to know.
I studied the large podium at the front for a bit before I decided to ask.
"Are you still sad?"
"Hmm, that's a hard question," he said thoughtfully. He crossed his arms. "Of course I miss her, and the memory of her death isn't a happy one, but I've made peace. I've accepted her passing. She’s in a better place now."
"How did you get over it?" I asked shakily, hoping to find a miracle cure. A magic word that I could say to erase all the pain.
He smiled secretively at me.
"My boss helped me," he said.
"Your boss?" I asked, befuddled. How could a boss help him get over the death of a family member?
He nodded, smiled, and pointed up. I followed his finger with my eyes, looking up and expecting to see someone standing on a balcony up above. However, his finger pointed to an indistinguishable spot on the ceiling. Beyond the ceiling. I realized what he meant.
"I see."
"She is with Him now. He will take care of her for me. I'm greatly comforted by that."
He looked absolutely convinced, and I sighed in my mind. He had his religion to help him, but that kind of thing was not for me.
"Shall we say a prayer for the souls of our sisters? Come," the priest said
He led me to the front. I followed, shocked by the bizarre request.
He knelt down, so I copied him, kneeling beside him carefully. He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. Out of respect, I did the same.
We kneeled there for eternity. I did not pray, but I did think about what I was doing there.
Easy. Shiba-chan sent me.
... No, that's not it exactly.
Maybe I had secretly wanted to come here all along. Maybe I had hidden that fact even from myself. Maybe by seeing the mountains that killed my number one, most important, most loved and treasured person, I would somehow be healed. I could move on.
Maybe that would work.
I decided on that. If I saw the mountains, I could be healed.
I'm not here to forget Aya. I'm just here to... to tuck her in.
I smiled at the image. Cute Aya in her silly pyjamas that were not one bit sexy but that she looked so hot in, especially when she rolled over sleepily in the morning and they hung a bit loosely on her as her eyes opened slowly, her expression looking almost sultry in its laziness... The impish look she got when she saw me already awake and watching her wake up with a grin that spoke of both the appreciation I felt for being able to start yet another great day in a great life and all the different ways I could think of to say good morning...
I opened my eyes quickly to banish any further thoughts. I was not Catholic, but it still felt wrong to lust after a now dead girl while kneeling at the front of a church with a kindly priest at my side praying for his younger sister's soul.
I looked sideways at him, but he was still praying. I closed my eyes again. I decided it would not hurt to express my gratitude to the people closest to me now. Speaking in my mind, I thanked my family and my friends, Shiba-chan especially. Then I thanked Aya. I would not be half the person I was without her.
I opened my eyes and the priest was looking at me.
"Would you like to join our church?" he asked.
"Uh, me?" I asked, startled. "Oh, well, it's a bit... I'm only visiting for a few... uh..."
His laughter echoed throughout the room.
"It was a bit of a joke. You seemed so involved in your prayer."
I flushed and looked up at the front again. This place was not for me, but I had found something important during this odd interlude: quiet and kindness. This place was silent and this man was gentle. It had been a good pause for me. I had been able to regroup and hear all my thoughts clearly. And I had found out what to do in order to have a chance at coming to terms with my loss.
"Where is the mountain the plane crashed into?" I asked, my words a cold dagger in the warmth of the church.
The man looked at me gravely, and then without asking for my reasons, he wrote down the exact location of the site.
"These directions will take you to the base of the mountain at the front of the section the plane crashed into."
With a trembling hand, I took the paper from him. It was written in Italian and Japanese.
I read the name of the place and was filled with a memory. I had read the name once long ago, but I had pushed it out of my memory. I had not wanted to hear it ever again.
"I hope you can find the peace you're looking for," he spoke slowly. "I will pray for you and for the soul of your sister."
That was the best kind of encouragement that could come from a holy man like him.
"Thank you."
I stood admiring the decorations some more when the priest waved something in front of my face. It was my map.
"By the way, I found the best route," he said.
I had forgotten all about my quest to find the Trevi Fountain. I almost did not want to go anymore. I wanted to go up to the north and seek out these mountains. I forced myself to be patient. The mountains would still be there the next day.
The priest showed me the simple way (a straight line, really), and he walked me to the door. I thanked him for his time and help. He reached into his pockets and pulled out something rectangular-shaped. A business card.
"If you're ever back in Rome, come visit again. Or if you need to talk to somebody, drop me a line. That's my work e-mail address."
I gaped at this tiny card that proved I knew nothing. I had no idea priests carried business cards, let alone had e-mail accounts. I had always assumed that church people all wore brown robes, lived in bare cells, ate only bread and drank only water, and spoke in an archaic language.
I studied his card. "Hiroshi Arai" and "Roma" were the only words I understood. That was enough, though. I scrambled to get one of my own cards. I had two left, so I handed him one.
"You're interested in music, too?" he asked immediately, recognising the music label. I was surprised. It was a relatively small company.
"Yeah. I'm a singer," I replied simply.
His face burst into a beautiful, radiant smile.
"Keep the music alive. If that's what your friend loved, carry it on for her."
I was filled with warmth by his caring, and with a bow, I walked off, away from this small, unknown church and back towards the bustling crowds.
I felt renewed. I had a new purpose. I was no longer afraid of being here in this country. The pull of the mountains, a pull that I had resisted for all this time, now had a hold on me.
I resolved to head up there the first thing next morning.
~~
disclaimer: I don't know much about religion in general. What I know about the behaviour of priests and of "church people" is from watching movies and TV and reading books. I'm sorry if what I've written is unrealistic... although I can't imagine it would be offensive to anyone... would it? Aah. I just wanted to try something I've never tried before.
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Ahhh, a good chapter. I like the priest. Such a coincidence, eh?
...and you included Miki's lack of a sense of direction. XD Love your writing, love the story. Keep it up! :)
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Neither I know much about church people, so I can't say much about that. Yet I liked the pace of the chapter, it was really nice.
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Beautifully written.
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Is sad...but beautiful. :heart:
You are an artist.
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So, esentially, the curse can only be lifted if the girls don't try to get rid of it? Interesting...
