New York is a beautiful city during the night. The lights are like fireflies, and the sounds form some sort of ever-changing music. Truly, New York is best looked at during the rose-coloured view of darkness, for the darkness is built from shadows, and those shadows hide filth.
But under New York, where the subway tunnels and the sewers lay, it is hard for most to see any beauty. Even those who have lived in the sewers for years may not be able to see any glamour in the underground. Of course, most citizens of New York never go down to the sewers out of choice, so they only have media to explain to them what the sewers look like. The media does not lie about the appearance- or smell- of the sewers. But beauty is simply an opinion, different to each person.
For example, one could say that a graveyard is a beautiful place. Many would disagree, saying that a graveyard is creepy and gross. But there are graveyards with weeping willows and long grass and oaks with twisting branches and flowers the colours of the rainbow and beyond. So who can say what beauty truly is? Everyone has his own ideals of it.
For example, I see my widower as beautiful. He has grown to be someone admirable and strong, yet not afraid to show emotions. I think that's why I love him more now than I ever did when I was alive. His four sons, who I have now recognized to be the yokai that visited me sixteen years ago, are beautiful too, each in their own ways. They show strength and compassion beyond what I ever thought I could see in people so young. But there is one who has caught my attention far more than his brothers. Maybe because he is so like how my Yoshi-chan was as a teenager... I do not know. But he is the one I have focused my attentions on the most over these past fifteen years.
I see him now, sitting on a ledge, overlooking a pool of clean water that Yoshi had found years earlier. He glares down at his reflection. His emotions are plastered on his face, easily readable. Anger, disgust, sadness, and one last feeling that is barely detectable. Exhaustion. This boy hates himself.
I can see why. His appearance makes him a freak to the upper world. Yes, his brothers look much like him, but his personality is a wall that separates him from them. In his eyes, his brothers are better people than himself, and he is ugly, both to the eye and heart.
Scars may be scattered around his body, but they just prove how much he fights to protect others. Anger may take him over sometimes, but he reigns over it in the end. Humans may be scared of him, but he still saves them. He is a better person than I ever was.
However, he doesn't see that. He sees a monster, a freak, someone that shouldn't exist. A growl escapes his throat, and he slashes the water with his his foot. Ripples refract his mirror image, and his scowl deepens. The terrapin truly despises himself.
He sighs, and rubs his face. The boy can not even work up enough energy to get angry. After a few moments of hesitation, he slowly turns his scorning eyes back to the water. He hates himself so much, he cannot stop from drowning himself in his own self-despising thoughts. I can see them splayed out on his features quite clearly.
I can read his feelings easily, even when he puts on a facade different than his true emotions. It is what happens when you observe someone so much. But, he shows something different today. Something I have only seen in flickers, burning out before I can decipher the meaning, something hauntingly familiar...
I remember where I have seen it before.
Yoshi-chan wore that expression, more magnified and pained, but still the same, after the fire.
Heartbreak.
Oh.
Oh.
My poor boy.
I know who has caused this feeling. It has only been birthed when she is around.
He is in love with April O'Neil
No, no, not love, not yet. He certainly loves her in a platonic sense. But as romantic feelings go, it is not that deep yet. It is enough, though.
Enough to be painful when he sees her flirting with his best friend. Enough to be filled with jealousy when she kissed his brother. Enough to feel broken when he thinks that she will never even think of him in the same way.
He radiates his burning pain. How did I not sense it earlier? I feel his sorrow and anger crash over me again and again. It hurts him so much, like a branding iron on bare skin.
I cannot let him feel anymore pain. His self-lothing and disbelief and jealousy are too much. They are causing me, a gÅsuto, almost physical pain.
I have not felt any pain as sharp and corporeal as that since I burned in the fire.
Yet, what can I do? My essence is not tangible, not perceivable in any way to others. I am merely a specter, unable to do anything but watch as events unfold. The spirit I have left is a pathetic excuse for a form. I cannot do anything
I cannot help him.
I cannot stay here any longer, not with my favored one hating himself, and not being able to do anything.
So I turn,
and run.
Raphael frowns.
He thinks he just glimpsed someone standing next to him in his reflection.
But, he thinks, that can't be.
Not just because of the fact that it was a regular, middle-aged woman standing next to him. No, she also looked just like Tang Shen.
No, he thinks. Just a trick of the light. A... He remembers the word Donnie taught him a year ago, the one that meant what he just thought.
A refraction.
Hey people! This is what you get when you ask me to write a short story. 1000 words (not counting this little note here). Leave a little review, and vote if you liked this!
~SandyGraves