A/N: Hi there! This is new story of mine. I dunno if it's appealing enough but I still hope that you'll like it. Enjoy!
Many a time, we fail to realize or understand the revolution of death. Most of us perceive it as something tragic, something we should refrain from discussing, and something we—as humans—try very hard to eliminate. Death is a fear that gnaws our happiness away. But death does not mark the end of a person's journey. It's another form of existence, a whole new level of understanding. They live in a dimension living humans cannot see and so they are always there, always with us. Well, by nature, nothing can disappear into thin air. It'll only happen in fictions. We may have lost touch but the connection of spirits is what that counts.
Chapter One: Promise Me
Falling... falling... into a vacuum of nothingness...
Falling... falling... into a vastness of emptiness...
Falling... fallen... down, down, down.
An abyss of fog... a chasm of dust particles... a cavity of glassy blackness... a crevasse of paralyzing coldness... a gorge of unspoken regrets... the swirling mist, the churning vagueness—all interwoven into one solid, inflexible air. Limbs immovable, innards dysfunctional, the Heart still and silent.
Tumbling... tumbling... into something invisible...
Tumbling... tumbling... into somewhere unreachable...
Tumbling... tumbled... down, down, down...
Light as feather, weightless as a shadow, empty as a black void. A loud bang, then a deafening silence... screams... cries... pleadings... sirens... swishing and beeping...
...Hang in there, please, I beg you... you promise... you can't just leave... everyone's waiting for you... you're supposed to teach me calculus... don't close your eyes... hang in there...Syaoran...
A blinding blackness...
A solitary silence...
And a forgotten fantasy.
"Hey, there." Smiling as brightly as the fiery sphere above, she placed the fresh bouquet of assorted flowers on the concrete, and lowered her frame to a sitting position. Everyday—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday—she would visit this place, a sanctuary for those who had returned to the Lord.
"Honestly, that Tawada-sensei is such a pain in the neck. This morning, he was like, 'Okay, class, turn to page ninety-seven and complete the fifteen sums by the end of the lesson'. And he just sat at his desk sipping his coffee. And you said it's just a way of his teaching. Yeah right."
"Oh, guess what? I've got an 'F' for my trigo test. Had an earful from Tawada-sensei. Eriol-kun tried to coach me in the more difficult sums, but I just couldn't get it right. The numbers just don't click. It's... It's just not the same, you know. It's just not the same."
A butterfly fluttered from flower to flower, and landed on Sakura's elbow. She looked at it contemplatively. It's a wonder how a tiny thing like a butterfly could possess that unfailing will to live on, despite knowing that its lifespan was pathetically short. Too transient, Sakura thought. The ants, too, are constantly living in a world of unceasing dangers and threats. One stomp of a child's foot is enough to kill—perhaps a hundred—ants. Nonetheless, they do not grieve, lament or weep for something that cannot be changed. Even when a partner—or a few of them—met his or their fate, life would still go on. They may not know any self-defense tactics, but they know of survival, the importance of not giving up.
Even when a person—or any living thing for that matter—closes his eyes and bids farewell to the world, the planet will not go black and mourn for his death. The sun will continue to shine its perpetual light upon the earth; the clouds will never cease their subtle drifting movement. The Earth will continue to spin on its axis and rotate around the Sun. Time passes by without a care in the world. It does not stop; it does not turn back; it does not relent. It never waits; it never laments; it never cares. One direction, one way, one day.
"Remember the recital I told you about? It's going to be held in the school's auditorium this Saturday. You'll be there as promised, right?"
The butterfly winged its way from Sakura's elbow to the flowers. Its graceful flutter of the wings twirled it round and round. It looked so magnificent in the bright sunbeams. But as quickly as it had appeared, it went out of sight before Sakura could bat an eyelid. Fly. Circle. Disappear.
Rising, Sakura said, "Well then, I'll see you. Be sure you'll be at the recital, okay?"
Stand. Walk. Leave.
That's how the world is like.
Hi. See you. Goodbye.
Is that all we can say to each other?
Staring moodily down at the black water, Sakura wondered how long a person could stay alive in it. The glassy blackness had a strange hypnotic effect on her. She leaned still farther over the railing...
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Sakura turned resentfully to a little man she had never seen before. He was stout, well past middle age, and his round cheeks were pink in the winter air as though they had just been shaved.
"Wouldn't do what?" Sakura asked sullenly.
"Whatever you were thinking of doing," the man said simply.
"How do you know what I was thinking?"
"Oh, we make it our business to know a lot of things," the stranger said easily.
Sakura wondered what his business was. He was a most unremarkable little person—the sort you would pass by in a crowd and never notice. His shabby old coat was stretched tightly across his paunchy belly and a moth-eaten cap concealed his thinning gray hair. Everything about him was far from noteworthy. Unless you see his bright blue eyes, that is. They were the kindest, sharpest eyes you would ever see. Like a father's. Similar to a mother's. Akin to a brother's.
Cocking his head upwards to peer into the immaculate night sky, the stranger said, "It'l be nice to have a white Christmas. They are scarce these days—but so are a lot of things."
Sighing wistfully, Sakura looked at the little man with sad, tired eyes. "White Christmas... it'sso... rare. It's nearly unattainable."
The stranger wagged a disapproving finger and with a chubby smile, he chirped, "Miracles! A rainbow emerging in the dusk! Life itself is a miracle, magic, a mystery! Life does not relate itself to the Impossibility, the Unfeasibility. Life is a gift given by God to fill the world with hope."