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Wonderfully written. And I would disagree, I think it's well within your league.
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I just caught up reading the last two chapters. The Sayu chapter is my fav so far. It was a bit of a breather from the sadness. At first I couldn't figure out that it was Sayu..well I had a slight feeling it might be her but it took me until the rabbit part for it to fully click. Ah I love Sayu so the chapter was rewarding to me as well =)
The last chapter felt a little different with the change of scenery so now that things are in motion I wonder what will happen next.
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Why?! WHY DO I TORTURE MYSELF WITH UR WORDS?!
Btw, its lovely and I look forward to seeing the end of this wonderful story
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Because you secretly love sappy angst, and that's my specialty!
Ahhh, a good chapter. I like the priest. Such a coincidence, eh?
Yes, quite the "coincidence." Did you check out his name? Another (much more subtle) "coincidence" maybe? .... :lol:
I've written the end of this story. Now I have to write up all the stuff that happens in between. I've decided on my plan and I'm sticking to it so far. I might surprise myself, though.
On an important note: Sukoshi, I'm glad that you like Sayu!
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Because you secretly love sappy angst, and that's my specialty! Yes, quite the "coincidence." Did you check out his name? Another (much more subtle) "coincidence" maybe? .... :lol:
Considering I just read all the Love x stories, just let me say this:
HOLY CRAP.
Nice reference, btw. :P
Oh, and I really really wub you to pieces with all your previous work. XD
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It's amazing how the most unexpected things can connect you with the right person that you need to speak to.
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Yeah, and I like how people from all walks of life can connect. A Catholic priest and an idol-turned-artist who's still in love with a girl who died 8 years ago. Who woulda thought.
This is the obligatory crappy transition chapter. More on its way and soon, I hope. It's almost all written. It's just not typed up.
8
That evening, I muddled my way through buying a train ticket to Campodolcino. That would set me down almost directly under the mountains that I was searching for. It turned out to be about fifty kilometres east of the place Shibata had recommended to me.
The train station employee did not speak Japanese. I did not speak Italian. We could not understand each other's poor English. Hand gestures, emphatic shakes and nods of the head, and exclamations of delight or disagreement served as our language. It worked splendidly. I would depart the following day at eight sharp.
When I got back to my hotel room, I made a phone call right away.
"Hello?" asked a hurried voice.
"Hi, Shiba-chan."
"Hey you!" she cried, sounding pleasantly surprised. "What's up?"
"I'm in Rome," I said.
"That was way too much information to handle," she said sarcastically.
"I'm heading up north. I met someone who told me where I can find the crash site."
I spoke the words so easily, so calmly, that it surprised even me.
There was a deathly silence on the phone. All sarcasm and joking left Shibata's voice when she spoke next.
"Are you sure about that?"
It must have sounded as if I had gone a bit nuts since I had yelled at her only a few weeks ago when I thought she had implied I should come and visit the crash site.
"Hmmm, I think it's the only way," I said quietly.
"If you really want to, Miki-chan," she spoke up, "then I back you up completely. I think it's a good idea. Go there and - you know."
She did not have to say it. "Come to terms" or "accept" both worked. So did so many other words and phrases. I knew what I had to do. She knew what I had to do.
I thanked her and told her the name of the place. She encouraged me some more, but she had to cut the phone call short as to not be late for a meeting.
I spent the evening packing up my things and taking a quick bath. Drained after such a day, the warm water took away my tension and I dropped into bed, my body and head sinking deep into the soft mattress and pillow.
That night I had a disturbing dream.
This time I had already climbed the mountain before Aya's plane crashed. It dove into the rocks and snow not too far from where I was standing. I ran to it immediately and ripped open a door that was hanging already half-open. I crawled in on my hands and knees.
The aisles were littered with fallen people. The stench of death was all around me, my hands and knees becoming drenched in blood as I tried to navigate through it all.
I found Aya as I usually did. This time she was lying on her back in the aisle. Her eyes were closed and there was a nasty gash on her forehead that was bleeding profusely.
I knew that one was not supposed to move an injured person, especially someone with a head injury, so I kept my hands off of her. I leaned down a bit.
"Aya! Hey!" I called out. "Are you awake?!"
Her face twisted in what looked like exasperation as she opened her eyes.
"Stop yelling," she groaned. "You're too loud."
"Oh my god," I gasped. "You're fine."
"I'm not fine," she said as a matter of factly. "I'm hurt. And I can't see."
"Can't see...?" I trailed off, wondering what sort of horrible thing had happened to make Aya go blind.
"Yeah. There's blood in my eyes."
My stomach twisted when I saw that she was right.
"Here," I mumbled, reaching over to wipe her eyes as carefully as I could.
When my hands reached her face, however, she grabbed my wrists and pulled me forward.
"Whuuha!" I exclaimed, letting out a strange noise. I pulled my hands out of her grip and managed to steady myself on the ground before I could fall on top of her and crush her.
"Take it easy. I'll help you get up in a second," I said soothingly.
"I can't get up," Aya said darkly.
"What?"
I started to sit up again, but she grabbed my hands and pulled. I pulled back, but she was surprisingly strong.
"You can't leave this. You can't leave me. You have to come. No choice."
"Aya, what are you talking about?!" I yelled desperately. "Stop being stupid and let me help you."
She pulled me forward roughly again, and I struggled to keep my balance.
"Stop it. You're going to hurt yourself," I reprimanded her. If anger did not work, common sense might.
"There's no use. It's over," she laughed bitterly. "But I'll take you with me if I have to."
"What...?" I bit off my words. "Stop it. Let go."
She refused to listen to me. I tried to overpower her, but no matter how much strength I used to pull away, her icy grip held me like a vice did a piece of wood. Her nails dug into the delicate skin on the backs of my hands, and it hurt like crazy.
Why is she hurting me? I wondered. Why won't she let me help her?
"Aya, it hurts," I whispered sadly, looking down at our violently entwined hands.
"Then stop fighting it," she sneered.
I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying again to pull my hands out of her hold.
"Just think of it. This way be can be together forever," she sang out in a mocking tone, and I felt the burning pain around my eyes that meant I was about to cry.
