Reflections In the Mirror
By: Opal Soul
Disclaimer: Do you *think* I'm talented enough to own Sailor Moon?
When I look in the mirror, I see a child with overly bright eyes, a huge smile, and a unique hairstyle. Pretty much what you see, huh?
Exactly my point; that's all I am to everyone and anyone. Bright, happy, the pretty girl with the overly bright blue eyes, the friendly smile permanently plastered to her face, and that adorable unique hairstyle that looks almost good enough to eat. [Odangoes... get it? Yeah, lame; Shingo made it up.] Always smiling, always happy, always so ditzy.
Smiling? That thousand-watt smile never reaches my eyes; they shine, but not with joy... it's sadness. They shine with tears when I'm in my pretty senshi fuku, shouting strange, ditzy fight phrases and spouting sonnets at the transfixed enemy. I don't want to be supernatural; I want to be normal-- if anyone can actually define the word. They shine with tears when Tuxedo Kamen whisks me away from danger split seconds before my definite demise. Oh, very funny. It's not with joy or with fear, even though I am something of a crybaby. I'm sad when I'm held high against his heart, feeling it beat beneath my fingers and speed up beneath my touch. I'm sad when I'm staring into his eyes... he doesn't trust me, maybe never will. And he doesn't care to trust me or know me, either... he thinks of me as that pretty superhero, just as everyone else in Tokyo idolizes me. So he's kissed me... but only the mask I present to him and the other senshi during battle.
And then there's the problem of Chiba Mamoru. It's when I'm wailing because of him that I'm most happy.
A paradox? For sure.
But there's just something about being noticed by him, something in being called "Odango Atama," a name that actually makes me feel kinda fuzzy inside, like hot cocoa searing down my throat but never burning my tongue. That's kinda like him, now that I actually think about it. Fiery and soothing, Mr. Right in such a wrong way.
Even though he's no closer to my real self than anyone else, I smile for him... and it reaches my eyes.
********
When I glance in my vanity, I see a girl with rapturously shining eyes, a dazzling smile, and a unique hairstyle. Pretty much what you see, huh?
You've proven my point; that's all anybody ever thinks I am. Bright, happy, the lovely, slender girl with the soft blue eyes, the dreamy smile permanently fixed on her face, and that strangely enchanting hairstyle that looks almost good enough to eat, or annoying enough to chop off. Always so happy, always so dreamy, and oh-so-in-love.
In love? Oh, I am. I love Mamo-chan so much I could die for him, or maybe swim the Pacific, climb the apple tree [I'm devastated of heights!], or even give up eating chocolate... maybe.
Mamo-chan, on the other hand, is a complete stranger.
Hehe, now I giggle. A complete stranger who loves to hold my hand, hug my waist, and kiss me? Well, yeah. But he still doesn't know me, and the only thing he'd ever do for me is buy me some ice cream. Because that's all he thinks of me...
"Usa-ko, my little clumsy fool," he chuckles sometimes, chucking my chin up for a kiss. Then he draws away with a smile, tugging me toward the nearest ice cream stand, even though I've just eaten two hot dogs, courtesy of his wallet. "Let's go fill that bottomless pit of yours."
And I smile, exclaiming, "Oh, goody, Mamo-chan! Chocolate and strawberry and vanilla?"
The ice cream is always nauseating as I wolf it down, gluing the huge smile onto my face to simper, "Oh, Mamo-chan, I love ice cream-- almost as much as I love you!"
It's disgusting. Ice cream in a cone represents everything about him and me. Sweet, soft, perfect-- and nothing but empty calories. What's even more disgusting, even repelling is that I live for that ice cream...
********
When I have the will to glimpse my reflection in the wretched mirror, I see a young woman with red-rimmed eyes, a drooping, trembling mouth, and a somewhat hazzled but unique hairstyle. Pretty much what you see, huh?
You and the rest of the world; that's what people whisper about me behind my back, and often to my face. Sad, depressed, morbid, not herself-- the beautiful, melancholy girl with the red-rimmed, drowning eyes, the downward turn forever in her mouth, even when smiling, and that poor, disheveled hairstyle that needs untangling. Always so sad, always so depressed, and pitiful.
Depressed? You could say that. My boyfriend just dumped me, hangs out with a spoiled, pink-haired brat who is more than a decade his junior, and doesn't have the decency to tell me anything beyond, "I've never loved you." Geesh, my self-esteem is soaring.
But that's not why I'm upset, mind you.
