...Prologue
Midi Une was a character from Trowa's Episode Zero manga. He and the group of mercenaries that raised him since his family was killed find her alone in the forest. She wears a little electronic game on a necklace that she'd always playing with. They decide to take her in and she gives Trowa a cross necklace, telling him God will protect him when he wears it. She thanks him for taking her in but mutters under her breath, "Though I hate you..."
Midi Une's feelings for Trowa grow along with her resentment for his ability to hide all his feelings under a calm mask. Later, the mercenary group's attack on an Alliance base goes wrong and everyone is killed but Trowa and Midi. It appears that the base was tipped off ahead of time. At Trowa's gun-point, Midi confesses that the game around her neck is a transmitter and so is the cross she gave him. She screams enviously at him for not being able to feel anything, while she must stain her hands with blood to help her sick father and three brothers. He calmly argues that at least she has a home to return to. She cries that he is better off to feel nothing, and secretly cries that his iron mask is preventing her from telling him her true feelings of how much she loves him. She waits for him to shoot her, and two gun shots are fired. She opens her eyes to see the game and the cross smoking on the ground and Trowa walking away. She is torturously bound to watch him walk away, crying and unable to speak anything of her love for him.
In addition, people have told me that my writing style is a little difficult to follow sometimes, so I have different ways of displaying thoughts, images in a characters mind, and such.
- what a character sees in their mind -
(What a character is thinking)
...Kinky little Kitten
Smoke dripped upward from her lips like slimy, wistful white snakes.
"Excuse me, miss? There's no smoking in here."
From under death-black sunglasses, her empty eyes showed no more emotion than was visible to the waitress. She ended the lengthy drag she was taking from her cigarette.
The waitress put her pencil behind her ear and waited for the rude girl to put her cigarette out, but it continued to hang lazily from her bottom lip. She put her tired hands on the cold diner table, strangely colder than any other part of the long diner table she thought, and waited impatiently for the girl to put out her cigarette.
But she felt no discomfort with the haggard waitress inches from her face. She had the protection of her opaque sunglasses... not that her eyes would betray any feeling anyway. The waitress continued to wait and her dingy pink uniform threatened to hang in the girl's much-desired coffee. She could have sat there all day while the old waitress pursued her one-sided staring contest, but was starting to crave a drink of her coffee.
Bluntly, she blew the smoke she held in her lungs right into the waitress's face.
She coughed, "I mean it, miss!"
She slid her cigarette over to one side of her mouth and wrapped both her cold hands around the coffee mug, bringing it up to the other side of her mouth and sipping slowly.
The waitress was infuriated by her apathetic, lackadaisical attitude and put her hands on her hips. "You speak? Or you just sit there like an indifferent little statue?"
The sound hit her ears, but the girl acted perfectly as if she didn't hear her.
The waitress, knowing she could, said in disgust, "Fine then. Go smoke yourself to death. See if I care. I got people to wait on... better tippers..."
The girl showed no relief that the woman was gone. Her gritty voice didn't disturb her.
Nothing did.
(Hmph,) she laughed to the old memory she always spoke to, (would you have guessed that some day I would be just like you?)
- A small boy, his long bangs hanging over his closed eyes in the seat of a truck. The truck goes over a bump and his eyes, like intangible fog, open -
(Would you call me fortunate now?)
- In a cold field then, the boy points a gun at her. He stares at her over a scarf wrapped all the way up to his unmoving eyes -
(That I am what I envied, what I hated?)
- Smoke dribbles up from a smattering of electronics and a splintered cross on a cold, muddy ground . A gun next to it. Looking up, a boy is walking away, as if he's walking to school or some other inconsequential destination... instead of from a hurricane of emotion tearing apart the little girl that loves him. Watching him disappear, slowly, slowly... Staring at the gray-green horizon he vanished over. Empty. Still watching. Finally, looking down again, the smoke is dying out. It floats up aimlessly up into the bitter air and disperses into nothing -
She was staring at the cigarette but in the ash tray, as its last embers faded and its smoke drizzled out, also... just like her old grasp on humanity.
- A little girl's scream rips out. A large, tattooed man tears his shirt off and reaches for her -
She took a sip of her coffee, staring at the mirror across the diner table and seeing nothing.