With a final tug, she overpowered me and pulled me down.
Just as my chin was about to collide with her nose, I woke up. Instead of the sickening crunch of cartilage breaking and the searing pain of my chin hitting something hard, I heard a car driving quietly down the street and felt the softness of the hotel bedding surrounding my body. I opened my eyes, breathing fast and sweating.
I had no idea what to make of it. Why would I dream of Aya doing something cruel and insensible like that? In the dreams I had of the plane crash, she was never like that. Never angry at me and never mocking me.
I thought carefully.
I knew that even in death, she still held my heart tightly.
But why did I dream of her hurting me while she was dying?
It made no sense, so I tried my best to do what I always did with dreams that made no sense - ignored it and went back to bed.
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So sad :baa60776:.
I almost cried when I was reading this... The emotion from your writing is really powerful.
And for the Sayumi being the one Miki called, I didn't thought of that until I read the cutest girl part... I thought its Yossie, then its Rika... Then.. Huh? They are talking about Rika? Who is it then? And its Sayu! :ON@_@:
Their radioshows gave the impression they are actually can be close to each other though.
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Hmm the dream appears to be symbolic. Miki is finally aware of how this whole thing is hurting her then, at least subconsciously? Aya of the past might not hurt her, but the memory of her death and absence is definitely hurting Miki. At least that's how I saw it. :)
Even your transition chapters are awesome. XD Can't wait for Miki to get to her destination! :)
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...so..........was that relevant to the rest of the story or should I do as Miki and ignore?
God, my nose hurts now. The image of someone breaking my nose with their chin freaks me beyond belief XD
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Well, there is a bit of a point to it. It shows some things going on in Miki. Like Estrea suspects, it's symbolic. It'll make more sense later on when the story is finished.
By the way, Estrea, yes. There's another thing, too, but I don't want to give away the ending. You're all welcome to guess... hah, unless that involves Coachie coming in here again and ruining the whole story by predicting exactly what's going to happen. (Hahaha, that's a joke. =P)
And Ren, I almost cried writing this. :lol: No, not really. Well, maybe in the very first chapter... just a tiny bit... hahahaha.
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I hope Miki can get everything worked out. It's okay to mourn as long as you live your life to the fullest.
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so I'm not allowed to guess? tsk tsk
but you're lucky, I haven't got any good theories up my sleeve anyway XD (I have one, but I keep it to myself, because it sucks)
As for the dream, I see it exactly as Estrea does
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Damn that latest dream was creepy.
Like Estrea, I say it symbolizes Miki's reluctance to let go of Aya after her death. The way that she "shut down" emotionally because she just couldn't bear the thought of no longer being able to see or be with Aya has become such an integral part of her that she couldn't see how damaging it was to her. In a way, the Aya in her dream was the embodiment of that reluctance to let go, only it manifested itself in the "2nd person" format. This way, Miki can now objectively (relatively speaking) see, at least partially, how it had caused her to cut herself off from so many others that she was once close with.
Or I could just be talkin' outta my ass. :P
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It makes sense, JFC. I have one question, though. When you say that the dream Aya is the embodiment of Miki's reluctance to let go, that would mean that their roles in the dream would be reversed? I.e. Aya refusing to let go of Miki in the dream translates into Miki not being able to let go of Aya in real life?
If that's what you mean, then wow. I never thought of it that way, and braVO. That's pretty clever. I didn't have that intention, but your interpretation is really... cool.
Your ass must be very smart to be saying that. :P
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One more chapter after this one and it's finished.
9 is short. This one is the crappy transition paragraph.
9
It was a bit colder in Campodolcino because of the elevation.
It took quite a while to travel there, but I could not sleep. I looked out of the window as the train traversed the land at a high speed. The land looked very bare in some places, the leaves having fallen off the trees, but the sky was picture perfect. It was bright blue and clear, friendly and fluffy white clouds scattered across it.
When I saw the mountains for the first time, my heart leaped a bit in the anticipation of what I was going to feel. They looked so much more impressive than they had in my dreams and in the pictures on the internet. Tall, cold beasts...
For an hour I was captivated by these giants that became taller as the train approached. I did not want to blink or breathe in case I missed something.
Those mountains. That's Aya's grave, I thought.
But I could not feel anything. I was blank with what was probably shock. I had travelled such a long distance to come and see this scene before me. I did not know what to do, so I stared and waited for the train to drop me off at my stop.
Once I was off, the wind nipped at my exposed skin and I shivered, tucking my chin into my jacket.
I found a taxi cab and said to the driver in English, "hotel."
He asked what I assumed was, "which one?"
"Whichever," I replied.
He got my message. I was lucky to have found a nice driver who was neither about to rip me off by taking "the scenic route" nor drop me off at some seedy dump (although in a town of one thousand, it must have been hard to have a sleazy part of town).
The hotel the driver chose had some vacancies.
"How long?" they asked (I assumed).
I held up two fingers.
"Two nights," I said in English.
And all was settled easily from then on.
I went up to my room and unpacked a few things. I inspected the facilities. Very simple. I checked and re-checked my bags to make sure I had brought everything. I turned on the television set and spent five minutes flipping through the channels. All two of them.
"Ug," I mumbled, tossing the remote control on the bed.
I was stalling. I knew what I had come here to do, and I was doing the exact opposite. Instead of climbing the mountain for real instead of in my dreams, I was wasting my time pretending to be interested in my surroundings. I was filled with apprehension at the thought of what I might feel if I went up there.
I put on my jacket and went outside for a walk around the small town. I needed a little more time before I did anything decisive.
I wandered around, looking and shivering. I had an early dinner at the hotel and went back to my room, contemplating what to do. I did not want to go up the mountain any more than I had wanted to a few hours prior. I fell asleep at six o'clock while watching TV that I did not understand.
This time, no dreams came to me.
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Hmm now you got me all on the edge of my seat wondering how it's going to be. *whimper* Can't wait till you get to the main portion!
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The final chapter in this story. Enjoy, critique, love, hate.
Thank you for the good times this time around.
10
I woke up a few hours later. It was dark in my room. I checked my watch. Eight-thirty in the evening. My brain felt groggy, but something in it willed me to get up and straighten myself out.
