A/N: Warning, this chapter refers to both suicide and sex. If you are bothered by these topics or just prefer lighter subjects, then press the return key and go back to the index. I consider the content of this story to meet the criteria of 'T', but I'd rather you don't subject yourself to something that might make you uncomfortable.
Some months ago, an author whose work I enjoy commented that he had a difficult time imagining Makie as anything but the happy-go-lucky airhead we all know and love. Of course, that got my limited imagination working and this is the first chapter of the result. My thanks to several contributors of the Train Station whose encouragement, suggestions and criticisms have helped make this possible.
This story is different from my others, being constructed like those nested boxes where you open one box to find another inside. This allows me to include some lighter moments because all doom and gloom is depressing. I hope it won't be too confusing.
Negima is owned by Ken Akamatsu while this story is my original concept. Certain characters are also my creations, namely Ben Crawford and Icelus.
The following conventions are used throughout: "words", 'thoughts', "spells"
In Her Dreams
Imagine if you will an unpaved country road just a mile or so off the main highway, nestled among gently, rolling hills. Stately oak trees, some a hundred or more years old, line the street; their branches arching over the lane and meshing, providing needed shade from summer sun and cover from winter rain. Modest, brick houses, looking remarkably similar to each other, occupy lots along the quiet street. Being nearly 9 PM, a score of porch lights cast their warm, welcoming beams. Several homes have security lights mounted on tall poles, illuminating back yards, chasing away unwanted shadows and visitors.
Near the end of the road, on the right hand side, is a mailbox with the number 396 painted on it. The house it sits in front of is a standard 3 bedroom, 1 bath model with a detached garage. A realty company would advertise it as a perfect home for a new family or perhaps a retired couple who expect the grandchildren to visit over vacations.
In the kitchen of this particular house, I sat at the dining table, feverishly clicking away on an older model, laptop. My name is Ben Crawford. I'm 20 years old and am in my sophomore year at the local university, majoring in computer science. I like comic books and anime, enjoy playing guitar hero, play clarinet in the school band, and don't have near enough money to buy the things I'd like. I imagine myself to be pretty typical.
An acquaintance of mine had to leave town on a business trip and asked me to house sit while he was gone. Having a place of mine own was an opportunity I couldn't pass up, so I jumped at the chance. Of course, being able to complete a few missed assignments without having my parents ask why they were missed in the first place had its charms too.
My finger jabbed down on the compile button and I listened intently to the whine of the hard drive as the portable computer judged whether my efforts were worthy. "Yes!" I shouted, joyfully leaping to my feet and doing a quick victory dance. I quickly inserted a flash drive and saved the program, hoping to get into town the next morning to someplace with free internet. A loud knock on the front door interrupted my impromptu celebration.
I glanced through the peephole and noticed three, teen-aged girls standing on the porch. Oblivious to the danger, I opened the door. "Hey, isn't it a bit late to be selling cookies?" I asked and then heard one of them shout "pink ribbon attack." Before I knew what hit me, I was wrapped in a pink, satin cocoon and a sudden tug landed me on the shag carpet with an "Umpff." The trio entered the living room and looked about.
Each wore a different colored sweat suit and carried a gym bag slung over her shoulder. A pink suit covered the supple form of the girl holding the end of the ribbon. Her brown hair had two, pink ties in it. The next girl, similar in size and build to the first, had on a baby blue colored suit and her short, white hair was unadorned. The third girl, dressed in hunter green, had a figure the baggy suit did nothing to disguise. A handful of her dark hair was pulled into a pony tail on the right side of her head. "Uh, look girls, you don't really want to rob me," I said, but was ignored as the other two girls searched the rest of the house and reported all was clear.
Miss Pink Ribbon scrutinized me, a frown of puzzlement evident on her face. "You look a lot different than the class rep described," she cryptically remarked. "Well let's get down to business."
"Uh, business," I replied, totally confused by the situation. "So you're not robbing the place?"
