A Flower
in Midgard.
By
Sephiroth_4000
Tseng carelessly raked back his
long black hair. He checked his
appearance in the mirror. He looked of
course, absolutely perfect in the Turks uniform. He was really in the Turks.
Unbelievable.
He
set out from the apartment he rented in the Sector 1 Slums of Midgard. From now on Tseng would no longer be living
here, but on the plate, where only the privileged, or skilled few lived.
The
Shinra Headquarters loomed up above him, and he easily climbed the steps. He nodded to some of the employees he knew
rushing around the main entrance, and stepped into the elevator lightly. He was to meet President Shinra today.
The
elevator clicked to a stop, giving forth an electronic ding! As he exited it,
he nervously felt for the key card he had been given to the 69th
floor, which was the entrance to the President' s office.
He
took the steps one at a time, instead of two for once. He didn't want to look like a kid in front
of the President.
President Shinra studied his newly
made Turk for a moment with his beady black eyes. He smiled slowly for a moment.
He liked what he saw. Tseng
Takema would make an excellent Turk.
"You
will do well," he said to the young man, who looked at him gravely. "I believe you are an excellent addition to
the team of Turks. You all have the
task of finding new recruits for SOLDIER. . .but there are also. . special assignments
I give out occasionally, when a Turk shows especial promise." He left it at that, while Tseng gazed back
at him steadily.
"Kyien?" He raised his voice slightly, and the older
Turk entered.
"Take Tseng to his new
rooms." The man nodded and bowed
slightly. A formal man, despite not
being that much older than the new Turk.
Tseng would be in good hands.
And of course the President would have Kyien's report on the young man
tomorrow.
Tseng strode quietly down the
lane, watching her. Had it really been
six years since he had been made a Turk? So long ago? It didn't feel like it
had been so long since he had been fifteen.
He laughed quietly to himself, but kept his eyes on the girl.
He
didn't know her name, and didn't want to.
The President had had him following her around for two years now. His "special" assignment was following a
slip of a girl around. No challenge at
all, for him. She never tried to elude
the Turk, to slip into the crowds or to try to hide from him. It was as if she really didn't know or care
that there was someone watching her twenty-four hours a day.
She turned
a corner, then turned around to look at him, while he stood in shadow. Did she know he was here? Impossible.
She was only sixteen. He gave a
start as she waved at him, then continued on.
Impossible. How did she know?
He
hurried along to catch up with her, but made sure that she was always in
sight. She was heading for that old
church again. Why did she spend so much
time there anyway?
She
entered and closed the ruined double doors behind her. Tseng lingered outside. He never went in, for she never tried to
slip away, and for that he gave her a little freedom from him. You had to have privacy sometimes. As he watched, a young man in the uniform of
a third class SOLDIER entered the church, shaking back spiky black hair. He visited the girl sometimes, so Tseng
wasn't particularly worried, though he always reported these visits. He knew now that the young man's name was
Zack, a particular SOLDIER he had spotted for potential himself. He would go far, probably to First Class if
he stayed out of trouble.
After
a while, perhaps a hour, perhaps more, the young man slipped out again. He looked. . . at peace for some
reason. When he had gone in, there had
been a slightly wary expression on his face, but now, his entire demeanour was
calm.
Tseng
was used to this. It was always like
this when that man visited the girl.
Not
knowing quite why, but feeling the urge, Tseng entered the church quietly. Telling himself he was just keeping an eye
on her, he looked around. To his
surprise, she was on her knees, digging in the soft soil around some flowering
plants. Rotten floorboards had been
torn up to make a circle of earth in which the flowers turned their faces up to
the sun. They had obviously been grown
by her, but he had thought that flowers didn't grow in Midgard.
Feeling
that same irresistible urge, he came a little closer. It smelt good in here, the smell of living plants instead of the
slightly acrid smell of Mako, which seemed to linger everywhere in Midgard.
The
girl looked up. "So you did come in,"
she said quite calmly. "Sit down. I'll only be a minute."
Tseng
looked at her, feeling slightly awkward.
She carefully snipped off a few flowers, and placed them in wicker
basket close at hand. Finally, she stood
up, and brushed the dirt as best as she could from her arms, and her
dress. She tucked back a few stray
mahogany brown hairs back before sitting down beside him on one of the pews.
"Well?"
she asked after a moment of silence.
"Wha.
.Excuse me?"
"Why
did you come in here?" she turned to
face him, and bemused, he looked into her deep green eyes.
"I
don't know. Just a feeling."
She
nodded as if that made perfect sense to her.
"You've followed me for two years. . .but this is the first time you've
ever spoken to me. . ."
He
shrugged. What was he supposed to say?
"Why
today? Why now?"
"You
knew I was there?"
"Obviously. I suppose why doesn't really matter." They fell silent for a while. It was so perfectly still in the church. The light bathed the flowers; how Tseng
didn't know, he had thought that the plate had blotted out all the sunlight
from the slums.
As
if hearing his thoughts, the girl spoke.
"People say you can't grow flowers in the slums. It's too polluted for plants to live, that's
what everyone says. But for some reason
they don't have any trouble growing here."
She drew her knees up to herself.
"I love it in here. It's so
peaceful. . . . ."
Tseng
said nothing. He closed his eyes
gently. It was peaceful in here,
something he had never really felt before.
He sighed gently, and opened his eyes.
The girl looked at him curiously.
"I'm
Aeris," she said holding out a hand.
"Though you probably already know that!" she added with a small
laugh.
He
shook his head mutely, and took her hand.
"Tseng." He wondered briefly if
he should've given her his name, then shrugged it off. It was obvious she didn't care that he was
following her.
They
sat in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the calm of the
church. It was only when the girl
looked at her watch, and bit her lip that the spell was broken. "Uh. . .I have to go home Tseng, which means
you have to come with me right?"
He
nodded.
She
shrugged then. "You can shadow me if
you have to," she said solemnly. "But I
rather if you would just walk me home."
He
looked at her for a moment. "Alright."
He heard himself say.
She
smiled then, pleased. "Let's go."
He
walked her home, and then stopped on the path to her front door. As she reached
it, she turned, and smiled rather sadly.
Then she nodded decisively, and went inside the house.
Tseng
watched for a little while, a part of him longing for inexplicable things, for
a world he had never known in his strife torn existence. The serenity of the church sustained him as
he walked back to his quarters in a quiet daze.
He reached his apartment soon, and
sat down. It was so quiet, but not like
it had been there. There it had simply
been silence so tranquil and calm, but here it was only a barrenness of
sound. The sound of complete solitude
pressed into his ears with an almost tangible weight, and for a moment he
clapped his hands over his ears in pain.
He
took his hands away, looking at them in morbid fascination as they shook
violently. What had she done to him? Or, more correctly, what had she unlocked in
him? For the first time ever he felt a
yawning emptiness in his very soul.
What was his worth? What had he
ever done?
It
was only chance that his hand slid into his pocket. Only chance, that perhaps his soul could be salvaged? Was it only chance?
There was
something inside, and Tseng took it out of his pocket carefully by the
stem.
It was a
perfect flower, it's pale pink petals beaded with dew.
Author's
Note: Not much of a storyline, I'll admit, but it is a short story. And a bit soppy, but I do have occasional
tendencies in that direction.
