AN: Ah, some inspired angst-like material. ^^; Anyway, I ASSURE you-the girl featured in this fic is NOT an OC-no, no, not at all! In fact, she's I the series! Yeah! You know... the ending credits. Heh. In the fifth to last image, it shows Spike buying roses from a girl. At least I think it's a girl. O.o So… her tale, in her POV. ^^ Enjoy!
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Hana
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I never wanted to sell flowers.
No, really, all my life, as a kid, I aspired to be a writer. But not any kind of writer-a songwriter. I wanted to write music, to actually write music-not that crap you hear on stations these days. I wanted to press the keys of a piano and blow into the saxophone and trumpets and caress the cello strings. I wanted to write jazz.
Of course, my mother denied me of these dreams. She raised me up listening to the "hum of the flower buds" or whatever the hell that meant. She raised me up "tending each petal as if it were a lover", which naturally turned my nose upwards. She raised me up caring for flowers, not for my dreams-
To tell you the truth, I believe she raised me up horribly.
I never really cared though, since in between these flower sessions I'd sneak away to a bar-heaven knows why they allowed a kid into a bar-and I'd sit and listen to the saxophone player. I'd be tempted to join in with the serenade while at the same time resist it terribly. I'd found my sanctuary then.
Of course, I was full of anger and scoured hate when some men decided to ransack the bar. Well, not just men-three people, really. A blonde woman, dressed in rather tight black outfit, had spotted me and took pity. She shooed me out when the two others weren't looking-or so she thought. The one with the curling hair-he noticed me. He gave me a quick glance with those auburnish eyes before turning back to see his katana-wielding partner slide his weapon under the saxophone player's-my saxophone player, mind you- throat.
As the blonde shoved me through the entrance they so casually knocked over, I couldn't help but let out a strangled sob, watching the instrument I treasured fall to the floor without a moment's regard. Without any thought I dashed away before the woman could give me any reconnaissance. I wiped away the sobs just as my mother found me huddled on the porch. She wrapped me in her arms and whispered that I was a flower just hurt and confused. Right then and there I decided I hated her to comparing me to such a deceived thing.
I stopped dreaming.
I stopped listening to my music, I stopped aspiring to become a writer, and I stopped pushing flowers away. I embraced them with every leaf and stem, knowing that unlike me, they could not understand true hurt. In spite of my distaste for them, I agreed to help mother with her flower shop. And I saw him again.
For a whole week now Mars was littered with rain. It never stopped its downpour, and no one came out to buy anything. Business was poor for my mother. I didn't really care. I simply sat and waited for a customer, though I knew there weren't going to be any.
"A dozen roses, please."
That snapped me out of my stupor. Blinking rapidly, I silently gathered his damned flowers he needed. My head was down, so I didn't realize that auburn eyes were piercing me. In the mime-like fashion I had grown accustomed to, I handed him his damned roses-and paused.
Smiling at me, he held out his hand for the cash he needed to pay-I outstretched my hand limply. He never dropped the woolongs.
I continued to stare at him, and he at me-a child seeing his grown eyes. I noted faintly that they were the same color, the both of them-it made me… happy? Happy to know that a man had the same colored eyes? That had confused me then. I didn't realize until later that so many people had changed their bodies and images that I appreciated his genuine reality-I could tell he was a bit nearsighted in one eye.
He put his hand down. I did also.
"Flowers are like music notes-you have to take extra care when choosing them, and even more caution when you make them grow. And if you listen closely, they have the same song."
I stared even more, dumbstruck.
"Take these roses for example. Red, right? Like… like love. Yeah, a love ballad of some sort. You understand? A saxophone could easily play a rose's song."
He held out his hand once more. I never took my eyes of his face. And then I realized it-he knew what I used to linger to be. A smile creasing in my face, I held out both my hands. He dropped the money.
"There you go. Oh, and thanks."
I looked down. There… was a tiny amulet of some sort cluttered among the coins. A tiny saxophone. My head snapped up, hoping to find the stranger-he was gone. It was as if the rain had swallowed him up. Leaning carefully against the precious flowers and twisting to head to the right, I saw him walking. He kept on walking, his feet splashing in the water, until he reached the wet bench.
There he sat, dropped the roses next to him and took out a cigarette. His eyes turned briefly to meet mine before they approached the sky. I continued watching him until finally a blonde woman-the same one who ushered me out-met up with him.
Clasping my hand tightly around the tiny saxophone, I let the tiniest smile cover my lips before I sat back down, waiting for a customer. The next thing I knew the same man was walking back, cigarette flicked away and eyes staring at the ground emotionlessly. I didn't know what to do. His appearance had changed drastically tense, bitter, and self-loathing…
I didn't like it. No, I didn't like it. I grabbed two roses nearby and rushed over to him. "H-Hey! Hey mister!"
He didn't stop. Cause and consequence, right? I dashed into a breathless sprint and stood before him. There he hesitated for a second. I took my opportunity and shoved the roses in his face. He dropped one, and it stayed in the puddle, never moving an inch.
"Y-you said a saxophone could p-play a rose's song. I-I took my newly acquired sax and played a song. And I gave it to you."
The smile he held for me was bitter, yet it held the tiniest hint of gratitude. He nodded; I moved out of his way, he left.
Next thing I knew, a dead Spike Spiegel was on the news.
"See you, space cowboy…"---
Owari
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AN: Well, how was that for extremely short? XD Well... it looks and most likely is short from what I see. Anyway, I hope that I portrayed Spike correctly-and yeah, there were some places I could've ended it better, and I know that there really isn't that much angst-who the hell cares? I'm screwed up and you all know it! O.o; Anyway, C&C? R&R? ^^; I thanketh thee for taking time to read this crap-review already! XD
~B. A. Sama