"Robbing the place? Whatever gave you that idea?" the teen-ager answered. "I want you to write a story."
"Hey, he really does have an 8-track collection," the dark haired girl said as she walked in from the adjoining den, brandishing a red, plastic cartridge. "Look! American Pie!"
"A … a story?" I asked the apparent ringleader.
"That's right," she replied. "I want to be the hero and I want Negi-kun."
Her voice dropped in volume as she continued, "And I wouldn't mind if you throw in a little s-e-x either."
Had my thoughts been a 10-speed bicycle, the chain would have flown off at that, leaving gears spinning wildly. "I think you want the guy that lives here," I weakly protested. "I'm just watching the place for him."
"So you want to play it that way," the girl remarked with a grim sort of smile on her face. "Okay Ako, time for plan B."
The white-haired girl rummaged through her bag and pulled out a portable CD player with a set of speakers. Miss Baby Blue pressed the start button and continued searching as the music began. I instantly recognized the "Bump, bump, bump," that blared from the speakers. "Another One Bites the Dust?"
"The extended dance version," the girl explained as she removed a pair of soccer cleats and started to unlace her sneakers.
"Ako here is our class Dance, Dance Revolution champion," the pink clad girl said. "And you are about to become a dance mat."
I wanted to burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, captured by three junior high students who threaten to do a tap dance across my forehead unless I write a story making one of the girls a hero. It would have been hilarious if not for the spikes. Being the rational sort, I swiftly realized the benefits of accommodation and capitulated. "Just what kind of story do you want?"
Chapter One: A Broken Winged Bird
The afternoon sun hung over the city of Mahora, yet the weather remained cool. Leaves proudly wore their fall colors of scarlet and yellow, with a slight tint of brown at the edges. Crowds ambled to and fro, clutching coats tightly against a chill breeze, moving constantly about their business. A boy sat upon a cement planter that doubled as a bench and watched their daily struggles, apart from their world.
He appeared to be around 15 years of age, and his olive complexion and black hair marked him as a foreigner, like many of the students attending school here. The lad seemed perfectly unremarkable otherwise, save for the intentness of his gaze and for his eyes. They were two perfect orbs resembling the night sky, starless and bible black, floating in a milk-white sea.
Those eyes roved from person to person, silently taking their measure and making estimations. The vast majority moved about like soulless machines, lacking the necessary spark the boy sought. Those with it were too much like him and might pose a danger if he revealed his presence. 'By Jove, in a city of this size,' he mentally grumbled, 'I should be able to find somebody to purchase my wares.
A girl of 14, wearing one of the numerous school uniforms, wove into view. Her short hair was tied with two ribbons that made her seem younger than she was. Outwardly she looked the kind to have never had a serious thought in her life, yet at the same time the teen shuffled along as if carrying an intolerable weight. 'A potential customer,' the merchant thought as he felt for the pouch attached to his belt. The boy hefted a small, leather bag and was reassured by its bulk. 'This is the seed,' he thought to himself and smiled, 'and I the sower and reaper.'
--
The gymnasium was noisier than normal as athletes from the various clubs practiced in preparation for the upcoming sports day. Coach Ninomiya scrutinized her girls as the gymnastics team ran through their routines one last time before they had to surrender the floor to the next group. The short-haired teacher carried a clipboard and continued to scribble down notes even though little could be changed at this date.
Ninomiya-san ran down the list again, stopping at Sasaki Makie. Next to that girl's name, the coach had written '??'. Makie had always been the most exuberant member of the team, enough so that her teacher wondered if she shouldn't be on medication. But her high spirits had been lacking of late, ever since she and her classmates returned a month late for the term.
'What happened to you Makie-kun?' the instructor asked herself as her pupil gave a half-hearted effort to a lackluster performance.
"Sasaki-san," the coach called out. "Can I speak with you in my office?"
