Author's Note: Yes, I'm horrible. I know. I didn't go through with my original plan of typing a Halloween "Trick And Treat" story. BUT I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO POST IT IN THE FIRST PLACE! I'VE HAD TO EXPERIENCE THE HORROR OF LIVING WITHOUT ELECTRICITY! TWO DAYS! I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO POST A STORY EVEN IF I TRIED! 3
Wait…this isn't a blog of my life…OTLLLL
Has anybody heard the song "Kagefumi Etranger"? It's a Miku song and it's just…awesome. Although, I personally think it'd would sound better with Luka, or Meiko, or some other more mature-sounding female Vocaloid, it has really awesome instrumentals, an awesome guitar part, there's an frickin' AWESOME PV for it that really brings into focus what the song might be about…Yeah, that's enough ranting from me. By the way, the title means something to the effect of "A Stranger Stepping on Your Shadow."
Why do I have this thing for songfics? BECAUSE I DO.
This is just barely a fanfiction because the main character…isn't Miku! The only thing fanfiction-like about this is the concept. It's almost entirely based on Kagefumi's PV. So, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Miku, the song, the PV, the artistic definitions, the words, the website I'm posting this on, or even the computer I'm typing on. I only brought the computer. I think own counts as making it. All I own is the way the words are put together, and the main character. Please treat Ayane kindly.
(…yes, that was my stupid attempt at an icebreaker. Enjoy! And yes, I know I repeat myself. O3o;;;;)
A STRANGER STEPPING ON YOUR SHADOW
Point
If you consult a Geometry textbook, a point is an entity that has a location in space, but no extent. If you watch sports, a point is where half of the crowd whoops in joy. If you consult a dictionary, it is a few lines of print with meaning.
If you ask me, a point is a beginning.
As I stare up at the textured whiteness of the ceiling—I refuse to claim it as mine—I silently wonder, exactly where is my "point"? After all, a story has a "point"…the first word on the page.
Would my "point" be my first breathe? The first sight I saw? The first smile I smiled? The first word I spoke?
The first drawing I scribbled on a clean piece of paper?
"Ayane-chan! Your mom is here," the woman in the marigold apron smiles. I gaze up from the piece of paper, the ninth one today. I eagerly, but carefully pick up the piece of paper and set the nub of a cardinal red crayon down. Step by step, I totter towards Mommy, with a red and yellow checked pattern scarf and a long soft red trench coat complimenting her warm autumn brown hair.
"Mommy! Mommy! Look at what I drew!" I cheer, politely holding out the piece of paper. Mommy's lipstick-accented pink lips stretch into a thin curve of a smile.
"Aya-chan, it's beautiful!" she praises, the way adults are supposed to praise the indiscernible scribbles of a four-year-old child."Who is it?"
"You, of course, Mommy!" I pout. "Of course it's you! I drew Daddy and Big Bro and Maneki Neko too!" I add, pointing at the scatter of papers in the square foot or two I had claimed as my drawing place.
"Oh…I see now! Keep on drawing and you'll be the 21st century Picasso someday, Aya-chan," Mommy grins. "But first, you need to go home. Get ready and we'll head home, and then you can continue being my Little Picasso." I bob my head, dancing happily back to the pile of papers, and remind myself to ask Mommy what Picasso was again. Mommy and Marigold Apron talk for a few minutes as I hunt down my well-used crayons and carefully pull my papers into the aquamarine folder I picked out at the store.
Aya-chan. Mommy's Little Picasso. How much pride I put in those titles.
Author's Note: Yes, short. Next one will be longer, I promise.
Please comment! Constructive criticism is welcomed!