Sure, my world might have almost revolved around that jerk, Chiba Mamoru, but my anger is only directed on myself. I hate me.
I hate me with a passion.
Mamoru was the only one ever to glimpse the real me, someone a bit more sober and more understanding than the childish hurricane I present to the world. And I can only assume that he rejected me for not being... the puppet everyone knows.
I can't hate him, even though everyone assumes I do... or that I'm upset because he dumped me; I'm not... I understand completely; I was rejected for being me, and I'm only angry at myself. For being me. For not being the spitting image of a naive angel stuck in her toddler years mentally. For not being in Mamoru's arms. For still loving him.
Because I still do, and I show it in the most pathetic way, waylaying his apartment, being jealous of Chibi-Usa... beating on his door and calling his line late at night. Only to hear rejection again, at every turn and every corner.
Maybe I have the wrong number.
********
When I gaze into my shining mirror, I see a woman with smiling, gentle eyes, a knowing, beautiful smile, and long silver-blonde hair swept into a unique hairstyle, topped with gauze and a dazzling crown of gold and diamonds. Clad in a gorgeous wedding dress with dipping pearls and layers of silk and satin, her ring finger sparkles with the glint of a sapphire engagement ring. Pretty much what you see, huh?
Just like the world; everyone smiles knowingly and says that I'm happy, complete, and that beautiful woman with the dreamy sky-like eyes, the gentle smile, and that long, silken hair. Always so pleasant, always so caring, always so happy... and so-in-love.
That I am.
~~~*~~~*@ @*~~~*~~~
Copyrighted/Written: February 10, 2001.
Did it make sense? Written from Usagi's point of view. Just a short blurb, an interlude from writing the next chapter of Staples of Life. I assure you, it's on its way very quickly. Just needed to take a break... I hope to do something like this for each of the senshis in the future... how far? Don't know. Any flames, comments, suggestions, and feedback are welcome at spots_goil@juno.com OR Dariens_Bunny@sailormoon.com. Only meaningful flames, mind you! You HAVE to have a reason! Or I'll laugh.
Thanks to: my wonderful spell-check... and actually... might come as a surprise, but the song "Girl In My Mirror" by Britney Spears. It's actually really pretty.
"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 on my strange pen-name.
By: Opal Soul
Disclaimer: Do you *think* I'm talented enough to own Sailor Moon?
When I look in the mirror, I see a child with overly bright eyes, a huge smile, and a unique hairstyle. Pretty much what you see, huh?
Exactly my point; that's all I am to everyone and anyone. Bright, happy, the pretty girl with the overly bright blue eyes, the friendly smile permanently plastered to her face, and that adorable unique hairstyle that looks almost good enough to eat. [Odangoes... get it? Yeah, lame; Shingo made it up.] Always smiling, always happy, always so ditzy.
Smiling? That thousand-watt smile never reaches my eyes; they shine, but not with joy... it's sadness. They shine with tears when I'm in my pretty senshi fuku, shouting strange, ditzy fight phrases and spouting sonnets at the transfixed enemy. I don't want to be supernatural; I want to be normal-- if anyone can actually define the word. They shine with tears when Tuxedo Kamen whisks me away from danger split seconds before my definite demise. Oh, very funny. It's not with joy or with fear, even though I am something of a crybaby. I'm sad when I'm held high against his heart, feeling it beat beneath my fingers and speed up beneath my touch. I'm sad when I'm staring into his eyes... he doesn't trust me, maybe never will. And he doesn't care to trust me or know me, either... he thinks of me as that pretty superhero, just as everyone else in Tokyo idolizes me. So he's kissed me... but only the mask I present to him and the other senshi during battle.
And then there's the problem of Chiba Mamoru. It's when I'm wailing because of him that I'm most happy.
A paradox? For sure.
But there's just something about being noticed by him, something in being called "Odango Atama," a name that actually makes me feel kinda fuzzy inside, like hot cocoa searing down my throat but never burning my tongue. That's kinda like him, now that I actually think about it. Fiery and soothing, Mr. Right in such a wrong way.
Even though he's no closer to my real self than anyone else, I smile for him... and it reaches my eyes.
********
When I glance in my vanity, I see a girl with rapturously shining eyes, a dazzling smile, and a unique hairstyle. Pretty much what you see, huh?
