AN: Hey, people! Back for another try at Cowboy Bebop. This is short, extremely and undeniably short, that much I'll admit. It is also a lot similar to the previous fic that I wrote for this anime, Contrast. However, it is different in the respect that I would like to turn the little drabble below into a possible Bebop novel. But I am sorely out of plots. The plot-bunny took one look at me and scampered off into the distance. If you think that you have a fantastic and spiffy idea for a Spike and Julia novel length fic, give me a message along with a review. My pen name is Poncey of the Lions. Any help and reviews at all would be greatly appreciated. Oh, and the last two lines were taken from Volume Two of the manga. Disclaimers, I own nothing, etc.
Dong!
The noise of the church bell echoed for miles and pierced the dim light. The city trembled with the effect, resonating with hundreds of sound waves. Chime after chime after chime. The church tower rose into the gloom of gray clouds, the tallest entity, a spiral of Gothic curls and bricks stabbing the sky with it's steeple.
The smaller buildings were ebony and wet, soaked with the voluminous rain. A rain that never stopped, that never quelled. The city was always under a layer of water, never covered in dirt. But never truly clean either. The grime that hundreds of murders only leaves was always there. It lingered in the air, bitter and acrid.
A peal of thunder broke the silence. It swooped across the ground and slammed a man slouching underneath a commonplace archway. The large peal was like an even larger dog growling and snarling somewhere in the sky.
The notion almost made the solitary figure laugh. He didn't, though, because even if he was the only person on the street, there was always someone watching him. Besides, had he laughed, the cigarette that rested within his mouth would have fallen. And that would have depressed him almost as much as his past. So he let the cigarette drop on it's own.
With damp, calloused fingers, he pulled it from his mouth and released it before he had time to think about it. It fell in a spiraling pattern, twisting and stretching as he trudged softly down the cobblestone street. The light it emanated was the only real source of civilization for miles.
He dropped the rose he was holding in his other hand. It hit the ground with a soft thud, upsetting a puddle and spraying droplets of water everywhere. It glowed a florescent scarlet, saturated with the blood that rested on his hands, the blood of the lives he had taken, the blood that beat coldly though his veins. The longer it sat, the brighter it became, taunting him with memories.
Gunshot and smoke, broken bar glass and lifeless bodies, the bangs that would echo for hours. He relived his concentration as the bullets flew, the murky light that filtered through the stained glass windows and the sorrow that filled the abandoned pews, the loss of sympathy and the aura of frost that clouded his garnet eyes.
He shivered and brushed a strand of forest hair out of his face. He wished she was here to brush it away for him.
As he walked, he thought of a tune that he had learned, a tune that she had sung to him. It played in his head slow and gentle, the rhythm of a music box. He pictured her singing, golden hair haloing about her body, blue eyes sparkling with happiness. It had calmed him, warmed him. It had filled him to the very brim and covered his soul with light and laughter. He needed that, light and laughter.
As of now, that was something he lacked. Light, hope, happiness. And the feeling of a heart that beat firmly in his chest, a heart that could have supported her.
He stopped mid-stride. He shut his eyes as the realization hit him straight in the chest.
Heartless.
That's what successful cowboys are.