Snap here! I really need to stop posting new stories, even if they are just short one-shot things.
As of late, I have become obsessed with Vocaloid, and the many possible story ideas that its songs produce. Here is one such story, based off the Akuno-P song Wendy featuring Kagamine Rin.
I do not claim to own the song, or Vocaloid. I wish I did, though.
WENDY
The girl is standing at her open window again, the warm summer breeze whipping her hair and sending her nightgown billowing. Her fists are clenched against the wooden edges of the window and her feet are bare but her face holds a look of elation.
He is watching her.
He is watching when she comes home from school, taking careful note of the glances she sneaks sideways, as if internally begging the neighbouring family's small brown dog to talk to her as she passes by.
He is watching every time she stops on an errand to town to study the flowers growing alongside the grass, as if searching for tiny garden fairies.
He is watching as she completes her evening chores and rushes upstairs to her room with the mad hope that some magical being might have left a trace or two in the corner behind the door or on the windowsill.
And he is watching as she does the last action, the one she does every night. He is watching as she climbs onto the windowsill and gazes across the city at night, up at the stars.
Her intentions have become pretty clear to the boy, that she wishes someone would whisk her away to a magical land like in the bedtime stories her mother used to read to her when she was younger. Someone like him.
The roof tiles begin to scrape at the boy's bare knees and he shifts, the sudden movement alerting the girl balanced on her windowsill.
She jerks forward, nearly falling to the busy street many, many feet below but rights herself again.
The wind is tugging her long hair in a cloud around her flushed face, crying in gusty howls for her to jump, jump out and join it.
The girl grips the wood harder, her knuckles turning white.
The boy watches, devoid of worry or fear for her. He has seen many things happen and he has learned that there is nothing that he can do about it except watch.
Then, as the hands of the city's clocktower strike midnight —
She leaps.
The boy stands alone, completely unnoticed by the black crowd pressing in from all sides. His heart swirls with guilt, stirred into being by the preacher's earlier talking. In his mind's eye, he keeps seeing the same scene played over and over, like a broken recording.
The girl, her arms spread outward like an eagle's wings, jumping off the sill.
Her tightly closed eyes and her wide smile, as if she truly believed that she would be fine, that she would be safe.
Then . . . then the blood splattered everywhere.
The boy blinks hard, raising his head and gazing across the sea of mourning heads. Almost unconsciously, his feet begin to rise off the ground slightly, leaving him hovering a little above the heads of the crowd.
The boy doesn't know why he was so moved over this. He had seen it happen before. Although this was the first time the culprit had been so young, just a child really.
Maybe it was also because she had believed in his kind so strongly, waiting for them to save her from this dreary life that she lived. She had trusted in him, and he had failed her.
Silently, unnoticed, the boy drifts back down, his feet touching grassy earth, and pushes past the oblivious crowd.
He comes back, though, the next night when everyone had gone, and kneels in front of the stone engraved with her name. After staring for a long, long time, the boy makes a resolution that this will never, ever happen again if he can prevent it.
Which he does.