- He begins to walk toward her. She screams again. He rips her shirt off and slaps her across the face, sending her flying. From the floor where she lands, she sees a bed... already stained with blood -
Behind her dark sunglasses, her ice-blue eyes blinked emotionlessly.
- His big, strong arms wrap around her. They were too strong for her. She screams one last time before he starts laughing. No one can hear her, he whispers as he shoves his tongue down her throat -
She stirred her steaming hot coffee with her finger, not even wincing.
- He was over her. She could still feel the tears stinging her swollen eyes. Red-hot needles ran through her body and the pain was torturous... relentless. She thought she'd go into shock, it hurt so bad, her heart was racing, everything hurt, he was so heavy -
She sipped her coffee again.
- She prayed for the pain to stop. It didn't. It was like lethal venom creeping upon her brain, she couldn't stand it, she really thought she'd die, she could almost smell the blood, but she could feel it, like a salty pool around her... She began to pray for death, an end to this slow torture and his cruel pleasure. But no death came. Pain filled every vein of her body, flooded them and threatened to burst them. Her throat was hoarse from screaming. Her tears had been thoroughly exhausted and only dry sobs came out. She gave up screaming. Being thrusted back and forth, she slowly turned her head to look out the window. It was like being on a boat, the way his heaving made it rock back and forth. Another memory came into her mind, one of a little boy with hair always in his eyes. His eyes. They stung her. It was like he was there then, staring in her eyes with all his unremorseful emotionlessness and making her feel the true iciness behind them. The memory of the little boy's face faded as she turned her head back to the large man over her. She gave up screaming. She just gave up. She bit her lip and gripped the sheets around her -
She lit another cigarette.
- She looked at the man's face. She looked harder. Somehow, she contorted his face into that of the little boy's. She pasted it on there, bit her lip harder, and stayed quiet... and gave up -
Someone sat down on her right and looked at her. She felt no need to look back.
- The pain never stopped. She could almost still feel it in her limbs, but she couldn't feel it. Staring up at the face of the one she loved that day, the little girl died -
She blinked again, her memory fading as quickly as it had re-introduced itself. And again, fading as easily as her humanity. Not that she cared. Not enough to even think about it. She neither hated or enjoyed her immunity to emotion. It was a thought that had no meaning, because she had no feelings on it... or anything else.
She was numb, through and through.
"Hello," came a suave voice from her right.
She paid no attention to the one looking at her; she only took a long drag of her cigarette.
He laughed confidently, seeing it was going to be harder to take her home than he guessed by looking at her. She had long, platinum hair. Her sides were loosely pulled up and her soft waves fell out over the collar of her long, black Oz trench-coat. He found it strange that she wore sun-glasses inside a lighted diner, but saw just a small peek of the pale, porcelin blue eyes behind them and the heavy black eyelashes that weighted them. From under her trench-coat, he noticed an extremely short skirt and some type of tight shirt to go with it. His eyes studied her further and he noticed something odd. She wasn't wearing shoes, she just rested her toes on one of the bars under the stool she sat on.
He shrugged his shoulders, thinking, "Well, maybe she's a kinky little kitten..." He spoke again. "I said, hello beautiful."
She tapped her long-nailed fingers on the greasy counter, slowly and one by one.
- Older now, long nails run slowly, deliberately down a different man's back -
This noise only fired the man further. He moved closer to her and put a hand on her knee. "Come on now, beautiful," he whispered, moving his hand further up, "How 'bout you take those glasses off so I can see those gorgeous eyes of yours?"
(I don't even think I would remember you now... even if I saw you.)
- Her chin is tilted up toward another man in ecstasy over her. But she squints her eyes and pretends again the boy was there instead. Her body was anesthized, this was becoming easier to do -
(I've pasted your face onto so many now,)
- Looking up to the ceiling, eyes closed, the man doesn't see the gun pointed at his stomach -
(Been recopied onto so many of my missions... that I don't think I could recognize you now.)
- A long black Oz trench-coat is thrown on. Water runs from a sink and try as she might, she can't get the blood out from under her fingernails -
Turning her hands over, she examined the light crimson stains still under them. She wrapped her hands back around the cup and took a long, bored drink. She still hadn't looked at the man.
His hand was nearing the end. He leaned in more and whispered wetly, "C'mon, beautiful. What do I have to do?"
She finished the last of her coffee and reached in her pocket. Returning her cigarette to her mouth, she placed a bill on the counter and left.
