Well, this is my first shot at writing anything even remotely fictional, so I hope it comes out alright! This was actually a one-shot but I found it might be difficult to understand all at once, so I am simply breaking this very short story up into three parts.
This is the first, so here goes!
I wanted to thank my very supportive friends and loved ones for their encouragement and inspiration:
To Kim: thanks for always being such a good listener, having a kind and gentle heart, and for calming me down when I freak out over the dumbest stuff in the world, like a comma splice or some other random thing. You will be missed, but we'll always be friends at heart, right?
To Ray: you always put up with my high levels of stress amidst my work, fluctuations, day dreams, and quirks, and somehow you always bring me back down to earth. Love you.
To Anna Leah: I hope you do not mind me giving you props, but you are an amazing friend and writer who will never fail to inspire me - thanks again for all your encouragement. Thanks for sharing your views and honesty, and I'll always be your number stalker - er, I mean number one fan XD! (Scone!)
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended; I do not claim ownership of Mai HiME, Sunrise does.
Denial: The River of Egypt
What is reality but a mere interpretation? We are creatures of convenience, and accordingly our senses follow.
But when our conscience blends dark with light, the sub-conscience becomes our only truth.
Throughout the struggle, we must strive to rise above our warped perceptions of biased truth.
Voices, distant.
Amid the blackness, a small light struggled to survive - a bright core with only darkness around it.
Time seemed to be at a standstill as the masses swayed around her, rhythmic yet varied in their drunken dance, heavy in their frenzied fight for attention. Vomit and alcohol made love upon the pavement, provoking a nauseating response in her already irritated mind. The twisted circus music which warped itself and altered with each floating passerby offensively penetrated past the cries and shoves of the crowd, further disturbing her thoughts which were far, far away by now.
Thoughts of her.
The tunnel vision lightened a bit, the golden radiance weakening then thinning around the edges. The elbows which continued to jab into her ribs and her own clenched fists were startling reminders of her own time and place.
The shouts of joy further distanced her from the members of the present, unwanted company.
"Laissez les bons temps rouler!" she heard for the millionth time.
And she swore by Christ, Allah, and all that was holy, that the next person who said it was going to find him or herself under the wheels of the next obnoxiously decorated vehicle which passed by. She clenched her teeth and – for the millionth time – rolled her eyes in such an exasperated fashion, an observer might think they would soon roll back into her head, never to be seen again.
A parade was definitely not where she wanted to be now of all times, for there is no lonelier a place than in a crowd.
One more shove to her torso, this time from the buff shoulder of the clumsy, drunk frat boy next to her, and her knuckles took on a mind of their own as they swept a clear uppercut under his chin. The right jaw cracked, teeth crushed begrudgingly together, and eyes went wide with shock before the stunned face whipped sharply to the left. The back of his head hit the concrete with a loud thud and he barely caught a glimpse of his assailant's smirk before blacking out.
"Natsuki, stop being such a party pooper!" her red headed, bubbly friend reminded her with a poke to the ribs, yet again.
Internally, she wondered why she had ever agreed to accompany her to this God forsaken city which smelled of rotten sewage and seemed only to consist of the loudmouthed drunks which currently surrounded her. Every time she questioned her reasoning, she again landed at the same conclusion of a friend's encouragement to join her in an adventure and, "clear her mind and let distance make the heart grow fonder." Besides, the Big Easy was said to be a fun place, full of different cultures, and the exchange student program offered reasonable lodging for the next two semesters.
"Big Easy my ass…more like a fifty yen whore," she grumbled, under her breath.
She had to get the hell out of there before she let loose on every single miserable asshole wearing the cheap plastic beads.
"I should have stayed. I should have stayed…" she echoed her earlier thoughts as she turned and slowly shoved her way to the back of the crowd, careful not to bump the red plastic cups in the hands of all the duplicated dummies around her. Who the hell ever conjured up the brilliant idea of street legal open containers anyway? The smell of beer was making her ill and she was already nearly dehydrated, despite the late winter season.
Should have stayed…
Not because she hated the new culture. Not because she missed her old apartment. Not because she had only one single, solitary friend who spoke Japanese in this somewhat-English/God-knows-what-else-language speaking city. And certainly not because she couldn't adapt to the strange foods all around her (some were hard to pronounce, let alone eat).
Because of her.
But she shoved those thoughts - and the people around her - aside, never allowing them to fully reach her conscious thought lest they sway her actions.
No. I made the right decision.
