Disclaimer: I do not own Fruits Basket or any of the characters and likenesses thereof. This is a fan-made work created purely for entertainment, and I am not in any way affiliated with the author or publishers. In other words: It's not mine! I'm just having fun with it!
A/N: I am neither suicidal nor nearly as negative as the voice of this story, but come on, this IS Akito we're talking about; I am aiming for a certain amount of authenticity in the way she views the world. BTW, please REVIEW; I need feedback in order to improve my writing!
Me: Welcome, everyone!
Akito: Who exactly is going to see all of this?
Me: The entire world…or at least the fanfiction-reading portion of it!
Akito: Should I degrade the quality of my writing slightly so that this portion of the world, who are not notably intelligent, can understand it?
Me: No! You mustn't be so mean! You'll scare all the readers away!
Akito: I am not "mean." I am merely honest. By the way, your hair is the most unmanageably ugly rat's nest I have ever seen.
Me: Oh, wow, thanks, let's just make it personal, shall we?
Akito: How much longer must I suffer your inferior company?
Me: Until you finish this story.
Akito: Fine.
I am Akito. Hmm… that sounded rather stupid. Ah, well. It is not as though there is an infinite list of options for good openings anyway, unless you happen to be the sort of person who prefers to jump right into the "action" without any kind of preamble and confuse your poor readers to infinity. I hate Shigure's "novels" for that reason; let me know when he learns to put some kind of plot in among the "action sequences", but enough of that shameful topic.
What sort of person are you to read this, I wonder? I suppose you are rather stupid, since you are bothering about my life rather than pursuing your own. Yes… some stupid, ugly girl who scans thousands of mediocre scripts in hope of finding some glimmer of sweetness to brighten her otherwise mindless day. Wait, I am probably giving you too much credit. You probably do not know the difference between real sweetness and the usual sort of idiotic kitsch that is spread around much of the time on the Internet nowadays; the spelling and grammar in much of these "creations," which I would point out are mostly merely ideas stolen from the Sohma family biographer and are of the most extreme low quality. Yes, you are probably stupid, or perhaps just over-bored, but I rather think you idiotic. Ah, well. It is of no consequence. My family forced me to write down this atrocious story, and so you will probably think it is good, despite the fact that I seem rather challenged in the area of writing intelligently about emotional events in my life. However that may be, here is my tale… and all flames will be used to roast Yuki and Kyo for my supper.
Me: No, they will not!
Akito: Shut up! You are not worthy to speak to me, you ugly person!
Me: Whatever. Just get on with it, will you?
Akito: Anything to get rid of your annoying presence.
Me: I'm sorry; she must be PMS-ing.
Akito: I heard that. In any case, let us get on with it before I die of Author-chan's ugliness.
The world is composed, in the end, of darkness. Light, thus, is not an entity of itself, but an annoying lack of darkness, or, worse, an idle pretense. I understand this, because it is true. I have observed it my whole life. Darkness, in the end, is all there is. Anything else is but a façade, a bright, happy lie. In the end, no one is happy forever, but misery is constant. I learned this long ago…
Akira loved me. Every day, he played with me, talked to me, told me stories, took me out… Not once did he tell me, "Shut up, you stupid child. I don't care about that." Never did he strike me. Everything I said was a beautiful proverb; everything I did inspired his affection. My father was the most loving man I have ever known.
I remember one evening, when I was about five years of age. I was running through the garden, chasing an ever-elusive butterfly. It seemed that I could never catch it, no matter how I tried. Now on a flower, now flitting above the roof of the house, it seemed almost to taunt me with its unattainable beauty. I ran and ran, and finally it seemed to pause, hovering right next to the fish pond. I jumped at it, but it flitted away at the last second, and, unable to stop, I fell facedown into the pond with a smack. Water soaked my kimono, making it unbearably heavy, and I struggled and kicked as the leaden silk pulled me down, down, down into the green water. A golden koi looked me straight in the face, its black eyes unfathomable. I ceased struggling, caught up in the wonder of this contact. Next time, I thought somewhat irrelevantly, I think I want to be a fish...
A strong hand grasped the back of my kimono, and I was pulled up out of the water and into my father's arms. I gasped for breath, spitting out water mixed with strings of algae and mucous as he dealt sharp blows to my back.
"Akito," he asked once he was sure I was alright, "what were you doing?"
"I was just… I wanted to catch the butterfly," I said, a sob coming up in my throat. My father hugged me tight, and the soft embrace broke something inside me; I began to bawl uncontrollably. He gently stroked my hair, quieting my sobs, and I stopped, breathing deeply to calm myself.
"Akito," Father said gently, "if you want to catch a butterfly, you mustn't chase it. You must make it come to you. All the running in the world," he continued, "will never have the same power of the sweetness of your heart… or of sugar water." He chuckled. "Come along," he said, pulling me to my feet. He led me to the kitchen, where he stirred sweet white powder in with some water. He took me back out into the garden and poured a small amount into my palm. "Now," he said, "hold still."
I was a perfect little statue, holding out my hand with its tiny pool of sweet liquid, and before long, I saw a flash of color out of the corner of my eye. With an effort, I kept still, looking only with my eyes and not turning my head. The butterfly hesitated, and I could almost see the wheels turning in its tiny mind. Finally, a decision was reached, and it flitted a little closer… and closer… and closer, until it rested in my palm, folding its wings vertically. I hardly dared to breathe, gazing upon this tiny marvel. The joints in its legs, the veins in its wings, the tiny proboscis that ever so tentatively reached out into the small pool I held in my palm—every little detail stood out in my mind with perfect clarity, and I sighed softly with the beauty of it all. The butterfly's wings stirred a little, but its little straw remained firmly planted in the sugar water. I looked up at my father, and he looked at me, and an understanding passed between us, some elemental understanding of truth and beauty, all condensed into that small moment. The butterfly sucked up the last of the sugar water, curling up its proboscis. It looked up into my eyes, and cheerily flitted away.
"You see," said Akira, "all you have to do is wait, and love, and be yourself… and the Jyuunishi will always be with you. They need you. You are their Master."
I smiled and snuggled close to him. "I love them so much," I sighed happily, "Shigure, and Hatori, and Ayame, and all the others who will come to me. I can't wait to meet them."
"Neither can I," my father smiled.
When Akira died, the butterflies lost their charm.
TBC…
Me: Please review! I am open to suggestions, but I do have a general idea of where this is going, so please don't be mad if I don't use your suggestion. More importantly, I want to know what to improve in my story, and feedback is the only way for me to learn! (BTW, although the way Akito said it wasn't nice, I really would rather not be flamed; it's very childish and just makes you look bad. If you want to criticize my writing, do it nicely!) Thank you for reading!