"But why," Sakura asked, "does God give it to us and then take it away any time He wants? It isn't right, is it?"
In response to the girl's antagonistic question, the man could only smile. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it is wrong—unfair—to take away something that was given to you. It's like taking in a stray dog and caring for it just to find out it belongs to somebody else. It'll be painful, but after a while, you'll learn to accept facts that may seem unreasonable at first. That's how we are—humans."
"Walk out of the dark, dear child. You are not alone. You still have your friends, family and God—all of whom you have neglected. You are not a prisoner. You've done no wrong. Don't lock yourself in a dark room where no one can reach you. Life still has to go on."
A mingled blur of black, gray and white flashed before light green windows. The smooth blackness solidified into one long, endless stretch of stony asphalt; the curved bridge straightened out into one isolated island, stranded in a sea of unforeseen perils.
Two normal ordinary people taking a stroll down a normally safe street on an ordinary day, which turned out to be tragically extraordinary. They lived, went to the movies and did most things teenagers would do. They. Them. Sakura and Syaoran.
Did not expect to have a fate.
"Look, child. Look at the stars. Aren't they beautiful?" the stout little man's eyes rolled upwards, heaving a sigh.
Sakura followed his gaze and frowned. "Stars? I don'tsee any stars."
He only smiled.
"Well, they are just hidden behind the clouds. Stars—they are omnipresent. Like God. They are always there—rainy days, sunny days, nights, mornings."
"Now, look at the river, what do you see on the surface?"
Dubiously, Sakura leaned over the railing and saw her own eyes staring unblinkingly back at her. "Well, I see my reflection... and yours."
The stranger smiled. "Is that all? Are you sure?"
Confusion and doubt flooded her in waves. What was it that the man wanted her to see? She could only see their reflections. Isn't that all there was? "Yeah... yes. You mean—there's more than just our reflections?" Sakura responded, uncertain.
"Ripples, child. Ripples. You can see them, can't you?"
The little man grinned.
"Oh," Sakura replied, feeling a little embarrassed at her ineptitude to note something that was so obvious, "I didn't notice."
"Exactly," the man said emphatically, "You see, we don't usually notice such simple things—things that are so perceptible. Perhaps too perceptible that we fail to acknowledge their existence. That is why we do things without sparing a thought for others."
"Take yourself for instance. You had wanted to end your life a few moments ago. Yes, you may have ended your sorrows. But have you thought that your one move will affect everyone around you? You may think it's no big deal. But that small thing could upset balances and knock down a line of small dominoes and then big dominoes and then gigantic dominoes. Your sorrows are perpetuated in the very hearts of those who love you."
"Think, child. If you had really jumped into the river, the vicious cycle of never-ending anguish will never stop. Remember that each one of our lives do not revolve around ourselves. Our lives will tangle many others within. One selfish act will create a ripple effect."
"I know," Sakura finally said, a tad overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of words that hit her conscience.
"Do you know something?" the stranger asked, his kind smile still evident on his lips.
"Yeah?"
"Believe it or not, there is a heaven in every one of our hearts. It's where the soul is. Always there. Always with us as we journey through life. It's where our deepest secrets and desires are hidden. It's something personal and it's something we believe wholly in. It'll never lie, never hide. It's somewhere all of us want to be in, because that's where the sense of belonging is the most palpable. It's our heaven, where no one can intrude or interrupt."
He reached into his coat's pocket and a silver chain with a silver locket appeared on his large hand. "Here, take it, child."
Out of politeness, Sakura took it, her expression was one of puzzlement. "Why... are you giving me this?"
"This—is more than what you're seeing. This—is a connection, a bridge running from our hearts to the ones we love. You'll understand someday why I gave you this locket. Just remember—no matter what happens, it's not the end of the world."
Sakura ran her fingers through the smooth silver surface of the locket, as an inexplicable sense of comfort washed over her.
This—is a connection, a bridge running from our hearts to the ones we love.
"Now, close your eyes and listen to your heaven. Listen to what it's trying to tell you."
She did as she was told. Once again, a mingled blur of black, gray and white flashed before light green windows. The smooth blackness solidified into one long, endless stretch of stony asphalt; the curved bridge straightened out into one isolated island, stranded in a sea of unforeseen perils.
"Cast all your thoughts aside and listen..."
Sakura felt a cold, wet snowdrop touch her cheek—and then another and another and another. The church bell rang, calling to all its faithful worshippers to stop and revel in history's greatest moment—that very moment when Jesus Christ was born. As the church bell rang louder, the stranger's voice grew fainter...
Louder. Fainter...
Louder. Fainter... fainter...
"Listen closely to your heaven, Sakura-san..."
Sakura's eyes snapped open.
The man was nowhere in sight. He was gone.
Gone.
He heard it—a jarring deluge of keening, beeping and swishing. Louder—more piercing—than the shrill of his alarm clock.
Urgent. Desperate. Furious.
But why… didn't he open his eyes and bring all these sounds of helplessness and dejection to an end?
He felt it—a bittersweet sensation of warm droplets landing noiselessly on his face. Hotter—more scorching—than the glare of the summer's sun.
Grief-stricken. Angry. Lost.
Then why...didn't he stretch his hand to brush away these beads of anguish and pleadings?
Why... did he open his eyes only when everything had ended?
A/N: So how was it? Sickeningly sentimental? What? Tell me 'kay?
S.S.