Somewhere
over the rainbow
Bluebirds
fly.
Anticipation stings in her gut.
A cold, pale hand brushes the paper and she vaguely remembers the sound of the ocean being pulled ashore by the moon. Inhaling, her stomach churns in sickened protest as the room's smell of bleach and burning hair invades her nostrils.
She squints her eyes—a protest to the bright white prison confining her.
He'll be here soon.
Whatever he's looking for, he won't find it here.
Halfheartedly, she fills in the colors of her drawing; regretting her supposed existence with every pained stroke of ugly crayon.
The ocean laps the shores in her memory and in the distance is the sunset. An unexplained breeze passes, and a shiver envelops her. She longs for the warm sun, boundless freedom, and maybe even an easel with a painting kit beside a stool where she could make real art.
Not just deceit scribbled against the faded sheets of a cheap sketch pad.
Her drawing stops for a moment as she glances at the plain white wall beside her. With a broken smile, she imagines the sun pouring through a window, and sees beautiful bluebirds flutter away—not a care in the world, not a place to be chained to.
Unlike her.
She feels her mental restraints snap her back to her spiteful drawing as she digs her nails into the white—always white, too much white—table in front of her, as her other hand grips painfully around the shoddy crayon.
No don't cry. If you cry they'll hurt you again. They have no mercy. You have to be numb, no matter what.
Her "heart" sinks.
At this point, she'd rather see dark red than white.
The creak of a door, and a smooth voice directs her to her next task—she realizes Sora has just arrived—before the door shuts and locks once more. A silent tear escapes and falls upon the embellished paper. Shutting her glossy eyes, she desperately reaches into memories that don't belong to her as an escape—memories she will tragically have to destroy, then hastily rebuild.
She hears the ocean, and she hears the birds, and above all colors, Naminé would love to see blue.
If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why,
oh why,
can't I?
MHC: I don't know if you noticed, but I hate crayons. Grr. Naminé seems more like a pastel or paintbrush girl to me—something a little more grown up that you can still get messy with.
I never really wrote anything about Naminé specifically, and after observing my cat excitedly watch the birds flitter between feeders outside, I gained some inspiration. Also, "Somewhere over the Rainbow" by Judy Garland is a beautiful song that I've had stuck in my head.
Possible sequel: "Blackbird" by The Beatles… that is to say, Naminé after the events of CoM. What do you think?
YESTERDAY WAS MY BIRTHDAY SO LEAVE ME REVIEWS ON EVERYTHING SUBMITTED AFTER EYECATCH, PLEASE! :D