I brushed my teeth and my hair, put on my jacket, and walked out of the hotel. My legs took me for the ride. I did not purposely go. I was being taken almost against my will.
The sky was clear that night, so the stars and three quarters of the bright moon supplemented the few street lights that lined the sidewalks and let me see where I was going. I found myself going to the town's general store. I bought two bottles of mineral water and a flashlight and continued walking. I was soon outside of the town and heading towards a path that would take me up the mountain.
The plastic bag with the two bottles of water swung and hit my leg every now and then.
One of the bottles was for me. The other was for Aya. I was going to meet her.
My flashlight switched on, I started to ascend. It was a subtle slope. I went up and up and up. I did not think, I did not make any sudden changes in my pace or attitude, I did not stray. I remained focused on my goal.
An hour later I drifted away from the path and into a clearing with a steep, dangerous-looking cliff. I was fairly high up and I had gone far enough that I could no longer see the town. The path had twisted enough to make sure of that.
I sat down in the clearing and took out a bottle of water, placing it on the ground in front of me. I took out the second bottle and opened it up. I took a long sip of water while I sat staring at the empty space in front of me. A space that should have been filled with a smiling, drinking human being.
I sat there for a long time. The mountain scenery was mostly dark to me, only small parts of it lit up by my weak flashlight and the light from the stars.
I was finally on the mountain above which Aya had taken her last breaths, perhaps saying my name with one of them.
I was finally there on the mountain with a mind ready to witness something happen. I waited for that feeling of acceptance to fill me.
It would not come.
I had come with my offering - water, the purest thing a human could consume - for her because I could not have a proper funeral. We would drink together one last time to conclude... something. Conclude what? Our association? End it? To say that I had gotten over her?
A lie. I had not. I could not. I would never. A cruel lie that I could not utter.
I took another sip of water and then put my bottle down beside hers.
I looked at how far the mountains continued and I felt so small. It made me feel smaller than I had ever felt before. It was not its height, but the memories. I closed my eyes. My entire life flashed before me. My life before Aya, during Aya, and after Aya.
After all these years, that was still how I measured time.
I envisioned my heart as a flower. It had grown slowly and blossomed with vigour. It had been far too short-lived. It had shrivelled up one day, and it felt like it had been pickled, preserved in a constant state of grief.
After all these years, I still would not let my heart out of that glass jar.
I thought about the tears I cried far too frequently. Something would happen, some sort of flame would be lit, and it would ignite intense emotions in me that I could not bottle up lest they kill me from the inside.
After all these years, I still felt like I was being eaten alive from within.
I imagined her walking into my apartment unexpectedly one day. I would ask no questions. I would not care where she came from, how she had survived, and why she had not called for eight years. I would let her come in and we would pick up right where we left off as if that gap of painful years had never occurred.
After all these years, I still could not stop fantasising that she was still alive.
I wondered if that priest - Father Saitou, I supposed I should call him - dreamed of his sister Naomi coming back into his life.
I opened my eyes and a tear fell out, followed by another and another. They slid down my face quietly in a solemn procession.
The tears were not for her, for as I sat on that mountain, I saw the truth with startling clarity.
Aya had not been the only one to die that day.
I had thought that coming to the mountain would help me find the peace I was looking for. I had hoped to come to terms with the past and find a way to stride forward against all obstacles.
No luck. It only showed me the permanence of my situation. My state was eternal, my sadness an oppressive weight chained to me, my life a dismal, bleak light that was slowly fading as I grew older.
These thoughts assaulted me, weakened my legs. Luckily I was sitting down.
I looked up at the beast before me and saw it consuming me. It felt familiar. I was on that plane, I was crashing. I could see her face contorted in horror, her eyes shut tightly, not wanting to watch her own end. Yet I sat beside her, transfixed. My eyes wide open as I drank in everything. Everybody on that plane screaming, dying...
And then I was out of the plane and back at the base of the mountains, sitting there eight years later, my heart no longer beating, my senses dulled.
Suddenly it was all clear.
I had a thought.
It was a defining revelation. One sentence echoed in my mind, and it made sense. The past eight years made sense. The rest of my life from now on would make sense.
I held onto it and pulled myself up to my feet, leaving my half-empty water bottle beside the full, unopened one. I walked away. I walked back down the mountain, numb.
I had come searching for something else. Not the revelation I had just had. I had wanted resolution. All I got was confirmation of what I had been afraid of for so many years.
In a trance, I walked and walked until I reached my hotel room.
I looked at the time. It was late.
==
The next day I checked out of the hotel. I took a train straight to the airport in Milan. I had my ticket changed for the next available flight. It was highway robbery on the part of the airline company, but I just threw my money down like it was a few grains of salt. Money meant nothing to me.
During my four-hour wait, I made my second and final phone call of the trip.
Shibata's answering machine picked up.
"I'm coming home. My flight gets into Narita at five twenty-three in the evening. See you."
I hung up and then I sat and stared at a white wall until it was time to board my flight.
When I left Italian soil, I felt nothing. I looked out the window, but night was already falling and it was dark. I could only see faint outlines of land and mountains. I pulled the cover down over the window and fell asleep, cold and empty. I did not wake up until the landing.
When I reached Japanese soil, I still felt nothing. No excitement to be home. No relief.
I dragged myself through the disembarkation process, found my luggage, and walked out of the doors.
"Miki-chan!" I heard a name call out.
I looked up. There was Shibata in the waiting area beside the exit, walking towards me. She looked like she had run all the way to the airport.
"Welcome back," she said with a worried smile.
I did not return her smile. I just nodded and began to walk. She kept up.
"How was it? Are you all right?"
I shrugged.
"Fine."
I could not muster up any enthusiasm. I could not even put on a show of being all right.
We walked in silence until we reached the platform for the train that would take us into Tokyo.
"I came right after my seminar. I wasn't expecting you for another few days."
Maybe she wanted an apology. I did not say anything. She fell silent. We did not speak for ten minutes as we sat waiting for the train.
"Miki, say something to me," she said quietly.
I did not want to say anything. There was nothing to say. No point.
