Clear as Glass
Wheresoever thou art our agony will find Thee
Enthroned on the darkest altar of our heartbreak
Perfect. Beast, brute, bastard. O dog my God!
-George Barker
I always was an emotional person. It never took much to make me happy, and it didn't take much to make me sad. And it sure as hell didn't take much to get me angry.
My parents divorced when I was ten. Until then, I could hear them yelling and throwing things at each other late into the night. I'd lie in bed with my fluffy pink blankets , holding my pillow over my head to drown them out. But, somehow their words still managed to pierce my soul.
Sometimes they'd argue about me.
And another thing! I don't want you teaching my daughter how to fight! She's a young lady, not a little hoodlum!
Mother. Always angry. Always filled with some kind of emotion. She easily let us know how she felt about something. I guess I inherited that from her. She had high expectations of me. Mom thought I should be a singer, or a dancer.
Elena is a fighter, Agnes. And you won't be able to protect her all your life. She'll need to know how to defend herself.
Dad. He was the calm one of the family. It took a lot to make him angry, but once it happened it was something to see. I guess he had a feeling about the future I would have, because it was him who taught me how to shoot and use a knife.
Why don't you just have sex with one of those hooker you've been playing around with. I'm sure SHE can make a son for you! Waste your 'fighting' shit on her and leave Elena alone!
I don't really blame Dad for cheating on Mom, I guess. She was always working, away from home. And when she was home they were usually either fighting or not speaking to each other.
Get used to it, Agnes! Elena WANTS to fight! She doesn't want to learn how to dance!
You think she loves you more than me?!
I didn't say that, Agnes.
Yes you did!
No I didn't!
How I wish my pillow was thicker.
But it was true. I skipped my dancing and voice lessons and paid close attention to my fighting skills. It wasn't long before I could shoot as good as my dad. And I could easily beat up any boy in the neighborhood. Maybe I vented my rage and frustration on my victims…
I was fifteen when I left home. I was a good fighter, sure, but I had respect for people. I rarely punished people who didn't deserve it.
…Of course, not many others shared my values.
I remember the first time I ran into a gang. They acted all bad-ass, with their torn leather jackets and motorcycles. Naturally, they proved their bad-assness by preying on an unarmed woman walking alone late at night.
I fought back with everything I had, knowing what they would do to me if I didn't fend them off. But it was too much even for me. There were just too many. I ended on the ground, bleeding, while one of them stood over me with a knife.
I'm not quite sure what happened after that. Blood was in my eyes, I couldn't see, but I could hear the sounds of fighting and yells. For the first time in my life, I chickened out. I put my hands over my ears, curled upon the hard ground and tried to drown out the noise. Just like I had done as a little kid.
It was some time before I realized someone was bent over me, gently turning me over to see if I was all right. I looked up, and the first thing I saw were eyes, cold, steely-gray eyes staring into my own brown ones. I let myself drown in those eyes before I realized he was speaking.
"You okay?"
"I…I think so…" I stuttered, allowing him to help me to my feet. Never before had I been tongue-tied around a man! He had a surreal quality, like life was just a film he was surveying. Right from the start that coolness captivated me.
It was then I noticed the bodies of the rest of the gang laying broken on the ground. A few had run away. But the rest were unconscious.
Or worse.
"You…you took out an entire gang by yourself?" I asked, my voice cracking. He stared at me, those eyes drilling through me.
"I'm a Turk."
I'll never forget how he said that, as long as I live. That calm matter-of-factness combined with just a little warning, a little you-better-watch-it arrogance.
And my own ignorance. "What's a Turk?"
He stared a moment longer, then explained.
The Turks were an organization in Shinra, the new mega-company. It was their job to eliminate any resistance to Shinra. They accepted only the best fighters, taught them new special skills, and paid them well.
It sounded beautiful.
"Anyway, glad you're okay," he concluded. "Don't go walking alone down the streets anymore." He started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm.
"Wait!" I yanked out a crumbled piece of scrap paper and a pen from my pocket and scribbled down my home number. "Here. I need a job. If there's any way I can join these 'Turks', have them call me."
He looked down at my number, then at me." "You're direct, aren't you?"
