Threads
a greengirlblue production
based on CLAMP's Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles
Dance electronica hums like sitar strings along the bones of Sakura's wiry body. She connects into a crowd of shimmering limber limbs and loses herself in the rumble grumble groove of growling guitars, a heavy steady beat of feet pounding on a cement floor flecked with winding, spidery shadows. Sakura is a pretty girl with sweetheart lips and Disney Princess eyes; she's smiling so bright she lights up this side of the planet like a galaxy of stars. Metal bracelets jingle jangle on her wrists, glitter glint against her skin as she melts into the music, swims like a silver flicker flitter flit of minnows underwater.
A boy with shy cinnamon smiles slides against Sakura's side, and for a minute measured in the blood pulsing in the threadlike capillaries of her ears, they dance with each other, bobbing and bouncing like corks in a sea of thrashing bodies, teeth flashing in a matching pair of razzle-dazzle toothpaste commercial photo clips as they realize this is fun, this is fun! The boy says something, and Sakura shrugs and smiles back because she can't hear a damn thing except the husky purr of bass. Their bodies touch once -- her fingers brush his wrist – and it's not an electric zing or rush of blood into a blush. No, it's feathers and flower petals; it's a wistful wish of familiarity.
The boy lifts his arms like a pair of butterfly wings, a movement slow and graceful and beautiful against the general jitter-jerk of the fanatical, mechanical crowd. Time stops as Sakura forgets to breathe, and in that frozen space of time, the boy is lost like a dream in a tangle of arms and legs that close around him like Maleficent's black thorns in Sleeping Beauty. Sakura is left with spinning shards of light and a memory of honest eyes.
The song changes like it's moving through a meat grinder, and the dancers spit Sakura out like a soap bubble in a breezy blue summer morning. Sakura floats away from the floor dizzy and disoriented, sweat dripping from the ends of her hair like heavy plastic pretty-pretty princess gems. She's still grinning as if someone with no perception of pain is pulling the corners of her mouth. It hurts, it hurts! but it's her favorite feeling in the world right now.
Here I am, she thinks. And I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive.