"This is the time to remember
'Cause it will not last forever
These are the days to hold on to
'Cause we won't, although we'll want to
This is the time,
But time is gonna change
You've given me the best of you
But now I need the rest of you"
~ Billy Joel, "This Is The Time"
*****
Author's note: I found this lying around and thought it might be worth sharing. Those who have been reading my other Setsuna fanfic, Kodoku no Fortress, may notice some similar themes. That's mainly because I wrote this immediately before deciding to write KnF, so a lot of what I tried to express here was carried over into the other, longer fanfic. You might even call this a prequel of sorts, although plotwise they really don't have much to do with one another.
*****
Step. Step. Step.
Time was always marching forward, always sending people down the paths of their destinies.
Step. Step. Step.
It was never escaped, never slowed down or stopped. It could never go backwards, but must continue to plod on.
Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.
Her high heeled shoes spelled the act out with clarity, declaring to all that she was, indeed, walking. This satisfied the sidewalk on which she strode, and it gleefully led her onward to her own unseen destiny. On either side, other inhabitants of the city park were too wrapped up in their own bustling lives to take notice of the garnet haired woman. Children chased ducks and tossed frisbees; couples sat hand-in-hand on benches and grassy fields; families laid out picnics while dogs begged nearby. They all passed her by as she marched forward, vanishing behind her as quickly as they had appeared.
It was a path she took on her own. No one else dared to walk that long, nor that far. To walk it in solitude while all others passed you by without taking notice, surely that would be a lonely existance.
Surely, no one could live like that.
Step. Step. Step.
Long dark legs accompanied the maroon high heels, gracefully leading up to a short black pleather skirt. Her maroon tank top left her abdomen and shoulders exposed to the amber glow of the setting sun; hardly a danger considering her already darkened skin. Her eyes matched her personality: dark, downcast, and deep. Deep as time. Deep as eternity.
She had left the house earlier this evening. She did not know why, but she just could not stand being in there.
No, she did know why. They were passing her by too.
Step. Step. Step.
Hotaru no longer wanted her help on homework. Her classmates were her chosen study partners now. "I'm not challenged when my study partner knows everything, Setsuna-mama. I need to be able to figure it out for myself. Besides, it's a good way to do something that I'm good at with my new friends."
New friends. What happened to old friends? Hotaru had failed to mention that this "friend" happened to be male, 5'9", and with sandy blond hair. Her adopted daughter was growing up after all, and it would do her no good to stand in her way. She was not needed as Setsuna-mama anymore. Plain old Setsuna would do just fine.
Step. Step. Step.
She had spent all day cooking. She was in that kind of a mood, where she needed to do something, to create something, especially if it was something that she could serve to others. The dinner was perfect: chicken filo with spinich mango salad, red wine, and of course an apple pie for dessert. She had spent all day in the kitchen, slicing mangos and apples, kneading crust, and painstakingly brushing melted butter onto layers of paper-thin filo pastry. The table was perfectly set for four (even with a little extra room in case the "friend" wished to stay to eat), the candles lit, the vase filled with roses of a light dusty violet color.
That was when she found the note. Haruka and Michiru went out to dinner tonight. Don't wait up.
Step. Step. Step.
The dinner went uneaten, chilling on the dining room table. Setsuna found that she had suddenly lost her appetite.
Oh, she had known that this would happen, that this time of perfect happiness would be but a moment. To some, life is but a series of moments, tumbling over each other one after another in a disjointed cry of "carpe diem!" But when you have all of eternity at your disposal, moments are as fleeting as the wind. But she had hoped. Oh, how she hoped. Hoped that eternity was limited. Hoped that "now" could continue forever. Hoped that they, like all the others, would not drift away from her and away from the present into history.
Step. Step. Step.
Time was always moving forward, and it would not stop for them.
Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.
She paused, eyeing what lay before her with uncertainty. It was a small, though quite gorgeous rose garden, neatly enclosed in a white fence. The path blazed right through the center, the garden gently embracing it in a canopy of winding vines. Between the fence posts she could see all sorts of breeds: Cardinal de Richelieu, Glendora, Peace, Sachet, Loving Touch, Livia, and her own personal favorite, the dusty violet colored Blue Bird. They were beautiful, immaculate, frozen in a state of perfection for just that instant. She hesitated, but did not move on.
Instead she sat down on a nearby bench, gazing at their beauty as the light deepend into a soft pink glow. She sat there, and she thought. Thought about times past. Of family and friends--yes, even lovers--who had long passed. Of centuries spent in the Underworld--a place devoid of time, of death, and of life. Of brief moments spent on Pluto, and on Earth--sometimes with loved ones, sometimes not. She thought, and she wished. She wished that, of all the lifetimes she had spent in this world, if only she could trade them all for just one. Would that be so costly?
Couples casually strolled through the garden, passing out of the other side with such ease. A man on his bicycle paused to smell each blossom individually. Upon finishing he flashed Setsuna a friendly grin and said, "you should smell those roses!" as though he was sure that she needed encouragement to do so.
The light was fading now, the other inhabitants of the park beginning to trail away. As the man cycled away from her, she inwardly shrugged. Why not? She slowly stepped past the fence--oh how easy it seemed--and made her way to the nearest peach colored blossom. She bent her nose near it, and inhaled. The scent was bitter somehow, like juice that was left sitting out too long and began to ferment. She tried another--this one cherry red--with the same result. All of them were like that, even the dusty violet one. Were they only sweet to others? Was she alone left with that day-old smell? If she had come a minute, a second earlier, would things have been different? Would the moment linger in her nostrils, its scent tinged with sweetness?
Time was always moving forward, and it never went back. Even one who controls it is a slave to it.