Mono no Aware
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What if a destiny was stolen?
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A/N: I've replaced this chapter with an edited up-to-date version, as when I originally posted this, it was 3 in the morning and I had no sense of double-checking and was far to liberal with my commas - you'll have to forgive me. This, of course, is the updated and double checked version, poof-read and all. A thousand apologies. Please tell me what you think!
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Mono no aware (物の哀れ), literally "the pathos of things", and also translated as "an empathy toward things", or "a sensitivity to ephemera", is a Japanese term for the awareness of impermanence (無常mujō), or transience of things, and both a transient gentle sadness (or wistfulness) at their passing as well as a longer, deeper gentle sadness about this state being the reality of life.
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Preface.
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An insight into the after.
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The hotel room was small, and rather bland looking, with matching set furniture and a poor quality rug that curled at the edges at the foot of the bed. There was a large wall to ceiling window leading out to the view from the 22nd floor, hidden by thick beige blackout curtains and muffling the sound of the wind. It had that vaguely stale smell of over-sprayed supposedly floral air freshener, mixed with the complete apathy of the staff, and looked much the same.
A man was sat on the bed crumpling the off-white, rather rough duvet, staring at me.
I blinked as reality snapped into focus. I was perched gingerly on one of those ugly armchairs that served for no comfort, merely some twisted aesthetic value; it looked like suede and tartan had an accident together, and then regretted the decision.
I stared back.
The air was still, and dry. Dust motes sat still in the air, stationary in the sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains. There was a deafening silence, devoid of even a heartbeat, and I had the distinct impression I was shaking.
"You failed."
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An insight into the before.
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The hotel room was small, and rather bland looking, with matching set furniture and a poor quality rug that curled at the edges at the foot of the bed. There was a large wall to ceiling window leading out to the view from the 22nd floor, hidden by thick beige blackout curtains and muffling the sound of the wind. It had that vaguely stale smell of over-sprayed supposedly floral air freshener, mixed with the complete apathy of the staff, and looked much the same.
At least, it had two days ago.
Now it burned with an angry, violent heat; it crawled up the walls and licked at the furniture with an unforgiving light. Smoke billowed against the ceiling like clouds of charcoal, lingering under doorframes and choking the life from the room.
The air was arid and crackling, stealing my breath away with every breath and turning my lungs into an inferno of sensations. It seared at my eyes, at my fingers and nose, leaving them too hot, too dry and causing skin to begin to crack and stick. Tears dribbled down over my face, heating and evaporating, pain blooming in their wake as I collided with the wall, bouncing off and stumbling over ruined furniture.
The wallpaper cracked and snapped, small fragments hitting my cheek as I stumbled away and into the doorframe of the kitchen area. There was a loud groan that made my bones ache, and the room pitched sideways as dust and plasterboard flew across the air, a scream leaving me as a strangled shriek.
"EMILY!"
Ash burned at the back of my throat, my breath catching beneath my ribs and sending me into a coughing fit that tore something in my mouth and sent copper spilling onto the back of my tongue. Light burned at my eyes, heat making them reluctant to turn or open properly once shut against debris, making it impossible to see through the ash and smoke.
"EMILY!"
There was a muffled screech over the roar of the flames as patches spread around me faster than I could keep track, engulfing the room before I could make my way half way across. A thick thud sounded from one of the closed bedrooms, and horror was a pit in my stomach and a balm to the heat nothing else could replicate; I all but fell through a wall of flames that was once a worktop, landing awkwardly in the splinters and getting half of them in my arms, before scrambling towards the thick wooden barricade.
It wouldn't move, it wouldn't move, IT WOULDN'T MOVE. My nails screamed as I clawed for an entrance, only to yell on reflex as my mind blanked, flinching away from the almost molten metal door handle. The disintegrating sole on my boot made contact with the burning door after an assault of coughs, lungs bubbling and my mouth like the Sahara, again and again until the frame cracked and fell apart. The door was wrenched away; fragments of glowing wood scattering in all directions and a young face of not more than seven emerging, sooty, red and raw, and twisted with fear, hands shaking as she cried.
"EMILY! EMS, E-EMSY I'M HERE. I-I-I'M HERE, COME ON!"
And then the ceiling caved in and agony burst from my lower back, the heavy beams from above landing around me and fracturing the floorboards with an explosion of wooden shrapnel. I was dimly aware of the floor, carpet melting not two feet away, pressed against my face as I breathed in debris and ash, lungs struggling and heaving for poisonous air.
Sound faded, and light danced across my eyes. I was dimly aware that Emily was screaming at me and crying, stumbling back as fire began to eat at my outstretched hand, fingers stretched towards her.
There was a loud cracking noise, and then nothing.
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An insight into the next.
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His voice settled in the room, permeating the silence. It was quiet, and blunt, and sounded like he was commenting on the weather - If I hadn't been staring at him, I wouldn't have realised he had spoken.
"You. Failed." he repeated lightly when I didn't respond, eyes never leaving mine.
My stomach rolled deep in my core and my eyes stung, moisture gathering there as I recognised the truth to his words. I failed. I had failed.
"… Yes - yes I did," My voice cracked, throat dry from disuse, heat and the clog in my throat.
"Would you try anew?"
He didn't blink, but he sounded somewhat curious as he shifted his weight, looking all of a sudden all the more intent on my answer, smoothing the duvet underhand absentmindedly with a scarred hand.
"Y-Yes I would. I w-would, if I h-had the chance. And I-I-I wouldn't fail, not like that, not again."
There was a pause. My throat shuddered and my limbs felt like gravity had a grudge as his eyes, dark and unforgiving, scanned my face.
And then he smiled, both wry and genuinely pleased with something he had evidently found.
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"Yes you will."
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And the world burned again.
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A/N
Yet again I delve into a self-insert and attempt to keep it going. Ha. Hahahahahahahah. I do have a story though, which is quite a new concept for me. Read at your own risk. Feedback is more than welcome. Message me if you want to discuss anything!
Tea.