Surely she had done the right thing: feelings were building and free falling like a mighty tidal wave, white capping and curling into a disastrous mixture of passion, want, need! She had never needed anyone before, and certainly wouldn't start now. Barriers were put in place of acknowledgment, denial in place of acceptance, bitterness in place of surrender.
And tunnel vision pierced through the rear of the obnoxious crowd once more. Memories floated about: more powerful than the greasy gluttony around her; more melodious than the blues musician on the corner making a living amidst the noise; more splendid than any of the drugs consumed like sugar coated candy by all the chaotic creeps struggling to catch a shitty souvenir.
A scene played out before her eyes so vividly she could almost touch, feel, hear, taste every last detail:
"Natsuki," her ruby eyed lover teased as she let each syllable roll off her accented tongue like a song, sweet yet laced with a subtle half-moan, hinting at a secret only partially hidden.
The room was aglow, orange tinting the walls and furnishings with the morning light and painting a cruel reminder of responsibilities, reality -life!
Fingertips massaged her scalp, moist palms raking against her strands, pulling them slightly as Shizuru dragged her hands softly through ebony tresses, her body flush against the supple, small form. Natsuki groaned as she opened her eyes slightly and silently wished death to alarm clocks worldwide, thinking only of the softness of the sheets, the bed, and the lips now barely grazing her neck with a featherlike touch.
She closed her eyes again, begging time to stop, yet knowing time was merciful to none...
Her breath hitched.
Like a snowy television failing to receive complete transmissions, her emotions were already blurring together - anxiety with passion, hope with fear. Amidst the thoughts while she struggled to find clarity, the sound of static echoed in the background of even the most concrete notions.
Why can't we always be this way?
She felt a soft hand flat against her stomach, fingers splaying slowly and moving upward, endearingly, and she gently touched the face of her lover and pulled her closer, their foreheads bumping together.
Why can't the world just leave us alone for a day?
She breathed in her scent and reminders of school, cherry blossoms, a broken heart, and crushed flowers filled her mind as she drew together reminders of where they had come from and where they were at that moment.
Why can't we always have what we want?
She cradled the tawny blonde head protectively in her hands, unknowingly afraid she might slip away if she let go, even for a moment.
Afraid...
And bodies drew even closer, legs tangled, arms hooked around the others' torso, and fear and contentment collided within the respective hearts of Natsuki and Shizuru as they melted together like oil and water within a kiss...
"Watch where yer goin'!" a drunkard slurred in her face, and Natsuki felt herself stunned for a moment, suddenly realizing where she was.
She had nearly knocked him down in her brisk, aimless walking down the French Quarter. It was difficult to determine who ran into whom exactly, not that she cared. He was the one intoxicated in public, after all.
"Dude, you're so drunk!" his inebriated buddy yelled at him - although their faces were inches apart- as he slapped him on the back and held him up slightly to prevent him from falling over completely.
"I'm not - hic - drunk!"
Natsuki growled in frustration, knowing when to pick her battles, and walked around them in disgust, leaving them to their own devices. They were like the blind leading the blind.
"Yeah, and denial ain't just a river in Egypt!" she heard the other yell behind her.
Hmph...
She made the decision to go into the next bar she encountered, being terribly thirsty and irritated. She had to call it a night after this, she thought. This was too much. All she needed was a glass of water then a good night's sleep - if she could ever find either one of those...
Several blocks passed by her, floats paraded happily down the street while continuing to annoy her, and women wearing far too little popped up like roaches out of the woodwork. Finally spotting a humble, small bar catty cornered from her, she made a mad dash for it before catching her breath and hesitantly walking through the French doors.
The dark bar seemed strangely abandoned, compared to the rowdy streets. A few booths clung to the walls to her right, leading to a dark rear hallway and a glowing jukebox. To her left, the bar stretched parallel to the city of bottles alight behind it, stools standing at attention in front, abandoned and lonely. It was dimly lit with only the purple neon signs and trim around the ceiling giving off a faint glow, further making her feel awkward in such a place. Soft music played from the back of the room as an old folk singer's comforting voice and acoustic guitar spoke of Susanne's flames and water, sweet dreams and flying machines.
The bartender, an old man with a gentle look about him and an aged, faded Navy tattoo on his right arm, smiled as he looked up from his polished shot glasses. She swallowed hard and licked her cracked lips, slowing her breathing as she approached the overly waxed, wooden bar and asked for a simple glass of water.
"Not from around here, are you?" he teased, stating the obvious.
His name badge read SAM.