I heard her sniff. I looked at her face and noticed that she was crying. I had never seen her cry. Or perhaps I had once in the days when we used to play futsal together and we had won some sort of big event. But those were tears of joy. The ones now were not.
"Why'd I let you go there?" she wondered out loud, uttering such protective words that I did not know what to say in response.
I knew that she knew something had happened and she was feeling guilty for egging me on to go.
It was not her fault. I would have gone eventually anyway. She was not responsible. I was an adult and I had the capability to make decisions for myself.
"I'm okay. I found peace," I lied.
She had no more grounds to continue. She did not want to call me on my lie.
We did not talk for the rest of the ride into Tokyo. She came with me to the platform where I would catch my train for my final station of the evening. When it came, I thanked her for picking me up at the airport. She said she would see me later, and I had a feeling she would be calling, mailing, and coming over a lot in the next week in an attempt to cheer me up.
We said goodbye.
I got home. Everything looked exactly the same as I had left it.
I put my luggage in a corner of the living room, took a quick shower, and went straight to bed. I was not tired, so I just lay there, my body in my bed, but my mind back on the mountain the previous night.
I remembered that one thought I had had. That one defining thought when all had become clear.
No, Aya was not the only one who had died that day.
I died, too.
With her. Death did not tear us apart. It tore me apart as I followed her into the realm of shadows.
No light. Not for me.
Maybe I had sacrificed myself. Maybe I had taken all the darkness within me so that she could have all the light and would not be scared. That would be why I could never escape the sadness and the thought of her.
I was dead inside. I walked the world with a shroud of darkness around me. It got darker and darker each week.
I had gone to that site in the Alps where most of her had burned up and been scattered in the winds to have my own version of a funeral for Aya.
Instead, as I had walked down the mountain to go back to the hotel, and just like the tears that had trailed down my cheeks, I walked the path of my own funeral.
My own private funeral.
My own death mourned.
the end.
(sorry)
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*watches my own heart shrivel up in sadness* :cry:
It's so sad...but then it feels so real...it's never easy to find resolution. I know a little about how Miki feels, I felt like a part of me died with my own mother too.
Great, now I'm all down and depressed. But it only speaks of how wonderful your writing is. It's just so...evocative.
Small words to express how I truly feel. Thanks OTN, for such a wonderful story. Very grateful that you have chosen to share your skill with us. :)
See you at your next story!
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It makes sense, JFC. I have one question, though. When you say that the dream Aya is the embodiment of Miki's reluctance to let go, that would mean that their roles in the dream would be reversed? I.e. Aya refusing to let go of Miki in the dream translates into Miki not being able to let go of Aya in real life?
Basically, yeah.
That's pretty clever. I didn't have that intention, but your interpretation is really... cool.
Your ass must be very smart to be saying that. :P
You know those aptitude tests they used to give us in elementary school? I always did really well in the "Abstract Reasoning" parts, which to me, pretty much means "pulling stuff outta your ass". :P
My ass thanks you, kind sir. :)
One more chapter after this one and it's finished.
9 is short. This one is the crappy transition paragraph.
...
This time, no dreams came to me.
Well, you know that something is up when the protagonist arrives at/near their intended goal, and yet there's no anticipation on their part. Granted, Miki's circumstances would probably make having anticipation somewhat inappropriate, but she was almost dreading and regretting coming there.
10
...
I was finally there on the mountain with a mind ready to witness something happen. I waited for that feeling of acceptance to fill me.
It would not come.
...
A lie. I had not. I could not. I would never.
I took another sip of water and then put my bottle down beside hers.
...
I envisioned my heart as a flower. It had grown slowly and blossomed with vigour. It had been far too short-lived. It had shrivelled up one day, and it felt like it had been pickled, preserved in a constant state of grief.
After all these years, I still would not let my heart out of that glass jar.
I thought about the tears I cried far too frequently. Something would happen, some sort of flame would be lit, and it would ignite intense emotions in me that I could not bottle up lest they kill me from the inside.
...
The tears were not for her, for as I sat on that mountain, I saw the truth with startling clarity.
Aya had not been the only one to die that day.
I had thought that coming to the mountain would help me find the peace I was looking for. I had hoped to come to terms with the past and find a way to stride forward against all obstacles.
No luck. It only showed me the permanence of my situation. My state was eternal, my sadness an oppressive weight chained to me, my life a dismal, bleak light that was slowly fading as I grew older.
...
I had come searching for something else. Not the revelation I had just had. I had wanted resolution. All I got was confirmation of what I had been afraid of for so many years.
...
"I'm okay. I found peace," I lied.
...
No, Aya was not the only one who had died that day.
I died, too.
With her. Death did not tear us apart. It tore me apart as I followed her into the realm of shadows.
No light. Not for me.
the end.
(sorry)
Don't be. It's a very poignant and fitting ending.
Sure, the ending is a downer, but that's the reality of the situation, the depth of how connected Miki and Aya were. This story was a case where the two of them really were "soulmates". They weren't just friends, they weren't just best friends. They really were, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, a part of each other. When you obviously care for someone as deeply as Miki cared for Aya (fuck I can't believe I just wrote that in the past tense), the reality of it is, you DON'T always have the ability to "get over/past it". You can't always "move on" with your life. Some people do, but not everyone can.
Even in real life, we see that Miki is just so...happy when she's with Aya. It's like Aya's the key, she's the spark, the trigger that let's that side of Miki show itself. In the story, it may have gotten to a point where Miki couldn't bear to, or just was no longer able to bring that part of her out without Aya there to draw it out. It wouldn't have been a case of Miki betraying Aya's memory if she did so, but more of a case where, without Aya, she just didn't have the ability to do so. To use the "flower" analogy you had in the final chapter, if Miki's "soul" is the flower, Aya's soul was the soil that let it grow. Without one, the other can never be. Without one, the other is nothing. Both have to be there for the greatness to manifest itself.
