Recently, I read through every chapter of Gunslinger Girl out so far. Sandro is hands-down my favorite character (with Petra, Elsa, Priscilla, and Rossana all tied for second), and so I wanted to write something about him. A very short something, but something nonetheless.
You have tasted the sweetness of her lips, you have felt the softness of her skin, you know her body almost better than you know her own. Everything about her draws you in: The slender dancer's frame, the faint smile that persists even into sleep, that god-awful-beautiful red hair spread out like a halo on the pillowcase. You know that this is wrong on so many levels. She is barely more than a child. She hardly knows anything about sex. She is not even human. You should want to hate yourself.
Yet, you can do nothing but watch.
You've always loved to watch people, but hated to watch women sleep. It draws the line for you, it seems shameful, reprehensible for some unknown reason. There's something different about her. Something that keeps you up for hours, the smile on her face stirring one on your own. You want to know that something, to know what makes her special.
She turns over, her hand absently reaching up to brush away some hair that tickles her nose. You have seen her kill with this hand, this soft, gentle, child's hand. It finds its way to yours, and your fingers twine together. Her eyes, those lovely green eyes, flutter open.
"Mr. Sandro?"
"Yes?" you whisper.
"Do you love me?"
The question catches you off guard, and without a thought, you offer the answer that you have learned to give. "Of course I love you." Her smile saddens; her eyes stare straight through into your soul.
"Not love, as in a handler's love. I mean romance love, kissing love, boyfriend-and-girlfriend love, marriage love…" She blushes crimson as the word "marriage" leaves her lips. You know as well as she the impossibility, but you love as much as she to imagine.
You stay silent, rolling over flat on your back to watch the shadows on the ceiling. Now you know what makes you so close, what breaks down the boundaries between you. She is conditioned, brainwashed, to be faithful to you above all others; to love you above all others. You are scared for her. You are scared for yourself. The story of Elsa de Sica, of the cyborg that killed her handler then committed suicide –all for love- is used as a cautionary tale. If anything you could do would keep Petrushka, your precious Petra, from falling so deeply she couldn't get out, you would do everything in your power to save her from that fate.
A Petra who hates you is better than no Petra at all.
At your side, she stretches with a catlike grace; arching her back and throwing up her arms. The sheets slip from her chest, and she is beautiful, indescribably beautiful.
Love cannot be learned in less than a year. She knows only what others have told her. Essentially, she knows nothing at all.
Your hand traces her jawline, the flawless, porcelain skin.
She may not know anything of love, but, until now, neither did you.
It seems like the only thing I can think to write about Gunslinger Girl are drabble length, but I can think of several. I have plans for a couple more Petra/Sandro bits, something angsty about Elsa, and possibly a short story about Elenora Gabrielli and Pietro Fermi (Because I liked them a lot, even if they only showed up once).
Well, hope you enjoyed.