Natsuki finally managed to smile inwardly as she received her water, relieved to encounter a friendly face - the face of someone far removed from the intoxication and hedonism of the city. Sam didn't mean any harm. He was an old war vet, as evidenced by the old black and white Navy pictures posted on the wall behind him. He went back to drying the glasses.
She chugged her water and was about to ask for another glass before Sam read her mind and placed another in front of her, extending his hand to take her now empty one.
"Thanks," she said, barely above a mumble. She was tired.
"Hiding from the other youngins?" he asked, gesturing to the parade outside not far beyond the doors.
"Kind of..." Natsuki answered, her eyes seemingly trailing off to no place in particular as she studied the wood grain of the bar and slumped onto a stool.
"Well be careful goin' home tonight, pretty young thang like you shouldn't be out alone , ya know?"
"Mm..." she sighed and rested her face into the palm of her hand as she leaned on her elbow and looked at her glass.
"I'll be back in a couple minutes. If someone comes in..." the old man trailed off, "...just tell em to wait."
And he slowly disappeared through a small narrow door behind the bar, nestled in the corner, practically hidden. The neon lights reflected in her water as she tipped her glass this way and that, watching the water cling to one side then subside to the other. She desperately tried to clear her mind, to little avail.
I'm such a coward.
She frowned.
But I'm sure she's fine...probably at the snow festival.
She folded her arms together and placed them on the bar before burying her face in them. Crying would have been a relief, but she was far too stubborn for such weakness to make its way past her barriers.
"Looks like you could use a pick me up," came an unfamiliar voice behind her.
Her spine went rigid as she shot up and gripped her glass tightly, readying herself for harassment. What could a stranger want with her? And when did he arrive? Furthermore, how did he manage to sneak up on her? Within half a second, she had made up her mind that no matter who he was, how he'd gotten there, or what he wanted, she would get rid of him as quickly as possible - and by any means necessary. She turned around on her stool, careful not to let her guard down or avert her eyes, lest she let him know he had startled her.
Before her stood a rather odd looking "creature" - as she would have put it: a young man with an odd sort of dress about him, tattered clothes of a Bo Jangles style, and a ridiculous green top hat. His nose was sharp and long, cheeks hollow and eyes sunken inward.
"What do you want?" she snorted, hardly containing her irritability.
"Hey now, is that any way to introduce yourself?" he grinned, showing his ugly teeth, which she likened to those of a horse. She had half a mind to knock the front two out if he kept up the smiling bit.
She was too proud to let him have the upper hand by leaving. If anyone was leaving, it was going to be him.
"Just water, hmm? Anything else I can get you?" he offered.
"I don't drink," she snapped, as she turned her back on him.
He invited himself to sit down beside her on the neighboring stool, and leaned unnaturally forward on his elbow at an awkward angle, eager to insert himself back into her line of sight. His bright eyes gleamed with an unnatural glow, pupils like saucers as he breathed heavily. He made her skin crawl with each audible breath, for he was becoming more and more unwanted by the second.
"Oh, well..." he slid his eyes to the right and moved closer as she balled up her fist, yet again, "I've got gum too," he whispered. "Jokers, swans, and tabs? Bla-"
"Listen circus freak, you're two seconds away from getting your ass handed to you if you don't leave me the hell alone!"
As if he expected the response, the skinny young man slid off the stool like a snake, barely making a sound as he did so, before placing his hand on the counter and sliding it in Natsuki's direction. He lifted his palm to reveal two red pills. She stared at the pills, shocked that she'd been not just offered, but given them for no apparent reason. She certainly didn't want them. Still, she continued to stare at them as he made his farewell, nearly singing it as if he were possessed by the jazzy fever around him.
"People around here know me as the Mad Hatter, but you can call me TJ. Call me if you ever find yourself in need of a...'pick me up' mmkay?" and she detected a mischievous glint in his eye as she watched him from her peripheral view, still stunned at the situation. Just as he slipped out of her line of sight, she finally found her tongue.
"Go to hell," she spat, her voice deepening in her most defensive of states.
Ready to plant her heels firmly on the ground, she whipped around on her stool only to find that the mysterious stranger - this 'TJ' - was no longer to be found. He had vanished just as quickly as he had appeared, leaving behind only the pills, a small card with a number on it, and a chilling air. The jukebox played on, Sam was still nowhere in sight, and the bar appeared as untouched and squeaky clean as ever. She looked about her, more paranoid than ever, before turning her attention to the round red pills stamped with smiley faces.
