AN: My own twisted little SpikexJulia ficlet. It's my different version of the subliminal images that are the red umbrella and the fallen rose. I had a lot of fun writing this. I've always liked the pairing. Disclaimers and such, I own nothing. All Tharsus geography done from my mind. Sorry if it's incorrect. Written under the influence of the song 'Julianna' by Audrye Sessions, but it's not a songfic.
AN Re-vamped: I re-read this composition, and I realized that there were so many grammatical errors (mainly in the form of spelling issues and it's) that it made me want to throw myself into a wall and cry for putting this up so rough and unedited. So, I went back and fixed it. Now, I present to thee, Contrast Re-Vamped. Enjoy!
Tharsus.
Seven letters, two syllables.
It is but a mere word, spoken in a rough whisper from chapped lips. It is but a tiny city, even for the standards of Mars, choked by the rest of the general populace. It is but an unimportant speck in the black, infinite universe. Whether it is good or evil none are truly certain. For the moment, it is but a drab in-between.
Although sometimes she doens't know it herself, to Julia it almost means the world. Almost. Spike would always be the most important thing in her life; Tharsus the second.
Vicious was third once.
It was raining in the city now, like it always had, like it always would. It seemed the sky was meant to be frozen in a state of that dull and dreary gray. Cloud swirled about the pale sky, twisting and turning its way into the souls of those brave enough to perch on the street. The droplets it wept that day were laden with sorrow and acrid to the taste. The drops shattered on the cement like the cathedral's stained glass, a thousand glimmering colors exploding in a spilt second, fading as fast as it had come. Every time one hit the pavement, Julia swore she could see Spike's face within it- bushy green hair lopsidedly obscuring garnet irises, that real and rare ivory smile. It wasn't one of those crooked grins, it was a genuine smile. As her eyes traced it, it both healed her and harmed her.
Tharsus, much like the rain that shrouded it, was bleak. Every building the color of worn asphalt, the only difference in the placement of the windows and the cracks that worked their way up the plaster. The roads stretched on in the same pattern for miles and cushiony moss wormed itself through the sidewalk. There was not a dry square inch in the city, coated to a crystalline shine with water. Murky lamplight coalesced with the smaug, darkening shadows and shortening the sight of meandering strangers. The people who sloshed through muddy puddles carried ragged, vague umbrellas.
All but one.
Julia stood at the corner of the street. In one slender, pale hand she held a bright red umbrella. It was so bright that it seemed to glow. It stuck out like a bluebird in a murder of ominous crows, visible to the point where it could be seen a mile away. Not that anyone cared to look at it. To them, it was just a simple umbrella, an everyday occurrence and nothing more. To Julia, it meant something much greater.
She dug through her black leather handbag, the equally ebony fabric that made up her outfit crackling the whole while.
She was strong, much stronger than one would think just by looking at her. When the thorns pricked her fingers and procured a tiny sprinkling of blood she didn't even flinch. She was used to the pain. As she gingerly pulled out a red rose, her blood tainted the scarlet petals and trailed its way down the sturdy emerald stem like the small tear that trickled its way out of the corner of her azure eye.
She thought no one would notice it. It was raining, and she was soaked as it was.
However, someone did notice.
He had noticed her from the beginning, with her dark clothing and her bright umbrella. He leaned against the window, melancholy head within melancholy palms. His right eyelid fluttered shut, the darker garnet eye peering through the dingy glass at the rose she held in her hand. As much as he wanted to see the past, what mattered to him was the present. He was gone from her life as she was gone from his. He could never change that, not even if he wanted to.
Boy, how Spike wanted to.
His second eye flickered shut, and he pressed his creased forehead to the window pane. Shivers of ice flowed across his skin, numbed his brain, and seemed to congeal his blood. His brows furrowed and his fist clutched the windowsill so hard his knuckles turned white. His teeth clenched and his breath came out in a hiss.
It took him several minutes to calm himself. When he was finally able to reopen his eyes, he saw that she had pulled her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. With her sapphire eyes, sunlight hair, and ruby umbrella, she was a contrast to the pensive bustle around her. Her magnificence quelled his anxious thoughts for the moment,
"Julia," he whispered lovingly, though he knew she couldn't hear him. The utter importance of that single name meshed itself with the cloud of cigarette smoke that hovered about his head. He felt his heart tear into pieces as he closed the moth-eaten curtains with calloused hand and turned his back to the world.
Outside, Julia rested on the streets. She stood erect for a moment, waiting as the last person turned the corner and dissipated into the night. She was alone. She sighed, cracking the mask of silence that had surrounded her. She inhaled deeply, and upon exhaling a plume of fog slipped out from under her magenta lips. She let her numb hand fall to her side. The rose she held in her violin fingers, she released into a gentle, spiraling descent. It landed in a puddle, spraying her boots with water. A few shining, saturated petals broke free from their source and floated about in the air like feathers.
"Goodbye, Spike," she muttered painfully as she trudged towards the horizon.