Instead of sitting forward in her seat, Makie slouched to the back and kept her head down. She appeared nervous, as if fearful of having done something wrong. "I've been noticing you seem distracted during practice," the teacher said in a concerned tone. "Is something bothering you?"
"It's nothing," the girl replied, still keeping her head down. "I've just been thinking about some things."
"What kinds of things?"
"Well … I … um that is to say," Makie said then paused. "I'm quitting the team," she finished in a rush.
"Quitting?" was the coach's shocked response. Gymnastics had been the center of the girl's life. Her dream had been to compete in the Olympic Games. For her to abandon that … "Makie-kun, are you sure?"
She finally looked up at the team coach. Eyes were puffed out, on the verge of tears, but Makie nodded her head in affirmation. "I made up my mind while I was in … in Wales. I just couldn't find the courage to say anything."
"But what about all of your hard work?" Ninomiya-san asked in disbelief. "What about your dream of the Olympics?"
"That was a little girl's dream," Makie answered as she brushed away a tear. "It's time for me to put away such childish nonsense and grow up."
The woman was too stunned to do more than watch as the student excused herself and left. Ninomiya-san accused her of being childish last summer, and she seemed to have matured some afterwards. Briefly, the coach thought of calling the girl back, but decided against it; she needed more information first. 'It's time for a talk with that sensei of hers.'
--
She continued running out of the sports hall, into the chill evening air. Makie clutched the sweater tighter, grateful for its warmth, and wished she had taken the time to don leggings too. She slowed down after 50 or so meters to a walk, continuing to move away. 'Away from the sports hall. Away from the dorm. Away from …,' she paused in her thought. The girl exhaled slowly and watched as a thin, white cloud floated in the air before her. "… Negi-kun," she whispered.
A fist seemed to grip her chest, making it difficult to draw breath. Eyes stung as fat tears, hot against her flesh, rolled down cheeks to plop onto the sweater. From the very first day Negi Springfield walked into her class, Makie found him adorable. Like several of her classmates she squealed, cooed and fawned over the lad from Wales much as she would a puppy. During the next several months Negi unwittingly wound up as the prize in their various competitions, battles she enjoyed. At the same time fondness grew into admiration. In turn, admiration changed into …? 'Into what?' she wondered.
Words like caring, attachment and devotion sprung up in unbidden answer to her question. 'Lo …,' Makie started but clenched down, unable to complete the thought; however, having tasted freedom, the notion refused to be caged again. "I love Negi-kun," she admitted to the evening air. "But he doesn't love me."
So bitter were the words on her tongue, Makie had an urge to spit them out. Yet the teen couldn't deny their truth. After Negi saved their lives in the crumbling ruins of Ostia, she watched her teacher and her best friend kiss. Had Ako stabbed her with a knife, it couldn't have hurt so badly.
Dimly the girl heard a gurgling noise and realized she had wandered by the river. The tap of footsteps on the stone bridge echoed as she walked over to the barrier and peered down at the surface hidden in the gloom. 'Dark and empty,' Makie thought. 'Like me.' She listened to the sounds of water as it moved in its stately passage to the sea. It was so musical, like a song welcoming her home.
Clambering onto the lip of the barrier, she was entranced by the melody. Here was the place for her; a place where no pain could touch her. Makie shut her eyes to the world and concentrated on the sound. Her lips pulled back in a blissful smile as she stepped forward.
"It's a lovely night out isn't it?" a voice called out of the darkness. Her eyes snapped open as the water's spell broke. Makie turned to the speaker, a strange boy, close to her age with jet black hair that covered ears and neck, and a small cowlick in back that stuck straight up. He sat upon the barrier, not a few meters from where she stood. "But isn't it a tad chilly for a dip?"
Embarrassed at being discovered, Makie could feel warmth from the blood rushing to her cheeks. "Who are you?" she asked the stranger.
