A Flower in Midgard

A Flower in Midgard.

By Sephiroth_4000

Tseng carelessly raked back his long black hair.  He checked his appearance in the mirror.  He looked of course, absolutely perfect in the Turks uniform.  He was really in the Turks.  Unbelievable.

            He set out from the apartment he rented in the Sector 1 Slums of Midgard.  From now on Tseng would no longer be living here, but on the plate, where only the privileged, or skilled few lived.

            The Shinra Headquarters loomed up above him, and he easily climbed the steps.  He nodded to some of the employees he knew rushing around the main entrance, and stepped into the elevator lightly.  He was to meet President Shinra today. 

            The elevator clicked to a stop, giving forth an electronic ding! As he exited it, he nervously felt for the key card he had been given to the 69th floor, which was the entrance to the President' s office. 

            He took the steps one at a time, instead of two for once.  He didn't want to look like a kid in front of the President. 

President Shinra studied his newly made Turk for a moment with his beady black eyes.  He smiled slowly for a moment.  He liked what he saw.  Tseng Takema would make an excellent Turk. 

            "You will do well," he said to the young man, who looked at him gravely.  "I believe you are an excellent addition to the team of Turks.   You all have the task of finding new recruits for SOLDIER. . .but there are also. . special assignments I give out occasionally, when a Turk shows especial promise."  He left it at that, while Tseng gazed back at him steadily.

            "Kyien?"  He raised his voice slightly, and the older Turk entered.

"Take Tseng to his new rooms."  The man nodded and bowed slightly.  A formal man, despite not being that much older than the new Turk.  Tseng would be in good hands.  And of course the President would have Kyien's report on the young man tomorrow.

Tseng strode quietly down the lane, watching her.  Had it really been six years since he had been made a Turk? So long ago? It didn't feel like it had been so long since he had been fifteen.  He laughed quietly to himself, but kept his eyes on the girl. 

            He didn't know her name, and didn't want to.  The President had had him following her around for two years now.  His "special" assignment was following a slip of a girl around.  No challenge at all, for him.  She never tried to elude the Turk, to slip into the crowds or to try to hide from him.  It was as if she really didn't know or care that there was someone watching her twenty-four hours a day. 

She turned a corner, then turned around to look at him, while he stood in shadow.  Did she know he was here?  Impossible.  She was only sixteen.  He gave a start as she waved at him, then continued on.  Impossible. How did she know? 

            He hurried along to catch up with her, but made sure that she was always in sight.  She was heading for that old church again.  Why did she spend so much time there anyway? 

            She entered and closed the ruined double doors behind her.  Tseng lingered outside.  He never went in, for she never tried to slip away, and for that he gave her a little freedom from him.  You had to have privacy sometimes.  As he watched, a young man in the uniform of a third class SOLDIER entered the church, shaking back spiky black hair.  He visited the girl sometimes, so Tseng wasn't particularly worried, though he always reported these visits.  He knew now that the young man's name was Zack, a particular SOLDIER he had spotted for potential himself.  He would go far, probably to First Class if he stayed out of trouble.   

            After a while, perhaps a hour, perhaps more, the young man slipped out again.  He looked. . . at peace for some reason.  When he had gone in, there had been a slightly wary expression on his face, but now, his entire demeanour was calm. 

            Tseng was used to this.  It was always like this when that man visited the girl.

            Not knowing quite why, but feeling the urge, Tseng entered the church quietly.  Telling himself he was just keeping an eye on her, he looked around.  To his surprise, she was on her knees, digging in the soft soil around some flowering plants.  Rotten floorboards had been torn up to make a circle of earth in which the flowers turned their faces up to the sun.  They had obviously been grown by her, but he had thought that flowers didn't grow in Midgard. 

            Feeling that same irresistible urge, he came a little closer.  It smelt good in here, the smell of living plants instead of the slightly acrid smell of Mako, which seemed to linger everywhere in Midgard. 

            The girl looked up.  "So you did come in," she said quite calmly.  "Sit down.  I'll only be a minute."

            Tseng looked at her, feeling slightly awkward.  She carefully snipped off a few flowers, and placed them in wicker basket close at hand.  Finally, she stood up, and brushed the dirt as best as she could from her arms, and her dress.  She tucked back a few stray mahogany brown hairs back before sitting down beside him on one of the pews.

            "Well?" she asked after a moment of silence. 

            "Wha. .Excuse me?"

            "Why did you come in here?"  she turned to face him, and bemused, he looked into her deep green eyes. 

            "I don't know.  Just a feeling."

            She nodded as if that made perfect sense to her.  "You've followed me for two years. . .but this is the first time you've ever spoken to me. . ."

            He shrugged.  What was he supposed to say?

            "Why today?  Why now?"

            "You knew I was there?"

            "Obviously.  I suppose why doesn't really matter."  They fell silent for a while.  It was so perfectly still in the church.  The light bathed the flowers; how Tseng didn't know, he had thought that the plate had blotted out all the sunlight from the slums. 

            As if hearing his thoughts, the girl spoke.  "People say you can't grow flowers in the slums.  It's too polluted for plants to live, that's what everyone says.  But for some reason they don't have any trouble growing here."  She drew her knees up to herself.  "I love it in here.  It's so peaceful. . . . ."

            Tseng said nothing.  He closed his eyes gently.  It was peaceful in here, something he had never really felt before.  He sighed gently, and opened his eyes.  The girl looked at him curiously. 

            "I'm Aeris," she said holding out a hand.  "Though you probably already know that!" she added with a small laugh. 

            He shook his head mutely, and took her hand.  "Tseng."  He wondered briefly if he should've given her his name, then shrugged it off.  It was obvious she didn't care that he was following her. 

            They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the calm of the church.  It was only when the girl looked at her watch, and bit her lip that the spell was broken.  "Uh. . .I have to go home Tseng, which means you have to come with me right?" 

            He nodded.

            She shrugged then.  "You can shadow me if you have to," she said solemnly.  "But I rather if you would just walk me home."

            He looked at her for a moment.  "Alright." He heard himself say. 

            She smiled then, pleased.  "Let's go."

            He walked her home, and then stopped on the path to her front door. As she reached it, she turned, and smiled rather sadly.  Then she nodded decisively, and went inside the house. 

            Tseng watched for a little while, a part of him longing for inexplicable things, for a world he had never known in his strife torn existence.  The serenity of the church sustained him as he walked back to his quarters in a quiet daze. 

He reached his apartment soon, and sat down.  It was so quiet, but not like it had been there.  There it had simply been silence so tranquil and calm, but here it was only a barrenness of sound.  The sound of complete solitude pressed into his ears with an almost tangible weight, and for a moment he clapped his hands over his ears in pain. 

            He took his hands away, looking at them in morbid fascination as they shook violently.  What had she done to him?  Or, more correctly, what had she unlocked in him?  For the first time ever he felt a yawning emptiness in his very soul.  What was his worth?  What had he ever done?   

            It was only chance that his hand slid into his pocket.  Only chance, that perhaps his soul could be salvaged?  Was it only chance?

There was something inside, and Tseng took it out of his pocket carefully by the stem. 

It was a perfect flower, it's pale pink petals beaded with dew.

Author's Note: Not much of a storyline, I'll admit, but it is a short story.  And a bit soppy, but I do have occasional tendencies in that direction.