The man sat there a moment, almost in shock. Not a word. She hadn't said a word. Didn't even look at him. Angry, disgusted, and embarassed at his rude rejection he stood up and muttered with tight malice, "Bitch."
The old waitress came back, drying a glass with her shaking, arthritis-cursed hands, and laughed smugly. "Got that right bud," she snorted, cynically looking for her measly tip. "She sure is a -"
She stopped.
With more strength than they'd had in years, her poor, trembling hands clutched a hundred dollar bill.
A stiletto heel was dug painfully into her little toe.
But behind her dark sunglasses, she didn't even wince. Walking barefoot down streets during busy lunch hours, she had grown accustomed to having her feet stepped on. And to having people stare at her.
She could no longer remember the time when she disliked people staring at her; she didn't even notice any more. So she wore sunglasses as the sky darkened. So she walked barefoot as people crushed her toes. So she walked leisurely though the dark sky began to dump rain upon her. Her feet were furthered battered by the business suits and briefcases scurrying from the rain, from the possibility that thye might be dirtied.
She was as dirty as she could be. There was no use running. (If you were here, you wouldn't run, either.)
The sidewalk was much emptier then as the rain poured down in heavy sheets. Her long wet hair clung to her face and stuck in her eyes. She didn't wipe it away. The only empty thought she allowed herself as she entered the dingy, rotten subway station was, (And where are you?)
She walked past the hunched over, ragged masses of people waiting in line to walk through the toll bars and paid them no notice. They picked up their heads wearily and arguably.
An old, scoliosis-ridden woman dropped her coins into the toll bars, waiting for them to unlock and allow her to walk through. The scent of sour fish filled the girl's nose as she used the bent woman's right shoulder to push off of and step on and over the toll bar nonchalantly.
The fish woman's lips snarled, revealing a few empty spaces where yellow teeth should have been. "Hey you little tramp, get back here and pay your toll like the rest of us!"
The rhythmic slap of her wet feet against the cracked concrete was unbroken as she effectively ignored the old woman. A green, flourescent light flickered as she slipped through the subway doors, just before they slammed shut and the train took off. She didn't even need to look back to hear the angry grumblings of those left behind the toll bars that missed the train. They didn't matter to her. She was sleepy.
The train car was empty. Not that she would have cared if there had been a whole fleet of passengers in there, she still would have curled up over three of the seats and fallen asleep there. One doesn't care who stares at them when they are asleep.
- A girl sleeps in a black, trash-filled alley -
- Now a girl sleeps in a meager bed, and a kind but frail man is pulling ragged covered under her chin. She smiles up at him and kisses him on the cheek. He smiles also, and moves her wavy, blonde hair behind her ear before he starts coughing. Her eyes narrow and almost fill with tears as his torturous coughs continue. She turns and looks at a video-game necklace resting on her splintered bed-side table -
(Daddy...)
- He takes a few deep breaths and smiles reassuringly. The usual? he asks. She nods happily. Okay then, little Midii, take this kiss upon the brow -
(And in parting from you now)
- This much let me avow -
(You are not wrong who deem)
- That my days have been a dream, he says and starts coughing again -
She grew sleepier. She would have to finish the poem by herself, just like she'd had to many years of nights after her father was not there to recite it until she was asleep. At one time, it was the only thing that would calm her when she was sad, scared, or angry.
- The little boy disappears over the foggy horizon. The smoke stops drizzling upward. For a few minutes, she cries uncontrollably. Then, between heavy sobs, she begins choking out, take this kiss upon the brow, and in parting from you now... -
She could feel the flourescent light flicker from under her closed eye-lids.
- The large, tattooed man is over her and knocking her head into the head-board behind her. She's squeezing her eyes shut, imagining the little boy there instead, and speaks again, this much let me avow, you are not wrong who deem, that my days have been a dream -
The train began slowing down for its next stop.
- She felt the humanity slipping from her limbs. Still whispering, yet if hope has flown away, in a night or in a day, in a vision or in none -
The train halted.
- The little girl is lying alone in the bloodied bed, staring out the window and whispering, is it therefore the less gone -
The train doors slid open. No one entered for a long time.
Her painful memories didn't even cause a dull ache in her any more. She finished the poem in her sleepy mind.
(Is al that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream.)