Journey's like this don't always end with some sort of absolution. A person may go on one looking for some type of epiphany that makes EVERYTHING clear and puts things in perspective, but in all honesty that's really wishful thinking. What happens more often with journeys like this is that they DO often end with some type of revelation or affirmation. Miki has her's, and as devastating as it may be, she is, in a way, able to understand and accept it. She realizes that in this case, for her, there will be no epiphany telling her "it'll be all right," because in this case...it isn't all right. Nothing has been right since Aya died, and nothing can ever change that. To correct something I said earlier, Miki and Aya weren't soulmates, because that would imply that they were two different souls, or even two seperate halves of one soul like a Yin/Yang thing. That's not true. While they were two bodies, they didn't just SHARE one soul, they WERE one soul. Miki's heart hasn't been sealed away in a proverbial jar, it was lost on that mountain 8 years ago. It was Aya, after all.
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I didn't want to cry anymore tonight. I should have waited until I felt better to read this, but I had to know how Miki turned out. Bravo to you for not giving her a happy ending and instead sticking to reality. Now I really need to watch something happy.
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Woah, that's just so heart-wrenching and tear-jerking. Dieing in spirit when someone close to you dies. You can really play with people's emotions.
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As JFC said, sometimes you just can't move on, no matter how hard you try. People can have all sorts of experiences, good and bad, and still be unable to change or learn from them. Unfortunately it's almost, if not completely, impossible to regain happiness once you have lost it; too bad the same can not be said about sorrow and pain.
I'm not sure what to say about the last chapter. Except that it almost made me cry, not at the emotion but at the absence of it. It's hard to write stuff like this and not wimp out and write what you would want to happen, instead of what would really happen. I'm glad you didn't wimp out.
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The last chapter was a real tear jerker! I was already weepy eyed during the beginning half and then it kind of just snow balled from there...ah but what can I say, I actually love tear jerkers :MKcry2:
I couldn't help but think back to your previous story where Ayaya goes to Hokkaido to search for Miki. In my mind I kind of connected the stories together in that the day that Ayaya woke up to find Miki missing..it was actually the day that Ayaya died and that she spent her afterlife looking for Miki and that even though Ayaya only spent a couple of months in Hokkaido, in reality it's been decades and the real Miki finally got to meet up with Ayaya again in the end.
Yes I know my thinking is messed up but I kind of liked the idea :ONsweat:
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Its so sad that all Miki got from visiting Italy is the knowledge that a part of her also died after Aya died. While the priest can continue living, by devoting his life to God, Miki can't, because the only one she can devote herself to is Aya, and because Aya is not there anymore, she became empty. Losing someone who cannot be replaced, even if she has other friends like Shibata and Sayu, but Sayu is not Aya, Shibata is not Aya.
But I don't hink Shibata should regret the decision of letting Miki visits Italy, because even though Miki didn't have her peace, Miki got the answer of all her sadness of those 8 years - that the reason of why she can't get over Aya's death is because a part of her is dead with Aya.
This is how I view the end of this story... Very sad indeed, but also seems very realistic.
Thanks, thanks, and lots of thanks for this story... I'll be sure to read your next story. :)
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JFC. Your comment hits all the right nerves. I like your explanation of their souls. Sounds just about right to me. Now I'm speechless. Thank you.
I'm glad I didn't wimp out either. I almost did. I thought "if I write another depressing ending, I'm going to upset some people," but I pushed that out of my mind and did what I had to do. But I think ending it like this makes it stronger and, like many of you have said, more realistic.
Hahaha, Sukoshi, you could write a spinoff. This world is open to anyone who wants to try. :lol:
I hope to one day tell a bit of Shibata's point of view using that story I started in the other section. I think it would explain some things that we can't possibly know from Miki's narration.
My next story? Oh, how quickly I move on. I've already started it. This will not be the last time you hear from me.
Thank you, everyone, for the comments and the support.
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I'm not feeling very verbose today, but I liked your despairing and hopeless ending. It felt sort of rushed to me, yet it's all good.
And finally, don't be a stranger. If you can manage, come and share more of your stories with us. :)
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*sobs*
wow, I didn't see that one coming
I'm impressed, so sad and so real
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It did feel rushed, huh? Haha, either I was eager to get over with it and it's obvious, or I tried to do something different that didn't quite work. But thank you for reading all the same!
I'm a happy person, but I seem to like this despairing and hopeless stuff.
The beginning of the next one... will be up soon. As in within a few minutes.
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It did feel rushed, huh? Haha, either I was eager to get over with it and it's obvious, or I tried to do something different that didn't quite work. But thank you for reading all the same!
I'm a happy person, but I seem to like this despairing and hopeless stuff.
The beginning of the next one... will be up soon. As in within a few minutes.
At least you finished it, rushed or not. It did work, so don't worry about that. It's just that I was probably expecting more, coming from you... XD
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I really waited so long to comment here, although I've followed your story since the beginning. I think... "thank you" is all I'm capable of saying. Looking at Miki and Aya's relationship, their togetherness is so right I wasn't able to imagine what might happen to Miki if she lost Aya. I hadn't thought about how thoroughly connected they are. I cried after reading this, and it felt like I hadn't swallowed properly in a few hours (if that makes any sense lol).
It's the least I can say, but thank you, thank you for writing :heart:
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truly heart breaking. the ending felt way too real.
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It's just that I was probably expecting more, coming from you... XD
Does this mean my reputation is that of a long-winded, can't-get-to-the-point-quickly kind of person? If so: :lol:
Ah, but I understand. I know I don't know when to shut up. I keep beating that horse... dead dead dead...
It's the least I can say, but thank you, thank you for writing :heart:
No. Thank you. Thank you for reading!
If I might (conceitedly, because I'll admit I kind of like it) quote myself from a message I sent to Coachie: I write to stimulate people's imaginations, not to have them agree with or even like everything I write.
If I can make someone feel things, or touch someone in any way, then that makes me extremely happy. It selfishly gives me a sense of worth, but it also simply makes me happy to see people being able to emote.
Writing this story was certainly a cathartic experience for me! Hahaha, and I'm not even sad about anything.
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So, after catching up with reading your "bible", I decided to read this. (Moving onto the next story after I write this comment, of course.) One thing is for sure: I'm crying with everyone else who cried because of this story!
