By: Opal Soul
Naturally, when I woke up that night in the overwhelming darkness, I saw a pair of eyes. They were fixed on me intently, unblinking and unrelenting in their gaze. And the fear didn't grip me; instead I felt a delicious warmth steal over me, and I suddenly felt incredibly safe. I watched as the eyes smiled back at me and faded into nothingness.
I shifted in the blankets, a grin shining foolishly on my face. My foot hit the cat; Luna meowed in protest and hesitantly licked my toe, eliciting a giggle. I closed my eyes.
Damn! Those eyes were there again, but this time they were angry. I could almost see a pair of beautiful eyebrows slanting downward in annoyance at me. I wanted to cringe, but I couldn't because something in me was trapped in the depths of those orbs. I felt myself helpless in the storm.
My own blue eyes snapped wide open after what could have been an eternity, and I sat up quickly, chest heaving and beads of perspiration on my forehead. Oh, God. How long had I stayed under? I expected my moon-decorated pajamas to be soaked in rain and for beads of water to be dripping down my nose. THere was nothing, only Luna staring curiously up at me, her red eyes questioning.
I began to laugh. Of course, it was Luna whose eyes haunted me. I chuckled a bit more before petting her and throwing myself back underneath the comforter.
But Luna's eyes are red.
"You're stupid, you're clumsy, and what's worse-- you're Meatball Head." Your words rose to taunt me. Do you even remember when that was? I can tell you exactly when you said those words-- it was November 2, 2000 at precisely 3:47 PM, and we were standing in the arcade, fighting just as usual.
"And you're arrogant, unfeeling, and a jerk with a minus-zero personality!" I shouted back, balling my fists up at my side and quivering with a mixture of anger, and sadness, and excitement. Oh, God, I've loved you forever, and you just never knew. . . . you just kept tossing insults at me and making me feel about as high as the dirt you trample on. You make me feel like that, did you know? Maybe it's because you're so perfect, or maybe it's because you feel and act like you're so perfect, but nothing matters except you in the world, and you fill it with your broad shoulders until I can't see anything else. . . .
Small matter when you stand in front of me with that mocking curl on your lips, saying, "Nobody will ever love you."
And I don't want them to-- because, you see, I only want your love.
But I know you'll never give it to me, which is why I'm always sad around you. I just mask it so well that you can't see it; I stomp and trip and scream, and nobody's the wiser.
I have no business to complain; our relationship as it stands is fine. I know I'm unique because you don't take the time or trouble to tease and provoke any other girls. Or do you? I suppose I really don't know. So why am I telling you all this? I really don't know, but please just listen. . . .
The next night I woke up again, and the darkness was there. The eyes stared at me; I could feel their warmth and their concern. Blue is the color of hospitality and caring, some people say. . . . and I could well believe it when those eyes glowed at me pleasantly. They turned light and dark by turns, glimmering with silver and other colors that muted in it, like a never-ending hypnotic puzzle.
The eyes were so familiar, and they were still there as I closed my eyes and forced myself to go to sleep. Always watching, always caring.
The eyes in my dreams and in the darkness are yours. They change just as yours do, and they reflect someone so deep and complex, and so commanding and pitiful, and so . . . arrogant and assured. A paradox.
Darien Shields, you are an amazing man. You make me want to smile and laugh one moment, then scream with frustration the next. Your smile is hypnotizing, like a drug, and I think once I saw it, I was captivated by its sensual curve and mocking crook. Your hair falls beautifully over your forehead, untamed and unkempt in an adorable and roguish way. . . . sometimes, I like to think of you as the missing Greek god. But then I giggle, because wouldn't you laugh if you heard? Maybe you'd think it a joke, but then again maybe you'd tell me I'm a baka. . . .
And then my eyes grow sad, because there's so much more to me than you know. I force myself to klutz around you, did you know? Oh, I guess partly it's because I kinda lose my head when you're around and I sniff your tempting, masculine cologne. But it's also because I know that, despite your protestations of annoyance, you would never let me fall on the pavement, and I can always count on falling into your arms. The split second when your arms of steel are wrapped around my waist, steadying me . . . the brief moment when I can gaze up into your eyes of velvet and lose my breath . . . the short while when a hint of a genuine and almost caring smile plays with your lips . . . that's what I live for.
I can only now look out my window, gazing at the stars . . . see your eyes in their velvety darkness, fall into them, and write as an offering this terrible poem:
The Midnight of Your Eyes
All songs sing of oceans
Verses describe seas
But mine are never like that
Storms mean nothing to me
I love the stars, the moon
I reach out for my sky
More than a glimpse of heaven
In the midnight of your eyes
Eternity and beyond
Mysteries of truth, not lies
The windows to your soul
In the midnight of your eyes
Reflected is a love deep
Strong as the arms
That hold me close
And fill my heart with warmth
Darkness and depth
Of dreams and hopes and longings
Moonshine in your eyes
Emotions and passions fiercely calming
Shadow whispers of doubt
Slowly curl and unfurl
Reach to smooth your pain
Our eyes lock in-- a moment of silence
No words are needed
Your eyes are eloquence
A language of our own
Eyes speak of assurance
How can doubt exist?