Shizuru...
Ah, how ridiculous to see her even in those kinds of things, and she dismissed the thoughts as mere reflections of a tiresome night.
What a creep.
And how ridiculous too to name yourself after Lewis Carol's literary nut job. Probably just another moronic shit head that thought himself truly intellectual - one who believed drugs were the gateway to opening up the savant abilities of the dormant mind and strived for that excessive serotonin roll or that psychedelic psilocybin trip. Just another loser who can't handle reality sober, who called himself adventurous but was in fact nothing more than a coward who hid away from facing the truth.
Well, I sure as hell don't need any help with that...
The snowy, static transmissions returned to blend hesitance with certainty.
She could handle reality.
She didn't need anyone's help.
She wasn't hiding from any truths.
She was fine.
I'm fine.
And as if furiously gulping down the rest of the water would prove her point to the universe, she chugged it down her throat without a second thought, not giving any heed to the slightly salty taste as she slammed it back down on the counter. One last glace at the pills brought her fists furiously pounding against the surface of the bar. In a flaming tantrum, she grabbed both the pills and the card with the number on it and marched to the restroom in the back where she flushed the pills and ripped the card into shreds.
Emerging from the restroom, she hesitantly looked about, not knowing if there was indeed a charge for a simple glass of water. She left a couple of bucks on the counter and walked out, anxious to make her way home, for the crowd was thinning now as the parade seemed to be wrapping up, and the night was wearing on. She gradually made her way through the bodies, the odor of which seemed to fill the air no matter how she held her nose or turned her head.
Then slowly, as she went about navigating the sea of bodies around her, the faces all turned on her, one by one, each with a glare to cut diamonds by the dozen. Their smiles disappeared, discouragement taking their place. They were all so disappointed with her: like the boy who opened his palm only to discover the firefly escaped; like the girl whose love letter was returned in her cold, cruel locker, crumpled up, and in pieces; like the child at the piano recital who hit the wrong keys over and over, perfectionist parents shaking their heads in the audience – she was the definition of disappointment and rejection.
What have I done?
"Coward."
"You ran away."
"You didn't even have the decency to give a proper goodbye."
"Didn't think of her feelings, only of yourself."
And on and on they sang, caring nothing for her point of view, for her side of the story. Their brows creased together and they ridiculed her with every shoulder shove, every mocking glance, every scoffing accusation, and every recollection of past sins and former memories which happily took their home in the heavy baggage always hoisted upon her wary shoulders. She carried them everywhere, and the masses added in their two cents, thinking it not enough – she must atone for each and every phone call where tears were shed. For every, "It'll be alright…" when she knew it wouldn't, when she was anxious for an immediate solution because she hated to see or hear Shizuru cry. And for every "I love you" whispered which was laced with a hint of self-doubt - she must be damned.
"Do not avoid your ship to Ninevah! Salvation lies in the acceptance of your sins, in the willingness to give it all up!" shouted the preacher man on the smelly street corner as the evil eyes circled all around her.
Ring around the rosy, like an unavoidable black plague, the crowd rounded her still. Natsuki stopped and looked down at her hands, the blood which streamed forth just below each palm, the jungle of complex nerves among metacarpals which was now newly exposed, and the nails which were being driven by the hammer in hand of the bystanders. They laughed jubilantly as they bore her soul to the pavement, anxious to seek out revenge and execute it as they saw fit: justice, cold and unforgiving, just as she deserved. She readied herself for the spear to pierce her side, but before the soldier let loose the sharp red polearm, she felt her stomach wrench with her guilt.
The crowd disappeared. Pain wracked her body. Lose pebbles in the gravel dug sharply into her palms now as she feebly steadied herself on all fours. Reality set in. Violet vomit spewed forth onto the pavement and Natsuki hunched over the puddle as she attempted to gather her wits in an alley way, unable to recall where she was or how she had gotten there. She checked her pockets: no wallet, no cell, no money.
Great. Just fucking great.
Another stomach warping convulsion brought forth more violent puking sensations and she projected the nasty stomach acid from her person, confused and panicking at the current situation. She knew neither the time nor the place. Delusional thoughts mixed with reality as she dizzyingly struggled to maintain her balance against a cold brick wall. Blackness crept forward once more like the reaper's ominous overcoat, waves of ashen fabric engulfing her beneath heavy lidded eyes.
Static and snow resounded in her ears as she slowly slumped to the ground against the wall and felt herself free fall into the abyss, swimming in black ink as she searched for the elusive red sunrise.