I wasn't sure how the story could really be continued when I finished up the last part of this story with Miki in the Aya-less world, and I figured this would be a continuation where Miki could finally heal her wound, but with this, I see that even with stretching it out, it's still a very emotional and complicated situation for Miki to face. The two of them were meant for one another. They were matching puzzle pieces that only connected to each other and nothing else. (I'm not saying they didn't have anyone else important to them, such as friends and family, but I think/hope you get my point.) JFC's explaination is all in all breathtakingly true. It's hard to get over something so trivial. Something that brings so much impact amongst oneself such as death or seperation.
Shibata actually annoyed me this time, but I think she only had Miki's best interests in mind. Well, not completely. Sending her off probably wasn't the best idea, but I do think it was good that people told Miki she was pushing them away as they were only trying to help her. (Originally, I thought Miki had called up Yossi, because they seem close. Then, when the romodel talk came in, I began to think, "Ah, it's Koharu!" Let's just say I was really defeated in the end. xD) Anyway, perhaps Shibata thought going away would make her change interests, find someone new, or discover something in herself. But, I don't think sending her away was the way to tell her. Miki's conversation with Michishige was perfect. I think Miki really needed that. She does still need friends.
Also, the encounter with the priest was very . . . spiritually lifting, though I have no interests in any kind of religion whatsoever. I find it strange/neat how people can find inner peace just from looking up to some higher being. People should really learn to look up to themself, I personally think. Still, it was an important encounter for Miki because the two of them could relate. She wasn't feeling peace because she was in a church. She was feeling peace because someone else understood her pain, but somehow managed to get over it. They were the same, but their outcomes and professions were different.
Okay, so I'll stop typing this boring stuff and let one more comment sum up my feelings: I loved it, just like everything else you write. :heart:
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I think this story makes a lot more sense if you read this one (http://forum.jphip.com/showthread.php?t=6221), but I guess it can be a stand alone. This is not what I intended to post next, but I listened to a sad song this afternoon at work and ended up with this. I spent the evening fixing it up. Every time I swear off this world, I come back to it.
My Own Private Funeral
My eyes opened slowly, naturally. No alarm clock woke me up this morning. I looked around my room in the darkness. The sun had not yet risen, although the faint beginnings of light were showing themselves. The sun was just below the horizon, waiting patiently to appear. Everything was still young, untouched by the aging light of day.
I rolled over onto my side and stared at the wall, my mind a blank. The whiteness of the plaster was going to be bright within half an hour. Bright like a fluffy cloud in the sky. Now, though, it was a muted off-white, looking no more appealing than the sky on a cloudy day.
I took a deep breath in and closed my eyes in order to properly picture such a sky.
I looked up at the grey sky and saw the light struggling to get through but failing. A slight shadow was cast on the land and the trees, but not a depressing one. It simply dulled the shininess a slight bit. People could hardly notice it. The uniform cloud across the sky was not threatening, but comforting. Protective.
I continued to stare up at the sky, imagining I could see through the clouds and out into space.
I looked back down to the land and saw trees, grass, and mountains. A river in the distance.
It was a foreign land that I had never been to, although it did not surprise me to be here. It was interesting. Everything smelled different and the mountains were huge. Much bigger than the ones I grew up around. I looked at them, awed by their enormity. The tops were capped with snow. They were impenetrable fortresses. The perfect border for a country with so much to protect.
The clouds that covered every corner of the sky seemed to bend and shape themselves around the mountains in a blatantly impossible disregard of the rules of weather systems and nature. I was not a scientist, however, so I did not particularly care. "It looks neat" was the best way I could describe it.
I carried on watching the sky. I saw a break in the cloud cover. A sole ray of sunlight thrust itself through, and as if setting a trend, more rays followed, seeming to widen the tear in the cloud. A bit of warmth emerged and touched my face. I smiled as the heat travelled through my skin and into my bones, heating them up in a pleasant way. I felt at peace with everything in the world. I was comfortable where I stood, comfortable in my skin. I was truly and simply happy.
My peace was shattered by a terrible sound - a loud rumbling like a train - making me cringe. From behind me it came like a charging bull out of control, rabid, leaving behind it a trail of dust so thick it could choke up an ocean.
As the plane passed overhead, it seemed to screech out words I could not understand. Maybe it was the people inside yelling. I watched in horror as the plane headed straight for the mountain. I knew that it would never clear it.
I was right when the plane crashed nose first right into the side of the mountain, high up where the snow started. It hardly made the sound I thought it would. It was so far away that it sounded like someone had blown up a paper bag and popped it and then muffled the echo. A few mini explosions occurred and I saw a small fire start up.
Watching the scene unfold, I stood paralysed with fear, my stomach churning and making me feel sick. I could swear that I heard screaming from the wreckage. People begging for help... But it would have been impossible to hear any voices from such a distance.
I was helpless. I could do nothing. I did not even have a cellular phone.
I overcame my paralysis and started to run, mapping out in my mind an impossible mission to scale a mountain with no equipment, no proper clothing, and no experience. Each step I took I felt the sinking fear in me become worse and worse. I was going to find something I did not like.
This did not stop me, though, for every step I took also made my sense of urgency increase tenfold. I needed to get to my goal. I needed to know some things.
I somehow scaled the mountain. It was like I flew. The wreckage of the plane was in my line of sight. We were on the same level now.
I crawled over to it, exhausted, my hands and legs freezing up in the snow that covered the ground.
The fire I had seen break out was on the opposite end of the plane. Conveniently, the side I was on was untouched by the flames. There was a huge tear in the body of the plane where the wing had once been attached. There was a perfect space beside it to crawl inside. I did so.
The plane had been tipped over so that the wall of windows had become the floor. As I reached the entrance, I could see bodies scattered along it. They must have not had their seatbelts buckled up properly. I ignored the disgust I felt welling up at the back of my throat and I crawled through the bodies, which I soon found were in fact dead bodies.
I kept going, looking for something.
I heard a whimper. I looked sideways immediately.
There she was strapped into her seat, hanging from the "side" of the plane like a dead rag doll.
But she had made a sound. She was alive.
