AUTHOR'S NOTE: I started reading the Mars series and love it. I just
finished Volume 3, and started to write this little story. Here's the
deal: I don't know what happens next, since I'm only on Volume 3, so if
there's some ideas that a contradictory to how the real series goes, then
don't tell me what happens, just tell me it's contradictory, and I'll
change it to Alternate Universe. Thanks.
The wailing strains of a guitar filled the air with a melodic atmosphere. She followed these strains, listening, waiting, following the plinks and the strums and the hums that led her to her destination. The street was crowded, the hour late, but this did not stop her. She had a mission, a goal, a destination, and nothing was going to stop her.
Rarely had she been so determined.
Her footsteps went unheard. The low love buzz of couples wandering around late at night drowned her mere footsteps out. She stopped at a street corner and glanced over at a couple across the street. The girl was stupid, or so she pretended to be, twirling her hair and giggling inanely. The boy; deep voiced, hands sweaty, Levi jeans. Stupid girl wrapped her long arms around his neck, plunging her lips into his pale neck, leaving nothing more then a sore hickey.
Stoplight turned green. She continued to walk on.
This lovely girl was quiet, and used to being unnoticed, a fleeting face in their yearbook memory. She lifted her face to the sky, taking in its colors and richness and depth, burning it into her mind. Blank sketchbook lay at home; after this she would go and have the world at her pencil tip. After this she would go back into his arms and lay their forever. Because that's where she was. Him. Forever.
Stopping at a small coffeehouse, she pulled out her crumpled lined piece of paper, torn from a family of notebook pages, and saw the words. They were faded, like the couple down the street, and ran together.
Flashback.
"Hand me that pen over there." She walked over and handed Kyoko a pen. Sticking the pen between her teeth, Kyoko tied her hair back and began to dot down letters. D. E. S. She read over her shoulder.
Kyoko tore the paper and handed it to her, "You might find her at subway stations, possibly some independently owned coffeehouse. She was a nice enough girl, from what I remember."
Kyoko forced a smile before her face fell ashen. "You're not going to tell him you're going, correct?"
Nod.
"Good luck," Kyoko said, walking off.
This was her mission. Find her. Ask her everything. She stuffed the night back into her pocket, took a breath, and pushed open the door. Black clad "individuals" surrounded the coffeehouse, sitting rigidly, perfect shoulder blades and elitist coffee. They had no desire to be like them. They were better then them. They were individuals. And yet she had no desire to draw a single one of them.
Slipping into a table, a chisel faced waiter hurried over and asked for her order. She timidly shook her head, and said, "Who is that performing?"
"Oh, her, Desdemona Eastwood. Very talented. Nice girl, I'm a friend of hers."
"Can you tell her to sit over here after she's done?"
The waiter energetically said sure, and he was off, serving the servants. She smoothed her floral dress. Around her dainty wrist was a bracelet, good luck charm, and she smiled with sweet sincerity only a delicate girl like her could manage to pull off. Remembering the blonde boy with the pink scrunchie holding his hair back, playing basketball to earn money.
She loved him. She truly did.
This music isn't so bad. she thought, tapping her clipped fingernails. The girl on the stage finished the number, and the waiter whispered words into her ear, pointing to the floral dressed girl at the table. The stage girl nodded and began to walk forward, right leg before left, patches in faded jeans and tousled, unruly hair.
"Hey," the stage girl, Desdemona, said, sitting down in a seat. "I heard you wanted to talk to me. How can I help you?"
Her voice took a nose dive, going down real low, and she began to pick at her nail polish before she had the courage to say, "Do you remember someone by the name of Sei Kashino?"
Deathly, jaw dropped silence.
The body on the concrete pavement at school lurked in her mind.
The wailing strains of a guitar filled the air with a melodic atmosphere. She followed these strains, listening, waiting, following the plinks and the strums and the hums that led her to her destination. The street was crowded, the hour late, but this did not stop her. She had a mission, a goal, a destination, and nothing was going to stop her.
Rarely had she been so determined.
Her footsteps went unheard. The low love buzz of couples wandering around late at night drowned her mere footsteps out. She stopped at a street corner and glanced over at a couple across the street. The girl was stupid, or so she pretended to be, twirling her hair and giggling inanely. The boy; deep voiced, hands sweaty, Levi jeans. Stupid girl wrapped her long arms around his neck, plunging her lips into his pale neck, leaving nothing more then a sore hickey.
Stoplight turned green. She continued to walk on.
This lovely girl was quiet, and used to being unnoticed, a fleeting face in their yearbook memory. She lifted her face to the sky, taking in its colors and richness and depth, burning it into her mind. Blank sketchbook lay at home; after this she would go and have the world at her pencil tip. After this she would go back into his arms and lay their forever. Because that's where she was. Him. Forever.
Stopping at a small coffeehouse, she pulled out her crumpled lined piece of paper, torn from a family of notebook pages, and saw the words. They were faded, like the couple down the street, and ran together.
Flashback.
"Hand me that pen over there." She walked over and handed Kyoko a pen. Sticking the pen between her teeth, Kyoko tied her hair back and began to dot down letters. D. E. S. She read over her shoulder.
Kyoko tore the paper and handed it to her, "You might find her at subway stations, possibly some independently owned coffeehouse. She was a nice enough girl, from what I remember."
Kyoko forced a smile before her face fell ashen. "You're not going to tell him you're going, correct?"
Nod.
"Good luck," Kyoko said, walking off.
This was her mission. Find her. Ask her everything. She stuffed the night back into her pocket, took a breath, and pushed open the door. Black clad "individuals" surrounded the coffeehouse, sitting rigidly, perfect shoulder blades and elitist coffee. They had no desire to be like them. They were better then them. They were individuals. And yet she had no desire to draw a single one of them.
Slipping into a table, a chisel faced waiter hurried over and asked for her order. She timidly shook her head, and said, "Who is that performing?"
"Oh, her, Desdemona Eastwood. Very talented. Nice girl, I'm a friend of hers."
"Can you tell her to sit over here after she's done?"
The waiter energetically said sure, and he was off, serving the servants. She smoothed her floral dress. Around her dainty wrist was a bracelet, good luck charm, and she smiled with sweet sincerity only a delicate girl like her could manage to pull off. Remembering the blonde boy with the pink scrunchie holding his hair back, playing basketball to earn money.
She loved him. She truly did.
This music isn't so bad. she thought, tapping her clipped fingernails. The girl on the stage finished the number, and the waiter whispered words into her ear, pointing to the floral dressed girl at the table. The stage girl nodded and began to walk forward, right leg before left, patches in faded jeans and tousled, unruly hair.
"Hey," the stage girl, Desdemona, said, sitting down in a seat. "I heard you wanted to talk to me. How can I help you?"
Her voice took a nose dive, going down real low, and she began to pick at her nail polish before she had the courage to say, "Do you remember someone by the name of Sei Kashino?"
Deathly, jaw dropped silence.
The body on the concrete pavement at school lurked in her mind.