Silence. A lone passenger entered the train car silently as her black and white dreams took over and washed away what she had previously been thinking.
But with one last monochrome thought sliding into her brain, she spoke to the ever-present image of the little boy.
(Will I ever see you again.)
Her mind gave up and succumbed to the welcome unconsciousness of sleep. The young man, seated aross the aisle from her, paid her no attention. He never did. Legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, head bowed, he never looked out from under his long bangs at the sleeping girl.
She always dreamed in shades of gray, but whenever she saw him, he was always some hazy shade of the rainbow. Brighter than the drab background, but always fuzzier. She couldn't even remember what he looked like anymore, but she could remember what he felt like. And he felt like peppermint in her veins, lilac and rain-washed breezes in her lungs, and hot chocolate in her skin.
She was being stoned. In a dirty, dusty village square, a mob of angry villagers were stoning her to death.
"Kill the slut! Adultress, prostitute! You deserve to die!"
And she couldn't move. Apathy paralyzed her. She neither feared nor awaited death. It was just the end... the end to nothing. How was that possible? An end is when something no longer exists, and if it never did than what is there to end? It's like trying to empty a pure vaccum, trying to darken a black hole, trying to make a darker color than black.
The stones continued to strike her and tear her skin open.
(Perhaps I'll just disappear... but was I ever really here.)
She felt herself dying, the life leaving her body, much like the feeling that overtook her in the bloody bed only much more resolute. It was almost like she was rising above her body.
Then the color seeped in. Like an itch just out of reach, she couldn't see where it was coming from. All she kenw is that is was carrying her back down to her body again.
(But I'll just be killed again)
The reply seemed to be coming from wherever the colors were. "No, you'll wake up."
(...?)
She felt a connection lock between her limbs and her mind again. Her eyes had been open, but all of the sudden it was like something was being pulled off of them. The angry mob disappeared and every inch of the world around her was slowly swirling with color. Especially a bright collection of color standing next to her.
She turned her head to the right to see this saviour, but the harder she tried to get it into focus the hazier it became. But those long bangs were just barely visible, and she knew without seeing...
Her dream ended with a blood-curdling shock.
Midi Une was a character from Trowa's Episode Zero manga. He and the group of mercenaries that raised him since his family was killed find her alone in the forest. She wears a little electronic game on a necklace that she'd always playing with. They decide to take her in and she gives Trowa a cross necklace, telling him God will protect him when he wears it. She thanks him for taking her in but mutters under her breath, "Though I hate you..."
Midi Une's feelings for Trowa grow along with her resentment for his ability to hide all his feelings under a calm mask. Later, the mercenary group's attack on an Alliance base goes wrong and everyone is killed but Trowa and Midi. It appears that the base was tipped off ahead of time. At Trowa's gun-point, Midi confesses that the game around her neck is a transmitter and so is the cross she gave him. She screams enviously at him for not being able to feel anything, while she must stain her hands with blood to help her sick father and three brothers. He calmly argues that at least she has a home to return to. She cries that he is better off to feel nothing, and secretly cries that his iron mask is preventing her from telling him her true feelings of how much she loves him. She waits for him to shoot her, and two gun shots are fired. She opens her eyes to see the game and the cross smoking on the ground and Trowa walking away. She is torturously bound to watch him walk away, crying and unable to speak anything of her love for him.
In addition, people have told me that my writing style is a little difficult to follow sometimes, so I have different ways of displaying thoughts, images in a characters mind, and such.
- what a character sees in their mind -
(What a character is thinking)
...Kinky little Kitten
Smoke dripped upward from her lips like slimy, wistful white snakes.
"Excuse me, miss? There's no smoking in here."
From under death-black sunglasses, her empty eyes showed no more emotion than was visible to the waitress. She ended the lengthy drag she was taking from her cigarette.
The waitress put her pencil behind her ear and waited for the rude girl to put her cigarette out, but it continued to hang lazily from her bottom lip. She put her tired hands on the cold diner table, strangely colder than any other part of the long diner table she thought, and waited impatiently for the girl to put out her cigarette.
But she felt no discomfort with the haggard waitress inches from her face. She had the protection of her opaque sunglasses... not that her eyes would betray any feeling anyway. The waitress continued to wait and her dingy pink uniform threatened to hang in the girl's much-desired coffee. She could have sat there all day while the old waitress pursued her one-sided staring contest, but was starting to crave a drink of her coffee.
