Clarity
By: Pink Cloud Assembly
AN: I got bored one day and decided to mess around with a writing style I don't normally use in attempts to break out of my writers block, and this little drabble was born. I really didn't have a plot in mind or have any idea where I was going with it, but I think it turned out okay. It explores little Donnie's curiosity of the human world as a small child.
Oh, duh! -headdesk- Thanks to Willowfly and Tauni, as always, for betaing and all that jazz. -heart- See that? 'S a heart. :]
"I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious." - Albert Einstein.
He makes himself tall on the overturned trashcan pushed up against the grimy sewer wall, dancing on his toes to peer through the sewer grate. The task would be easier if he had his brother's shell to stand on, but he manages. He presses his face closer to the dirty bars and smiles. No one will see his wide, curious eyes from here, he's sure of it. He's been here so many times before with his younger brother, and he's heard everything his Sensei says about the dangers above a million times. But still, between the grates of his secret little window, the world looks more confusing than threatening.
He likes to think that he understands the urgency in his Sensei's voice when he talks about surface dwellers, but he says nothing. He knows, though. He's seen it.
He remembers his first glimpse of human life—remembers being frightened by the loud roar of traffic. He hadn't known then that they were the same sounds that lulled him to sleep night after night, dulled by the thick slabs of concrete. His fears were quickly forgotten, and the taxis became another object of wonder.
He's seen them, learned the name by watching people standing on street corners yelling "Taxi, taxi", most waving little brown boxes with handles.
He watches a dark blue taxi pull up to the thick white line on the ground, waiting for a box in the sky to change from aka* to midori*. He hears the soft tick of an engine; it reminds him of throwing tiny pebbles at something made of metal.
There is little activity here, though his brother tells them there are busier places with more people and more taxis, and he thinks that maybe Raphael joins him for those kind of adventures. This street is just fine for him, enough to keep him craving for more, never enough to fully satisfy his wonder, and never, ever enough to put him in real danger. It's as though this place was made for him; quiet at times, loud at others, and always, always moving.
It amazes him how many different colors and shapes the taxi's come in. Where he lives, the colors are dull and ugly. But here there are so many- kuro*, aka, some taxis are a nice, clean shade of shiro* with a strip of ao* with words on the side he can't read. He doesn't see many of these shiro taxis, but enough to recognize the color in English now. White. It sounds foreign on his lips, and makes him grin in excitement every time he says it.
Some of the taxis are tall and some are short, and some are wide, while others are just funny looking. Some even choke out puffs of smoke and sputter loudly, and then some seem to noiselessly glide as though they don't touch the ground at all.
When he hears a man's voice call out for a taxi, he grins and silently giggles into his hand. But then he pauses, briefly wondering if such a gliding vehicle actually exists. He entertains the thought for a while. Maybe he might be the first one to make a flying taxi. He hasn't seen one before. Maybe it doesn't exist.
But then there are so many other ways to get around, like the tall, oddly shaped things with two wheels. They look exciting, though the drivers never look to be having any fun.
He decides to leave the flying inventions to the humans for now. All this is just way too strange.
There are animals up above, too. He doesn't see them as often as the humans, but when he does, they're usually pulling the humans here and there from the ends of long colorful rope. Another strange creature roams the street, one he doesn't see all that often. It likes to come out when the sun comes down. Michelangelo calls them 'm'yows'; he claims to have heard one make that sound once, but they both know it's a neko*, like the ones from Sensei's stories. No one's figured out what it's called in human's English yet. Someday he'd like to know. He likes how they aren't on ropes, and how they're so much quieter than the ones with the long tongues that hang out when it gets hot outside. These animals roam the streets all alone. Maybe the neko simply have no humans to guide.
He hasn't seen a turtle or a rat leading a human around, yet. Sensei has told him that normal turtles and rats are very small, but he isn't so sure, because he's seen rats just big as the rope pullers.
It occurs to him that he doesn't often see people outside for too long, they always seem to be in such a rush. He doesn't understand why they seem to run from the sun, or how they grumble and twist up their faces, wiping their brow. Even when it gets cold, the people are always rushing.
He thinks the humans have to be crazy to hate the sun. One of his favorite things to do is to stand here on his toes and press his face to the bars, because sometimes he can see the sky, and if he's lucky, he can see the sun. Not that he hasn't seen it before, they've all lain out beneath the grates basking during the summer, but he can only dream of feelings the warmth full on their shells without the shaded breaks in the grates.
Sunlight is something their Sensei simply cannot give them.
Even though he's young, Donatello understands. They all do.
He sighs and peels his face away, plopping down on the trashcan top. Pressing his hand to the wall, he carefully lowers himself to the ground, dragging the trashcan far enough away so it won't give his little secret away.
He's told his Sensei that one day he would like to know everything there is to know. Most times, he will smile kindly and nod, telling him that maybe one day, he will. But there is one thing he does not understand, no matter how many times he's been told.
If this world is so dangerous, why do they stay? Why don't they pack up their things, pick a direction, and start walking? The tunnels have to go on for ages; maybe even forever and ever. But Splinter says this is where his Master Yoshi lived after he left Japan, and that's why it's important for them to stay.
Donatello says he understands, but really, he never does.
He spends a few extra minutes staring up at the sewer grate, sad that he can't see any more of the sunlight. Then, he sighs and heads back home, sure his brothers will be asking where he wandered off to. They always wonder.
aka* red, midori* green, kuro* black, shiro* white, ao* blue, neko* cat.