Illuminated by the street lamps, his mouth twisted into an amused grin. "I'll tell you but you'll probably think it sounds goofy," the boy replied. "It's Icelus."
"What kind of name is that?"
"I'll answer that if you'll step down from there," the dark-haired boy said as he lifted a hand towards her. "Unless you really do want an evening swim." His words were punctuated by little, white puffs that rose into the air and faded.
The sound of the river floated up as Makie debated then took the proffered hand and stepped down. "It's Greek," he told her.
"So you're from Greece Icelus-san?"
"No I'm from Thrace."
The student's face screwed up in concentration as Makie tried to recall her geography. "I don't remember where Thrace is."
"Don't worry about it," Icelus responded. "Greece is close enough. Are you hungry?"
"No," she started to answer when her traitorous stomach rebelled at the thought of turning down food. "Well maybe a little," she sheepishly admitted.
The café was quieter than the places Makie normally hung out at, but it was warm inside and tonight at least, quiet was a welcomed change. When the waitress brought their order, the girl realized she hadn't eaten since noon and fell to with a gusto that surprised herself. Afterwards, she speared a bit of desert with her fork and asked her companion, "So what is Thrace like?"
"Lots of hills, meadows, trees and rocks," he replied between bites. "It's actually kind of boring."
"You looked troubled earlier," the boy remarked as her fork cut another piece from the cheesecake. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yes," she answered reflexively then cast her eyes down to the table. "No, not really."
"Maybe I can help," Icelus said as he reached into a coat pocket. A small, cloth bundle, no bigger than the tip of the boy's thumb, lay in his palm.
"What's that supposed to be?"
"This is the stuff that dreams are made of," he replied enigmatically.
"Huh?"
"The powder in this packet is called Substantia Somnium, or dream essence," the dark-eyed boy explained. "You can use this to create your own dreams."
Makie looked askance at both her companion and the pouch in his hand. A hundred little, sordid news reports and cautionary tales flashed through her mind, setting off alarm bells. 'Never accept candy from a stranger' she had been warned; now the student had to wonder about this 'helpful stranger.' "So how will this help me?"
"A lot of unhappiness in this world stems from not knowing what we want," he responded. "Sometimes our true desires are buried so deeply, we aren't even aware they exist. During dreams, we let down our barriers and those desires are easily accessed."
Without realizing it, the young girl's eyes were drawn to the pouch as Icelus continued to speak. "The dream essence can help you discover the truth," he said, sounding more and more reasonable as he went along. "And knowing what will make you happy is the first step in achieving it."
"How does this dream stuff work?" Makie asked.
In response, he opened the bag and dipped the end of his little finger inside. It came back out with a smudge of a silver-grey powder that glittered as he moved the finger back and forth. "Just a small amount," he answered then licked the smudge off. "The closer you take it to sleep, the more lucid your dream."
Taking her hand, Icelus put the bag in it and closed her fingers into a fist. "My gift to you," the boy from Thrace said. "Men have offered fortunes for this, but all I ask is that you trust me."
--
Makie stood in the bathroom of her dorm room and stared down at the packet in her hand. She wore a pale, pink nightshirt; the white cat's face centered on her chest gazed unblinkingly at the indecisive girl reflected in the mirror.
"Trust me," she snorted, finding that trust was in short supply at the moment. "I trusted Ako and look what that got me," the teen muttered bitterly as the image of her best friend's arms wrapped around their homeroom teacher reared up against her will. Again Makie felt twin daggers, one blazing hot the other icy cold, plunge into her heart as their lips met and the air shimmered about the pair. She loved Ako like a sister; how could her friend do that to her?
Her attention returned to the dream essence. 'Could this really help me find happiness,' she desperately wondered.
'You were about to jump into a river a little while ago,' she reminded herself. 'What have you got to lose?'
