Disclaimer: The characters contained in this story are the sole property of Squaresoft. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm only "borrowing" them for the purpose of storytelling.
Epitaph: Part Two
"Caged Birds"
Celes crouched, knees half-bent, staring at the rain-worn epitaph. A patch of land here on the island bore from it old gravestones. A patch of dead. This island, the solitary heap of rocks and sand, had once been part of the Greater Continent. Celes could feel it. Where then, had these graves been snatched away from? Left here to sit in decay, alone. The field here was grassy, a soft pad of death. Isolated.
Celes moved her hand over the writing on the grave, smooth marble. Simone Sheeva. Celes ran her fingers through each indentation in the stone, each letter separately. Sheeva, what and unusual name. So much like Shiva, the Esper of icy dreams. Ice. Her ice. She sank into the grass, pressed her head to the cold marble.
"Oh dear, poor you. Poor me." She tried to imagine this girl, this Simone. According to the dates given on the stone, she would have been only twenty three when she had died, one year older than Celes should be now. Could that be? She had lost three years. The girl then, her age, had died long ago. In the early days of the Empire, when she was still a child. A child born into war. A caged bird.
A flash of light passed through her minds eye, suddenly. A face. Woman with tousled sandy hair, soft sad eyes. Familiar eyes. She wore a pale blue necklace. A chain of keys.
You seem surprised, dear.
Yes. What is this?
You'll see it all soon, more clearly, dear.
What more clearly? What?
Just how poor we all are.
Celes opened her eyes and jumped to her feet. The voice. Had it been the same that she'd heard that morning on the mountain?
The morning had been cold, bitter. The dew had not left the ground, and it had been cold to her bare feet. She ran up the sloping side of the cliff, away from the wasting figure of Cid, lying prostrate in the hut below. Died of boredom and despair, the others had. What a cruel fate. Celes was breathless and soaked when she reached the top. Threw herself across a rock there, trembling with cold and fright. Her now frail body was racked with the sobs; she spilled all she had upon the rock that morning. General Celes, now crying. How far gone it all was. She thought of him, of Locke. If only he were here. If only . . .
What if he had been one of those travellers washed ashore, dead from sorrow. Washed to sea. She gripped the rock tightly, her nails pulling from their cuticles. Oh pain, her pain, only hers. She felt like the last person on earth here, aside from Cid, who was fading fast. And if Locke was gone too, what more was there?
To the heavens she cried. "Locke, Locke . . . Are you out there? Where are you? Please, tell me!"
He's here, with me, child.
Oh no, that can't be so. Where is this place you speak of?
In the cloudy sky. The rocky path. The sand. The water . . .
Enough. No. Don't tell me any more.
But child, that's the way things are.
Is it all gone then? Are we over? Everything . . .
We live out the nightmares we create for ourselves. The ones created for us.
Oh I wish you hadn't . . .
Celes was alone. "Can't be true. Mustn't be alone . . . " She slept, wet on the rock that morning. The thought of death this large, the slow crawl toward one's own epitaph, had drawn her into the meadow of graves. The soft sanctuary.
That voice had been . . .
Celes put it from her mind for a while. Blamed the solitude for her delusions. Then morning came and Cid had gone. Gone. All gone.
On the mountain, the cliff face, she faced the horizon. Swaying in the breeze. Her veins felt cold and her body shook. No more, no more, she cried. Her mouth made no motion to speak. A small bird lay limp in the grass. A small bird. A caged bird. She scanned the air for a sign, any sign. Hair blowing fiercely, pale golden strands. Her eyes were dark, red, swollen. Not the pure pale beacons they once were. Empty shells. This is what happened to birds in a cage, then?
The epitaphs have already been written, love.
No. Is it so?
Always has been.
Then there isn't any way?
Sometimes there is, luv, but not always.
Oh, I wish . . .
Silence. The voice was gone. Gone. She was completely alone. She closed her eyes. Stepped towards the edge.
Then over. Then blackness, rushing waves.
Wake up, love. It isn't time yet.
But you said . . .
Yes, it's coming. But you aren't ready, I can see.
I want . . . I want . . .
You want to be with Locke, don't you, luv?
Yes.
Then look for him. One must always have someone. Some family, to call their own.
Oh, thank you. Thank you. I promise I will find that.
We all wish for that, luv. Your happiness is my happiness.
Simone?
Yes, luv?
You're his mother, aren't you?
Now luv, how did you know?
I . . . The epitaph. It said so. Basically.
Go to him, then. Will be alright. He needs you.
Celes opened her eyes. Sandy, worn, salty eyes. Not moving, not fit to face the day, but alive. She was alive. And that is what she must appreciate. The epitaphs may already be written, may lie ahead, but she had a trail left to follow yet. She wouldn't stay here, caged. She would find him. Find something. That's all there was left to do.
On the beach, above her, landed a bird. It flew gracefully, and she smiled at its grace. She saw the bandana next, and picked it up. Closed her eyes. Just how poor we are. Just how strong. Family. Lovers. All there is. She pictured Locke's sweet face, like his mothers. Her sad eyes were his eyes. She would find the living now, here, on behalf of those that have already died. She would live, finally. She would leave this cage under her own power.
I'd not have thought it possible, girl, but I am long dead.
Saddened. Unable to create hope.
But you have it. It hasn't died.
And I see it in you. You can find a way out.
Follow the epitaph.
Make it yours.
~*~
Author's Note: I wrote this piece to accompany the story Epitaph, from Celes' point of view. This is, of course a familiar story, but I wanted to write it from the slant I had used in Epitaph. I love Celes dearly, so I couldn't leave her story out. I hope you've enjoyed it. Feedback is much appreciated, as always.