Bluntly, she blew the smoke she held in her lungs right into the waitress's face.
She coughed, "I mean it, miss!"
She slid her cigarette over to one side of her mouth and wrapped both her cold hands around the coffee mug, bringing it up to the other side of her mouth and sipping slowly.
The waitress was infuriated by her apathetic, lackadaisical attitude and put her hands on her hips. "You speak? Or you just sit there like an indifferent little statue?"
The sound hit her ears, but the girl acted perfectly as if she didn't hear her.
The waitress, knowing she could, said in disgust, "Fine then. Go smoke yourself to death. See if I care. I got people to wait on... better tippers..."
The girl showed no relief that the woman was gone. Her gritty voice didn't disturb her.
Nothing did.
(Hmph,) she laughed to the old memory she always spoke to, (would you have guessed that some day I would be just like you?)
- A small boy, his long bangs hanging over his closed eyes in the seat of a truck. The truck goes over a bump and his eyes, like intangible fog, open -
(Would you call me fortunate now?)
- In a cold field then, the boy points a gun at her. He stares at her over a scarf wrapped all the way up to his unmoving eyes -
(That I am what I envied, what I hated?)
- Smoke dribbles up from a smattering of electronics and a splintered cross on a cold, muddy ground . A gun next to it. Looking up, a boy is walking away, as if he's walking to school or some other inconsequential destination... instead of from a hurricane of emotion tearing apart the little girl that loves him. Watching him disappear, slowly, slowly... Staring at the gray-green horizon he vanished over. Empty. Still watching. Finally, looking down again, the smoke is dying out. It floats up aimlessly up into the bitter air and disperses into nothing -
She was staring at the cigarette but in the ash tray, as its last embers faded and its smoke drizzled out, also... just like her old grasp on humanity.
- A little girl's scream rips out. A large, tattooed man tears his shirt off and reaches for her -
She took a sip of her coffee, staring at the mirror across the diner table and seeing nothing.
- He begins to walk toward her. She screams again. He rips her shirt off and slaps her across the face, sending her flying. From the floor where she lands, she sees a bed... already stained with blood -
Behind her dark sunglasses, her ice-blue eyes blinked emotionlessly.
- His big, strong arms wrap around her. They were too strong for her. She screams one last time before he starts laughing. No one can hear her, he whispers as he shoves his tongue down her throat -
She stirred her steaming hot coffee with her finger, not even wincing.
- He was over her. She could still feel the tears stinging her swollen eyes. Red-hot needles ran through her body and the pain was torturous... relentless. She thought she'd go into shock, it hurt so bad, her heart was racing, everything hurt, he was so heavy -
She sipped her coffee again.
- She prayed for the pain to stop. It didn't. It was like lethal venom creeping upon her brain, she couldn't stand it, she really thought she'd die, she could almost smell the blood, but she could feel it, like a salty pool around her... She began to pray for death, an end to this slow torture and his cruel pleasure. But no death came. Pain filled every vein of her body, flooded them and threatened to burst them. Her throat was hoarse from screaming. Her tears had been thoroughly exhausted and only dry sobs came out. She gave up screaming. Being thrusted back and forth, she slowly turned her head to look out the window. It was like being on a boat, the way his heaving made it rock back and forth. Another memory came into her mind, one of a little boy with hair always in his eyes. His eyes. They stung her. It was like he was there then, staring in her eyes with all his unremorseful emotionlessness and making her feel the true iciness behind them. The memory of the little boy's face faded as she turned her head back to the large man over her. She gave up screaming. She just gave up. She bit her lip and gripped the sheets around her -
She lit another cigarette.
- She looked at the man's face. She looked harder. Somehow, she contorted his face into that of the little boy's. She pasted it on there, bit her lip harder, and stayed quiet... and gave up -
Someone sat down on her right and looked at her. She felt no need to look back.
- The pain never stopped. She could almost still feel it in her limbs, but she couldn't feel it. Staring up at the face of the one she loved that day, the little girl died -
She blinked again, her memory fading as quickly as it had re-introduced itself. And again, fading as easily as her humanity. Not that she cared. Not enough to even think about it. She neither hated or enjoyed her immunity to emotion. It was a thought that had no meaning, because she had no feelings on it... or anything else.