--
'God you're nothing but a fool,' Makie fumed while school crawled by with agonizing slowness. She seethed at the thought of the Thracian boy laughing with his buddies at finding a girl gullible enough to believe his nonsense. 'Dream essence my foot,' the student thought savagely, despising herself for being the butt of someone's joke. Ayaka-san had once said she failed at being herself. For once, Makie had to agree with the class rep's assessment.
To top off her humiliation, she was the only one to fail the English quiz. Even Asuna passed, much to Makie's chagrin. Baka Pink would be the only one to stay after class today. Finally, the last bell rang and her classmates filed out, leaving her and the diminutive teacher behind. Negi called her to the front of the room where he had her recent test papers spread out. To call them abysmal would have been too generous. Inwardly, the student cringed through the procession as her scores spiraled ever lower.
"At this rate," Negi told her, "you'll overtake Asuna-san for the bottom of the entire grade."
Unable to speak, Makie fought back the hot tears of shame that threatened to break forth. 'I really am an idiot,' she thought, wishing for a rock to crawl under.
"More importantly Makie-san, I want you to know something," the boy teacher continued. "I love you."
The sudden admission rendered the girl incapable of coherent thought. Her mouth opened but no sound came as if all the air had been pressed out. The boy's face took on that almost grown-up look she so adored. "It's taken me this long to realize it," he confessed in that serious manner of his, "but you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with."
Negi's hands gently pulled her face down to his and their lips met and moved against each others. Makie's eyes opened wide as his tongue thrust deeply into her mouth. To her amazement, her tongue darted back in response, twinning about his like loose threads in an overturned case. Feeling fingers fumble with the buttons of her blouse, all she could do was moan in reply.
He seemed to touch her everywhere at once, awaking each tiny nerve ending and setting them on fire. Dimly she was aware of being pushed back onto the table as sensation after sensation washed over her like ocean waves lapping at the shoreline. Pressure built within her like a balloon being overinflated. Greater and greater it grew until the girl was sure it would burst. Her back arched as she shoved upward, at once the pressure released in an explosion, leaving her spent and gasping.
Still panting heavily, Makie opened her eyes to be welcomed by her darkened room. Sheets were twisted tightly about her body and the fabric of her bed clothes felt damp and sticky against her skin. 'It was just a dream,' she thought, vividly recalling every passionate moment. 'All a dream.'
I typed the last punctuation mark while Makie, Miss Pink Ribbon, watched over my shoulder and nodded her head in approval. "Not bad," she commented. "But don't you think you can add a little more, uh spice to my scene with Negi-kun?"
"You want to keep a 'T' rating?"
"Oh okay," she replied with a slight pout. "Now about the second chapter …"
"It can wait till the morning," I declared then proceeded to shut down the computer. "You may be on Tokyo time but it is midnight here."
"So where do we sleep?" the dark-haired girl, Yuna I thought, asked.
"There's a bedroom at this end of the hallway and one at the other," I informed them. "You girls figure it out from there."
Flopping onto the bed, I considered calling the sheriff's office but quickly discarded that idea. The last thing I wanted was to explain why three underage females and I were alone in the house. The police officer's imagined conversation would start something like 'So the three girls overpowered you, threatened you with a satin ribbon and a pair of soccer shoes, and forced you to write them a story.' Sadly, I shook my head and muttered "Yeah, I'd believe that,"
'Of course it doesn't help that they're cute,' I thought then recoiled from it. 'Oh man, don't even go there.'
'Just finish their story tomorrow and get them out,' was my final thought before turning out the light.
A/N: Icelus is the name for one of the Greek gods of dreams. He was the personification of nightmares and his name translates to semblance.
Ben Crawford has appeared in another story of mine where he was flash frozen and eaten by a wendigo. I thought he deserved a better fate, but he might disagree at the moment. Hang in there Ben.
The chapter title comes from a quote by Langston Hughes. 'Hold fast to dreams for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.'
I hope you enjoyed this and that you'll come back for the next chapter. Whether you liked it or not, let me know what you thought.