I stood up quickly and undid the buckle at her stomach. She started to tumble down, but I grasped at her, my hands slipping unexplainably as I helped her down safely. I put her on an empty space on the windows, resting her on her back.
Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. Shallow, infrequent breaths. She whispered something.
"What?" I asked, my voice sounding hollow.
"Water..." she rasped out. I could not help but break out into a smile. She could at least speak and evaluate her position. She felt thirsty. She knew she needed wa-
"W-water?" she repeated, this time in English. I frowned. "And... ex...tra blanket? Please..."
I felt her forehead. She was burning up. She was delirious with what felt like fever but what was more conceivably shock and pain. She did not know what had just happened. She was speaking nonsense, probably repeating the phrases from her Learn English in 20 Minutes Per Day CDs.
When I brought my hand away from her brow, I noticed sticky blood on my fingers. There was a lot. Oddly, I did not feel hurt. I inspected my hand for a cut, but I could find none. I realized with a sinking heart that it was not my blood.
I pulled back to take a full look at the incapacitated girl. Her shirt was wet. Scared, I reached out to touch it. It was cold and sticky. When I pulled my hand back, my fear was confirmed by the blood that coated my fingers. This was why my hands had slipped about when trying to help her down.
I pulled her torn sweater and shirt up ever so slightly and peered under, almost gagging in horror. Something must have fallen in her lap during the crash. There was a vicious, gaping wound in her stomach that I knew could not be repaired in time. I pulled her clothes back down and looked for something to stop the bleeding. I found a blanket and pressed it into her stomach. I am sure that was not what she had wanted when she had asked for an extra blanket.
"Just keep breathing," I said quietly as though I were a paramedic.
"Water," she choked out, this time in her native tongue. Then a miracle happened - she opened her eyes and looked right at me, tears of pain in her eyes.
"Help me," she pleaded in a weak, pathetic voice.
Gone was strongest girl in the world, replaced by a feverish child who could barely breathe on her own. My heart, had it not already broken, would have broken at that sight alone.
What did you say to someone when you knew her fate was sealed? She knew what was to come, too. I could tell. The fear in her eyes was not born from nothing.
I nodded and I could not help starting to cry. The tears overflowed and fell as I blinked them away. My vision became blurred from too many tears. I had to wipe my eyes quickly with one of my blood-covered hands. My other hand took hers and squeezed.
"I'm helping you," I cried, my voice breaking.
"Water..."
I shook my head.
"I don't have any."
She suddenly gripped my hand in a surprisingly tight hold and looked directly into my eyes, her eyes wide open. With a reserve of strength like that, maybe she would be all right and pull through...
"Mama," she whispered. "Mama, I'm scared..."
I could not even begin to react to being mistaken for her mother because her hold on my hand slackened in an instant and she stopped breathing.
I shook her gently and then put my ear to her chest. I could hear nothing. No heart beat. I put a hand over her mouth, but nothing happened. No warm breath emerged.
She was dead. No hope.
I knew it. I knew it before I had reached the crash site.
That is why I did not scream out her name, nor tell her to hang on and demand that she wake up. She was fated to have gone, and nothing I could do would change it. I resigned myself to this fact.
I touched her forehead once and then stood up, looking down at her. She looked like she was in such pain. Her eyes open in terror, her body twisted in an awkward position.
But she did not feel a thing. Not a thing anymore. She was off somewhere, flying to some other place where nothing could hurt her anymore. Somewhere where she did not have to remember the pain she had just gone through. It could be endless darkness and nothingness or it could be eternal light and bliss. I did not know and did not presume to judge what did or did not happen after death. All I knew was that she was there and I was not.
I left her body there. I was not meant to bring it with me. I walked out of the plane and out into the cold mountain winds.
I walked away from the plane. I knew that it would eventually burn up. The remaining fuel in the engine's tanks would make certain of it. It would convert everything in that small flying machine into the elements that would float up into the sky and become smaller parts of the universe once more. In a way comforting, in a way upsetting.
I walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out across the Italian Alps, mountains being all I could see. The sun had fully emerged from the curtain of clouds that had held it hostage, and it now warmed my cold hands. The blood on them began to dry and crack. The snow below me became saturated with little red flakes. I knelt down in the snow and put my hands in it, scrubbing them vigorously. The snow at my knees turned a pale red. I stared and thrust my hands deep under, keeping them there until I felt such burning that I had to pull them out. Tears of pain came to my eyes, but I ignored them.
I stood up and looked behind me. The whole plane was on fire. I could feel the heat on my back. I watched as Aya's body floated up to the sky as smoke.
Bye bye, I thought. I blinked away more tears.
It was like my own private funeral. Saying goodbye. Burning the body. Seeing off her ashes.
All the things I never had a real chance to do.
I opened my eyes. I had dozed off and had the same daydream.
Correction. It was a new dream, but it was a variation of an old dream of eight years.
The wall in front of me had become brighter. The sun was peeking out over the horizon, signalling a new day.
A sad day for me. The anniversary of a loved one's death was never a good day. It seemed my subconscious was trying to help me overcome some of that remaining grief by giving me a sense of closure (albeit a strange one), but the grief would never be fully removed. It could never be.
I turned over for the second time that morning and looked at the sunlight coming in through the blinds. I lay in bed lazily, wishing that I had someone that would come in and yell at me for being so lazy.
But the one person who I would allow to scold me like that (besides my mother) was gone. She had burned up into tiny atoms and floated into the sky along with two hundred strangers and a few tonnes of metal and fuel.
Maybe at night when I looked up at the stars, the brightest ones contained a bit of her in them. She had always looked over me and taken care of me. Maybe now she was in the position to take on the duty fulltime from above.
This was how I comforted myself. Or maybe tricked myself.
Because I knew deep down inside that my dreams meant nothing. My thoughts had no effect on the outside world. Romantic ideas of souls surviving and guardian angels watching over me would get me nowhere.
So I heaved a sigh, rolled out of bed, and went to brush my teeth. It was all I could do. I was living in the world.
The End
bedtime. :yawn:
I just wanna say thank you for sharing this information to us. Hoping that this will not be the last post that I could be read written by you.
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