She was numb, through and through.
"Hello," came a suave voice from her right.
She paid no attention to the one looking at her; she only took a long drag of her cigarette.
He laughed confidently, seeing it was going to be harder to take her home than he guessed by looking at her. She had long, platinum hair. Her sides were loosely pulled up and her soft waves fell out over the collar of her long, black Oz trench-coat. He found it strange that she wore sun-glasses inside a lighted diner, but saw just a small peek of the pale, porcelin blue eyes behind them and the heavy black eyelashes that weighted them. From under her trench-coat, he noticed an extremely short skirt and some type of tight shirt to go with it. His eyes studied her further and he noticed something odd. She wasn't wearing shoes, she just rested her toes on one of the bars under the stool she sat on.
He shrugged his shoulders, thinking, "Well, maybe she's a kinky little kitten..." He spoke again. "I said, hello beautiful."
She tapped her long-nailed fingers on the greasy counter, slowly and one by one.
- Older now, long nails run slowly, deliberately down a different man's back -
This noise only fired the man further. He moved closer to her and put a hand on her knee. "Come on now, beautiful," he whispered, moving his hand further up, "How 'bout you take those glasses off so I can see those gorgeous eyes of yours?"
(I don't even think I would remember you now... even if I saw you.)
- Her chin is tilted up toward another man in ecstasy over her. But she squints her eyes and pretends again the boy was there instead. Her body was anesthized, this was becoming easier to do -
(I've pasted your face onto so many now,)
- Looking up to the ceiling, eyes closed, the man doesn't see the gun pointed at his stomach -
(Been recopied onto so many of my missions... that I don't think I could recognize you now.)
- A long black Oz trench-coat is thrown on. Water runs from a sink and try as she might, she can't get the blood out from under her fingernails -
Turning her hands over, she examined the light crimson stains still under them. She wrapped her hands back around the cup and took a long, bored drink. She still hadn't looked at the man.
His hand was nearing the end. He leaned in more and whispered wetly, "C'mon, beautiful. What do I have to do?"
She finished the last of her coffee and reached in her pocket. Returning her cigarette to her mouth, she placed a bill on the counter and left.
The man sat there a moment, almost in shock. Not a word. She hadn't said a word. Didn't even look at him. Angry, disgusted, and embarassed at his rude rejection he stood up and muttered with tight malice, "Bitch."
The old waitress came back, drying a glass with her shaking, arthritis-cursed hands, and laughed smugly. "Got that right bud," she snorted, cynically looking for her measly tip. "She sure is a -"
She stopped.
With more strength than they'd had in years, her poor, trembling hands clutched a hundred dollar bill.
A stiletto heel was dug painfully into her little toe.
But behind her dark sunglasses, she didn't even wince. Walking barefoot down streets during busy lunch hours, she had grown accustomed to having her feet stepped on. And to having people stare at her.
She could no longer remember the time when she disliked people staring at her; she didn't even notice any more. So she wore sunglasses as the sky darkened. So she walked barefoot as people crushed her toes. So she walked leisurely though the dark sky began to dump rain upon her. Her feet were furthered battered by the business suits and briefcases scurrying from the rain, from the possibility that thye might be dirtied.
She was as dirty as she could be. There was no use running. (If you were here, you wouldn't run, either.)
The sidewalk was much emptier then as the rain poured down in heavy sheets. Her long wet hair clung to her face and stuck in her eyes. She didn't wipe it away. The only empty thought she allowed herself as she entered the dingy, rotten subway station was, (And where are you?)
She walked past the hunched over, ragged masses of people waiting in line to walk through the toll bars and paid them no notice. They picked up their heads wearily and arguably.
An old, scoliosis-ridden woman dropped her coins into the toll bars, waiting for them to unlock and allow her to walk through. The scent of sour fish filled the girl's nose as she used the bent woman's right shoulder to push off of and step on and over the toll bar nonchalantly.
The fish woman's lips snarled, revealing a few empty spaces where yellow teeth should have been. "Hey you little tramp, get back here and pay your toll like the rest of us!"
The rhythmic slap of her wet feet against the cracked concrete was unbroken as she effectively ignored the old woman. A green, flourescent light flickered as she slipped through the subway doors, just before they slammed shut and the train took off. She didn't even need to look back to hear the angry grumblings of those left behind the toll bars that missed the train. They didn't matter to her. She was sleepy.
