Homesick
His footsteps strode at an even pace, calculated and automatic. He journeyed from street to street, turning corners, down small alleyways, through grand overpasses, along blue rivers, over bridges, down windy roads, he journeyed everywhere, with one hand stowed away in his trench coat pocket and a habit in the other. His collar was straight up, covering his neck and a good portion of his face – another corner, down another alley way – his gloved hands feeling the warm friction between each and every finger. His eyes lingered down half empty backstreets, looking for the smallest something, or just the plain nothing. Habit. Speaking of habits, his left hand held a cigarette, a small roll of death at his fingertips – a nasty habit he picked up from the place, not home.
He stopped in the middle of the bridge, making his way towards the ledge, his arms leaned against the stone railing as he breathed in the opposite of fresh air. He threw the half used cig into the river, staring at the greenish blues as if it were to combust into flames, as if the river ran deep with gasoline.
A river of flames. Not home.
Home had no fires, it was always cold – never warm. Even in the summers and springs, when the lake defrosted to blue, the air always hung low with a bite, a chill. The sun never disregarded Cross Academy, she never denied the place of sunlight – the place just never really accepted it, the trees would hide no – protect – the grass and concrete pavement like a mother to a child. No, it was never warm at home.
He was on assignment, a long term assignment somewhere in the maze that was Europe. The rivers and canals mimicked the ones of Venice, yet the old antique architecture reflected of a more French persuasion. The streets and life of the night held a candle to that of Paris in the midnight and the fresh odor of the air could have easily been mistaken as the air in heaven. But the sunset, the one sunset he was looking at along the horizon at the bridge he stood, he knew that that one thing wouldn't change. It mirrored the sunset at home. It was always the same, whether he laid against the tree near the stables, sat in his room looking out the windowsill, walked noon rounds or those rare moments he spent with her in a pregnant silence. It was always the same. The same sun, under the same blue sky with the same but ever so slightly different air.
Halfway down and the moon halfway up, he continued his way.
Another corner, down another alley way – he paused. He looked into the front of the store, a small dingy sort of place with some random knick knacks, a little bit of everything. He saw a young man sweep the floor, stack some objects and begin flicking lights off – the sign at the front, however, was still flipped to reveal open. He walked in followed by the small chime of a bell.
"Sorry we're closed" The man said automatically,
"I'm sure you can spare a minute for me,"
"Sure, ok, what can I do for you?" He sighed in defeat
"I'm looking for something particular" Zero pretended to ponder, "Something that sort of glows, is red, or if you want to be specific, crimson"
The man eyed Zero suspiciously, "We don't have anything like that, now if you could le-"
"You didn't let me finish" Zero cut him off, "It is very, very valuable, many people have been looking for it, it is a jewel that is a little smaller than my hands, a black velvet ribbon attached to it"
Zero continued when met with silence, "It used to belong to the count and countess of Abe during their reign, you know, before they were murdered for being vampires. Funny thing though, it was stolen not too long ago, by a young man that went by the name of Abotte"
"I don't kno-"
"Oh but I think you do know, young Abotte"
The man's eyes flashed red and he ran for the back door only to run straight into Zero whose eyes were dripping with murder. Abotte threw his bladed fist at Zero followed with a low kick which Zero dodged smoothly. He grabbed the leg mid kick and flipped the man around simultaneously pinning his arms behind his back.
"Tell me where the Jewel of Abe is and I might consider you leaving here with your life" Zero hissed, "minus a few limbs"
Abotte fought his way out of the hold, breaking his right arm as a result and cut Zero with his working hand. Small droplets of blood seeping down Zero's cheek and Abotte's hand. He quickly threw a smoke parcel and frantically started towards the glass window. One foot outside, close to freedom, one more foot, the smell of fresh air, the feeling of wind – BANG.
BANG.
Two bullets to the head. The body fell onto the floor like a lump of meat, only to disperse into ash a second later. The wind breathing the dead vampire in. Zero let a breath he didn't know he was holding onto out and made his way out the broken window. He messily wiped the blood off his cheek with this hands and was nearly out the shop until something caught his eyes. He looked down at the small flat object, his fingers extending out to pick it up, his small droplets of blood smearing onto the surface. He was oblivious to the small smile that suddenly made its way onto his face.
Some weeks later
"Its getting colder, isn't it? Winter must be around the corner" A young blue eyed girl chirped,
They were sitting on a bench along the main concrete path that connected the main buildings to the old and abandoned Night class dorms. The sun was inching closer to meet the thin line of the horizon, separating the day to night. The cool chilled wind swept through the overbearing trees and blew the fallen leaves further down the path.
"Winter is always around the corner here though" A soft-spoken girl replied
"I guess you're right Wakaba-san, hey its getting really chilly though, I'm going to head to my room"
Yori nodded and watched as she started down the concrete walkpath
"- Oh! I almost forgot, I ran into Cross-sensei in the hall, he told me to give this to you,"
She quickly gave her a dirtied white envelope with faded ink that read 'Sayori'. The girl ran along and left Yori alone with the wind and the fading sun. She felt the rough envelop chafe, every so slightly, her soft hands as she peeled it delicately and slowly open. She reached into the envelop and pulled out a small postcard, the image of autumn trees and leaves with a path, very similar to that of Cross Academy's bore into her eyes. She flipped the card around. The faint whiff of Europe lingered in the air. Her eyes caught the small but very much evident dried stain of blood and a little over five words.
"Autumn always reminded me of you. Of home."
No signature was needed.
A small plot that really tickled my imagination. As always, never beta-ed. I appreciate any form of criticism, please tell me if there are any errors etc. Much love,
V