I smiled. "Sure am."
He neatly folded my paper and pocketed it. "What's your name?"
I was elated he had asked, but all I could do was squeak, "E…Elena."
He nodded. "Well, Elena. Currently we're out of openings, but Shinra will keep you in mind." He tried to walk away, but once again I grabbed his arm.
"Wait. What's your name?"
He smiled slightly. "Tseng."
"O..oh." I blinked, feeling stupid.
"Could you let me go now? I have business to attend to."
"Oh!" I stepped away, blushing furiously. "Of…of course."
He nodded to me. "Good day, Elena. He walked away.
"Goodbye…Tseng."
I didn't hear from him in years. Then, one day my luck changed. I received a call from Shinra requesting me to fill in for a injured Turk. At first, I was only temporary. But I soon proved myself more than adept. By the time the injured Turk, Reno, returned, I was there to stay.
Of course, there were problems. I sometimes had trouble dealing with the things we had to do. I believe in mercy. The Turks didn't. I was an emotional person, whereas the Turks were required to be emotionless.
I still remember the day Reno came up to me to start a conversation. That alone was a rare thing.
"So, Elena. I hear you like Tseng." He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look cool.
Reno was cute, in a weird sort of way. But he had too many faults. He was an alcoholic, for one thing. And a slob, for another. I wondered if the guy had ever heard the word "comb". Or if the concept of "buttoning a shirt" was beyond him. Maybe he thought showing a lot of chest hair was manly. Or maybe he was just lazy. And his hair! Lord deliver me from ever seeing its like again. I still shiver at the memory of that shaggy red mass that required sunglasses to hold it up.
"Who the hell told you?!" I snapped.
"Just an educated guess," he smirked. "From the way you're always like 'H…hi, Tseng.' Or 'Sorry, Tseng.' Or how about, 'Let me get that for you, Tseng.'"
I swung at him. Calmly he blocked my fist.
"Easy, Elena. I just wanted to give you a little advice."
"And what's that?!" I snapped.
"More like an opinion, actually," he mused.
"For God's sake, get to the point!"
"I just don't think Tseng's your type. He's a very calm, controlled guy. No one can ever tell what he's thinking. He's a helluva Turk." He smiled. "You? It's easy to tell what you're thinking. You're clear as glass. If you're upset, we know it. If you're pissed, hell, the whole world knows it." He shrugged. "You'd be better off with someone else."
"Like who?!"
"Me, for instance."
I slapped him full in the face. I knew for a fact Reno spent his nights at the bar or in bed with some hooker.
"I'll take that as a no." Grinning, though a red mark on his face clearly defined where I had slapped him, he waltzed away. Now that I think about it, neither Rude nor Tseng, nor Reno himself ever said anything about it, though the mark stayed for hours. Maybe it wasn't so unusual for Reno to get slapped. At any rate, it was wise for him to escape when he did.
I was madly in love with Tseng. He never paid much attention to me, though, except to reprimand one of my numerous thoughtless actions that somehow seemed to increase when he was around.
Then, one day it happened.
Tseng and I were at the Temple of the Ancients. We were discussing the mission. As I was leaving, I hesitated, then said, "Be careful, Tseng."
"Yeah," was all he said. Then he added, "Say, Elena? How about dinner tonight?"
"Th…thank you very much," was all I could stutter. Here it was! I had been dreaming of this moment forever! Come on Elena, do something graceful and feminine!
But I was too shaky to do anything at all. "If I may be excused…"
Grinning broadly, I ran out of the room.
"Tseng had asked me to dinner. ME! Silly little Elena. I was no longer the stupid rookie. I was a full-fledged Turk, whom the leader of the Turks had asked to dinner.
Then, I received a notice informing me he had been killed.
Funny, how God never deems it proper to let me completely have what I want.
My dreams were shattered. I cried myself to sleep at night, hearing his voice in my dreams.
God, I miss him.
But I covered my hurt and pain up with anger, blaming AVALANCHE for his death. They all thought I was just a pissed off Turk.
Nobody saw me for the lovelorn woman I am.
Clear as glass. Right.
Thanks a bunch, Reno.