You've proven my point; that's all anybody ever thinks I am. Bright, happy, the lovely, slender girl with the soft blue eyes, the dreamy smile permanently fixed on her face, and that strangely enchanting hairstyle that looks almost good enough to eat, or annoying enough to chop off. Always so happy, always so dreamy, and oh-so-in-love.
In love? Oh, I am. I love Mamo-chan so much I could die for him, or maybe swim the Pacific, climb the apple tree [I'm devastated of heights!], or even give up eating chocolate... maybe.
Mamo-chan, on the other hand, is a complete stranger.
Hehe, now I giggle. A complete stranger who loves to hold my hand, hug my waist, and kiss me? Well, yeah. But he still doesn't know me, and the only thing he'd ever do for me is buy me some ice cream. Because that's all he thinks of me...
"Usa-ko, my little clumsy fool," he chuckles sometimes, chucking my chin up for a kiss. Then he draws away with a smile, tugging me toward the nearest ice cream stand, even though I've just eaten two hot dogs, courtesy of his wallet. "Let's go fill that bottomless pit of yours."
And I smile, exclaiming, "Oh, goody, Mamo-chan! Chocolate and strawberry and vanilla?"
The ice cream is always nauseating as I wolf it down, gluing the huge smile onto my face to simper, "Oh, Mamo-chan, I love ice cream-- almost as much as I love you!"
It's disgusting. Ice cream in a cone represents everything about him and me. Sweet, soft, perfect-- and nothing but empty calories. What's even more disgusting, even repelling is that I live for that ice cream...
********
When I have the will to glimpse my reflection in the wretched mirror, I see a young woman with red-rimmed eyes, a drooping, trembling mouth, and a somewhat hazzled but unique hairstyle. Pretty much what you see, huh?
You and the rest of the world; that's what people whisper about me behind my back, and often to my face. Sad, depressed, morbid, not herself-- the beautiful, melancholy girl with the red-rimmed, drowning eyes, the downward turn forever in her mouth, even when smiling, and that poor, disheveled hairstyle that needs untangling. Always so sad, always so depressed, and pitiful.
Depressed? You could say that. My boyfriend just dumped me, hangs out with a spoiled, pink-haired brat who is more than a decade his junior, and doesn't have the decency to tell me anything beyond, "I've never loved you." Geesh, my self-esteem is soaring.
But that's not why I'm upset, mind you.
Sure, my world might have almost revolved around that jerk, Chiba Mamoru, but my anger is only directed on myself. I hate me.
I hate me with a passion.
Mamoru was the only one ever to glimpse the real me, someone a bit more sober and more understanding than the childish hurricane I present to the world. And I can only assume that he rejected me for not being... the puppet everyone knows.
I can't hate him, even though everyone assumes I do... or that I'm upset because he dumped me; I'm not... I understand completely; I was rejected for being me, and I'm only angry at myself. For being me. For not being the spitting image of a naive angel stuck in her toddler years mentally. For not being in Mamoru's arms. For still loving him.
Because I still do, and I show it in the most pathetic way, waylaying his apartment, being jealous of Chibi-Usa... beating on his door and calling his line late at night. Only to hear rejection again, at every turn and every corner.
Maybe I have the wrong number.
********
When I gaze into my shining mirror, I see a woman with smiling, gentle eyes, a knowing, beautiful smile, and long silver-blonde hair swept into a unique hairstyle, topped with gauze and a dazzling crown of gold and diamonds. Clad in a gorgeous wedding dress with dipping pearls and layers of silk and satin, her ring finger sparkles with the glint of a sapphire engagement ring. Pretty much what you see, huh?
Just like the world; everyone smiles knowingly and says that I'm happy, complete, and that beautiful woman with the dreamy sky-like eyes, the gentle smile, and that long, silken hair. Always so pleasant, always so caring, always so happy... and so-in-love.
That I am.
~~~*~~~*@ @*~~~*~~~
Copyrighted/Written: February 10, 2001.
Did it make sense? Written from Usagi's point of view. Just a short blurb, an interlude from writing the next chapter of Staples of Life. I assure you, it's on its way very quickly. Just needed to take a break... I hope to do something like this for each of the senshis in the future... how far? Don't know. Any flames, comments, suggestions, and feedback are welcome at spots_goil@juno.com OR Dariens_Bunny@sailormoon.com. Only meaningful flames, mind you! You HAVE to have a reason! Or I'll laugh.
Thanks to: my wonderful spell-check... and actually... might come as a surprise, but the song "Girl In My Mirror" by Britney Spears. It's actually really pretty.
"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 on my strange pen-name.