Shinboku

I'd been waiting.

Waiting for absolution, waiting for any answer at all to the question I could never ask.

"Where are you, Himemiya?"

At first, I was hopeful; I knew she'd find me, and I believed with all my heart that one day I would open my door to see her standing there, a smile of relief on her face and joyful tears in my eyes.

I waited a year. It never happened.

Another passed, still no sign of her. Then another, and I felt my initial hope slipping away, being pushed towards a precipice by nagging doubt.

It's been four years now-I've made some semblance of a normal life in the outside world; going to college, getting a job, living a perfectly quiet, average existence.

Without her, it feels empty.

Meaningless.

What do you do when you lose your sole purpose in life?

Protecting her was my reason for being-ever since I decided to become a prince.

Promised to become her prince.

To free her.

Had I failed? Had she just stayed at Ohtori and forgotten about me completely? Gone back to being the rose bride?

It was fine, I told myself, because she was happy.

But I'm not.

I'm standing on the curb of an intersection; it's in the middle of the city, and I blend into the crowd as well as a girl with men's clothing and pink hair can. The noise and throng of the other commuters combined with the heat of a tropical summer make a stifling atmosphere. All I can think about is getting to work and getting out of the blaring sun.

From where I'm standing, I see a flash of violet hair; a part of me thinks nothing of it (there were plenty of people with purple hair in the world) and another part flutters with long-dead hope.

The girl is smiling almost sagely at me, her green eyes sparkling with some emotion I can't pinpoint. Her violet tresses fall wildly in curling waves down to her knees, and some strands stick to her face with perspiration.

She's wearing a billowy white sundress that's slightly too big for her, and it hangs from her shoulder at a slant, revealing more coffee-colored skin. On her dirty feet are worn and tattered sandals, which move with her feet over the asphalt in a graceful manner.

She's standing right in front of me, staring into my eyes while I stare back, dumbfounded.

"Utena." She whispers, embracing me.

I am silent, but pull her closer.


One of the many Utena-based dreams I've been having recently. I just sort of wrote this out, so I know it's kinda bad…Please review anyway!