The train car was empty. Not that she would have cared if there had been a whole fleet of passengers in there, she still would have curled up over three of the seats and fallen asleep there. One doesn't care who stares at them when they are asleep.
- A girl sleeps in a black, trash-filled alley -
- Now a girl sleeps in a meager bed, and a kind but frail man is pulling ragged covered under her chin. She smiles up at him and kisses him on the cheek. He smiles also, and moves her wavy, blonde hair behind her ear before he starts coughing. Her eyes narrow and almost fill with tears as his torturous coughs continue. She turns and looks at a video-game necklace resting on her splintered bed-side table -
(Daddy...)
- He takes a few deep breaths and smiles reassuringly. The usual? he asks. She nods happily. Okay then, little Midii, take this kiss upon the brow -
(And in parting from you now)
- This much let me avow -
(You are not wrong who deem)
- That my days have been a dream, he says and starts coughing again -
She grew sleepier. She would have to finish the poem by herself, just like she'd had to many years of nights after her father was not there to recite it until she was asleep. At one time, it was the only thing that would calm her when she was sad, scared, or angry.
- The little boy disappears over the foggy horizon. The smoke stops drizzling upward. For a few minutes, she cries uncontrollably. Then, between heavy sobs, she begins choking out, take this kiss upon the brow, and in parting from you now... -
She could feel the flourescent light flicker from under her closed eye-lids.
- The large, tattooed man is over her and knocking her head into the head-board behind her. She's squeezing her eyes shut, imagining the little boy there instead, and speaks again, this much let me avow, you are not wrong who deem, that my days have been a dream -
The train began slowing down for its next stop.
- She felt the humanity slipping from her limbs. Still whispering, yet if hope has flown away, in a night or in a day, in a vision or in none -
The train halted.
- The little girl is lying alone in the bloodied bed, staring out the window and whispering, is it therefore the less gone -
The train doors slid open. No one entered for a long time.
Her painful memories didn't even cause a dull ache in her any more. She finished the poem in her sleepy mind.
(Is al that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream.)
Silence. A lone passenger entered the train car silently as her black and white dreams took over and washed away what she had previously been thinking.
But with one last monochrome thought sliding into her brain, she spoke to the ever-present image of the little boy.
(Will I ever see you again.)
Her mind gave up and succumbed to the welcome unconsciousness of sleep. The young man, seated aross the aisle from her, paid her no attention. He never did. Legs crossed, arms folded, eyes closed, head bowed, he never looked out from under his long bangs at the sleeping girl.
She always dreamed in shades of gray, but whenever she saw him, he was always some hazy shade of the rainbow. Brighter than the drab background, but always fuzzier. She couldn't even remember what he looked like anymore, but she could remember what he felt like. And he felt like peppermint in her veins, lilac and rain-washed breezes in her lungs, and hot chocolate in her skin.
She was being stoned. In a dirty, dusty village square, a mob of angry villagers were stoning her to death.
"Kill the slut! Adultress, prostitute! You deserve to die!"
And she couldn't move. Apathy paralyzed her. She neither feared nor awaited death. It was just the end... the end to nothing. How was that possible? An end is when something no longer exists, and if it never did than what is there to end? It's like trying to empty a pure vaccum, trying to darken a black hole, trying to make a darker color than black.
The stones continued to strike her and tear her skin open.
(Perhaps I'll just disappear... but was I ever really here.)
She felt herself dying, the life leaving her body, much like the feeling that overtook her in the bloody bed only much more resolute. It was almost like she was rising above her body.
Then the color seeped in. Like an itch just out of reach, she couldn't see where it was coming from. All she kenw is that is was carrying her back down to her body again.
(But I'll just be killed again)
The reply seemed to be coming from wherever the colors were. "No, you'll wake up."
(...?)
She felt a connection lock between her limbs and her mind again. Her eyes had been open, but all of the sudden it was like something was being pulled off of them. The angry mob disappeared and every inch of the world around her was slowly swirling with color. Especially a bright collection of color standing next to her.
She turned her head to the right to see this saviour, but the harder she tried to get it into focus the hazier it became. But those long bangs were just barely visible, and she knew without seeing...
Her dream ended with a blood-curdling shock.