Your eyes, your beautiful midnight
I find myself falling . . . resist
Impossible . . . I've lose the futile fight
Because . . . I love you [AN: Actually, part of this is a poem that hasn't yet been completed. The other part-- well, I just made it up . . . sweatdrops]
And now I cover my face in shame, because you don't want me . . . and I'm a stupid girl, just as you said, for even daring to hope, daring to dream-- ! But I can't help myself; I'm drowning. . . .
I'm going to close my eyes now and drift off to sleep . . . it's the only place I know where you'll truly be mine and the only place I can see those smoldering eyes of yours soften and caress me. But I'm a believer in dreams coming true, Darien; you know that. So with some weird sort of faith, with some blind stupidity, I have compiled this long letter for your reading. . . . the child in me wants some reassurance, or maybe just a slap in the face.
crosses fingers Here's to being allowed to adore you! -- Serena.
Serena looked down at the sheets of paper folded neatly and tied with a midnight blue ribbon. Oh, God, I can't do this, she groaned to herself, squirming in her seat and barely sipping at her swiftly-cooling hot cocoa.
"Oh, Serena, you've been planning this for months. Don't give up," Andrew said suddenly, placing a heavy hand on the tiny girl's shoulder. "If I know Darien, he'll be thrilled!"
She gave him a hesitant smile and sighed. "Well, I certainly hope so. I poured my soul into this, Andrew." Her blue eyes held no merriment, and the note of sincerity in her suddenly soft voice tugged at his heart.
"Your soul? Meatball Head, who's been tricking you into thinking that you have a soul?"
She flushed angrily, tears almost threatening to spill into her eyes. She glanced imploringly at Andrew, whose own handsome face displayed anger. Allowing her spoon to clatter in her now-empty mug, Serena jumped off the stool, rapidly pulling on her coat and scarf. "You know what, Darien? Just forget it." She almost threw the letter at Andrew. "Burn this," she said scathingly, menace in her voice. "I'm going home."
The door slammed behind her, letting out a dull tinkling sound from the bells Andrew had hung from the frame.
"I'm laaattteee!" Serena wailed as she sped through the house, pulling on her wool coat haphazardly. "Raye is going to killll me!!" She ignored Sammy's snickering and sidestepped his foot, which was set out to trip her. She blew a raspberry, then a kiss, to her brother, and ran out into the street.
"Good morning, Serena!" the mailman said cheerily as the blonde blur ran past him.
She whipped her head around to say, "Good morning, Mr. Delgado! How are you today? I-- oof!"
She caught a whiff of cologne as her center of gravity pulled her toward the hard pavement. Oh, my God, she almost groaned. Please, not today. . . . but two arms reached out to steady her-- two arms that seemed to make her body go limp as her knees melted. She averted her eyes and quickly put out her hands against his chest, wanting to push him away. "Oh, no, you don't," he muttered. Completely ignoring her fists, Darien drew her closer still, forcing Serena to gaze up into his face.
Falling . . . lost. . . .
Time seemed to stop itself as he slowly leaned in, a smile playing with his lips. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispered just before claiming her lips in his.
Her eyes widened in shock as she almost sputtered with surprise and a hint of indignation. But his arms tightened about her slim waist possessively, and his mouth became gentle and pleading . . . she closed her eyes, letting a hand splay itself over his chest and releasing the other to twine over his neck and graze his silky ebony hair.
When they finally broke apart, Serena grinned happily. "I guess Andrew didn't . . . burn the letter!"
Copyrighted/Written: December 18, 2000.
Disclaimer: Standard. Although I do own all the original manga, the new color manga based off the anime, all 4 illustration books, 5 decks of poker cards, and all the Sailor Moon movies and episodes, I still sadly do not own Sailor Moon. Maybe when I'm a multi-billionaire I can buy the rights or something. Until then, however, I can only borrow them briefly.
A/N: The ending's kind of lame, ne? I'm not quite sure how much I like this. I think the best paragraph was the first one, and then everything went downhill from there. sighs Oh, well . . . if anyone has any suggestions as to how to change the ending, please write me. I'll revise it, put it up, and give you credit! ;;
Thanks to: my wonderful spell-check.
E-mail: or
"If I am a jewel, as a dear friend once flirtatiously dubbed me, I am an opal. Fiery ice swirling in the milk-white of innocence. Passion and compassion. Myself to the core." Surprisingly enough, I wrote that. It's just to clarify any questions about my strange pen-name.