You grew up in sunshine, in a life where children roamed as they pleased, begging to get a munny piece tossed their way so that they could afford a stick of ice cream. You learned quick not to step on the crabs, and how long you could spend in the sun before your skin turned a stick red, and the word riptide echoed with the force it took to push off your boat.
When your mother sent you to run errands and pick up a loaf of bread, you made your first best friend. Selphie had bright green eyes that reminded you of nothing in particular, because they were a color all their own, and she drug a jump rope in the sand behind her. She was peppy and she was smart, and she taught you all the good skipping rhymes and clapping games, and you giggled together when you skimmed your feet above the water, arching your toes as far down as you could reach them, because your legs were too short to reach off of the main island's dock. Selphie was all sunshine and secrets, and you skipped home, hand in hand, blowing wobbly pink bubbles and jumping in anticipation with each pop, praying it wouldn't get in your hair.
From Selphie you met Tidus and Wakka, whose hands could barely close around their blitzballs, and whom had no patience for teaching girls how to play. But Selphie knew how to handle them best, and soon you both watched them kick their ball back and forth with an all-consuming devotion, and cheered equally for them both. And Wakka was the kindest almost big brother you could ask for, bringing you stickers from his mom's store and seashells that he found when he walked home each night. Tidus could make you smile, catching bugs and crabs and showing you how to draw blitzball diagrams in the sand with your finger.
When you were at home, though, it was a different story. Your mother's friends brought their sons to play, even though one always looked kind of bored stuck inside.
Riku was bigger than you, and taller than you, and you couldn't tell if he was kind of not because his eyes were kind of salty, like the color of the ocean, always unpredictable. He'd tell you about the island he went to play on, where no adults could tell them what to do, and that he wanted the other kids to come and play too, 'cause he knew where all the good hiding spots were. He showed you how to make a fishing line and cast it off the shore, and tried to convince your mom to let you leave the island.
Your last new friend also came along with Riku. You knew that the two of you would get along swimmingly when you saw the smile of his eyes. He followed Riku around like a shadow, but you soon discovered that within him there was life, more so than inside of anyone, and he told you fantastic stories about monsters and dungeons and sparring and about all the adventures he'd have once he grew up.
You mother still wasn't letting you row out with them, so one afternoon Sora decided to teach you how to skip rocks off of the pier. The two of you scampered about, picking up smooth stones, rummaging through gardens and the wet muck of sand until you had a decent handful, your fingers closed happily around them like a prize, each with a strip of grime stuck beneath the top. You spent the evening hurling rocks into the water and then jumping in to fish them out again until the surf got too cold and your mothers called you for dinner.
You weren't one of the boys, and you certainly weren't Selphie, but rather a happy mix in-between. Now you all rowed out to play everyday, a whole playground where you could spar, and play blitzball, and hopscotch in the sand. Nothing could mar your childhood, and all of you were in sync, playing even group games like hide and seek, and coconut ball, and swimming relays. Your only cares were finishing a game before the sun went down, or who held the best records, or which one of you had the best lunch.
Sometimes you and Sora would spend the entire afternoon skipping stones off the dock. It was two skips short and you were four feet tall and the days were capped with the gentle reds of childhood closing.
You felt a trickle of blood run down your leg, and were only in the bathroom for mere seconds before screaming to your mother. She came running up to you, she who fretted over your every movement like something was going to come and snatch you away. You hadn't always been hers, after all. She sat you in the bath and explained the blood caking on your thighs, telling you that you were an early bloomer. She called you a women now, and you spent the rest of the day in your bed, clutching your middle. When Riku and Sora showed up to get you, you moaned for your mother to turn them away at the door. When your mother brought you your lunch, she explained that you were maturing now, changing, and that if you didn't always want to go play on the island, she would understand, and that you should act more like a little lady now. You showed up the next day in long pants and a too-big shirt, because you didn't want to grow up before anyone else, and you almost passed out from heat exhaustion.
At 14 you'd blossomed and learned to cope, for everyone around you was finally maturing—save Riku, he'd always been old beyond his years, even as a growing teenager—and now she sat daintily back and watched as the boys played and wrestled, but there was an edge to it now. Selphie, Tidus, and Wakka had a clique all their own, and Kairi hadn't visited the ice cream stand in a while because you had to worry about weight these days, these vain thoughts that accompanied womanhood like a plague, and while you'd get rough and dirty with the boys, you liked the way they looked at you after you'd brushed your hair and smoothed your clothing.
One day, you found Riku lounging on the tree atop the little islet, and he confided in you his plans—plans as hasty and immature as you had been, flinging stones off the dock—which at that time you'd thought to be a stroke of brilliance
That very night, as the sun was rolling downward, you and Sora were sitting on the dock, feeling the sea between your toes, discussing Riku's idea.
"Maybe we'll find out where you came from," Sora said. You nodded and tried to inch your fingers closer to his. "It's getting late. We should get home," he finally commented, blinking at the sky's setting fire.
"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow morning." You slipped your shoes on and stood up, but something dug deep into the sole of your foot. Reaching down, you picked a stone gingerly between your thumb and index finger, and flung it into the water. You didn't count how far it skipped.
0-FIN-0
There's symbolism here, in more than just the title. Just don't ask me what it is—my brain is fried from writing cinquians, and the best thing I could come up with was about a dead goldfish named Steve. ^^
I wrote this over a span of about four hours, and I really like it.
Also, for fans of Remnants of the Past (of which I wish there were more *coughhinthacksmile*) I have over half the chapter written.
And because I never say it, I don't own Kingdom Hearts. There, happy?