I Dreamed of Angels
Part Three H
Trowa entered another store, not pleased
with the results of his search. During the three hours that he had been walking
around town, not once did he even pay attention to the massive amounts of
objects presented before him.
There were numerous designs suggested to
the boy and yet, everyone's efforts were ignored with grunts, incredulous
stares and distasteful comments. It looked like there was nothing that could
ever please the boy who intentionally dropped the unwanted items on the floor,
leaving the job of picking up the broken pieces to his servants. For all they
knew, he might have found this activity a new hobby of some sorts, one that
would reward him with unbridled pleasure.
He wasn't with his father this time,
however, for the man that was nearing insanity was tired from the walking and
the constant whining that had been going on. He therefore opted to stay in the
silence of his car to relieve his mind of the onslaught of terror his son was
putting the whole town through.
He was almost close to his blissful
dreamland of childless fantasies when he was suddenly awakened by the voice of
a terrified and breathless servant.
"Mr. Barton," the servant called out,
supporting part of his body with his arms on his knees. "Trowa's gone out of
control. He's at one of the stores breaking everything on the shelves. We can't
stop him and the owners said that they'd call the police if he doesn't calm
down."
"What?" Mr. Barton asked in surprise. "He's
a mere boy. What do you mean the police? He's not causing *that* much trouble,
is he?"
The servant answered by turning his eyes
downward, wanting to say yes but hoping that he didn't have to.
That look, however, was enough to convince
Mr. Barton to stand up from his comfortable position and head towards his
obnoxious son.
Inside the store, Trowa was becoming
hysterical. He was screaming to the top of his lungs as he threw different
items on the floor, pleased at the variety of sounds the shattered porcelain
items produced. Some shattered into the tiniest pieces, others only cracked a
millimeter, while the rest remained intact and unscathed. The ones that had
escaped with the least damage, however, were not as fortunate because after
finishing off with the delicate ones, he proceeded to those stubborn ones and
smashed them even far worse than the first. It was, indeed, soothing and
entertaining for the boy that reveled in the self-caused destruction
surrounding him.
At least, that was what everyone had
assumed. In truth, he was actually frustrated. He was frustrated and infuriated
at the thought that his search had been hopeless right from the start. Having
no knowledge of what exactly he was searching for had been a very clear sign
and now, he was facing reality.
His dream did not interpret into anything in
particular. They were but images, fogged images of his ideals, which he didn't
even confirm existed. All these ideals, he assumed, were just part of his wild
imagination. They were all irrational and untrue, childish fantasies of what
may have been.
His brush with the smaller boy had brought
up some hints as to what he was searching for, but it created too many
conflicting thoughts that proved to do more harm than good. Trowa felt that he
was almost there, close to something and yet, this something remained out of
his grasp.
He decided that now would be a good time to
end his search. He was going to stop looking for that perfect ornament, that
perfect tree topper, that perfect someone or something that had plagued his
thoughts for so long.
It was the end and he didn't care if he
brought down everyone with him. In fact, he felt a lot better knowing that he
was destroying them in the process. That was right. Everyone had to experience
hell like he had ever since his dream.
"Trowa, stop this madness this instant!"
was the last thing Trowa heard his father yell before a stray item hit him on
the head, rendering him unconscious.
People from all over town heard of the
ongoing commotion. It was the talk of town that day although the other talk of
town had not been forgotten. It was the day the Christmas play was to be held
and everyone was excited to see the results of the children's month long
practices. So, while the noise was building outside, the children were having
their final rehearsals.
"Are you okay, Quatre?"
"It's too hot up here!" the dangled angel
complained from his position high up. He was still strung from a rope, but this
time, he was positioned in front of a small window with the sun's light
striking him.
"Just hold on dear. You won't have to stay
there long."
"But I've been here all day!"
"We're almost done. We just need to make
the final adjustments to the background, and you're part of it."
"But why do I have to be in the sun?"
"We're using natural light, honey. Unless
of course, you want us to put the lights directly on you."
The rehearsal went on in the far corner of
the room with the boy being ignored for the time being. So there was Quatre,
basked in the sun's light, bored and feeling the sun's warm rays hit his pale
skin.
Quatre sighed and grabbed for the window,
looking down and out at what was going on while he was preoccupied with his
job.
Something peculiar was going on, he
noticed. There was some kind of disturbance coming from the store across.
Multitudes of people swarmed the place as Quatre tried to decipher the source
of everyone's attention.
He spotted a large man coming out of the
store, carrying what looked like a younger person. The first thing that came
into view were tiny feet in fancy shoes, followed by legs covered in brown
pants. Quatre desperately wanted to see who the person was although he didn't
know why.
Perhaps he wanted to see the weird haired
boy again because there was something nagging him about the person.
He lost his grip on the windowsill,
however, and dangled back into place.
"Quatre, stay still next time and stop
looking out the window. The rope looks like it's going to break apart if you
keep on moving."
"Hmph!" Quatre said in response and looked
at his friends who were now in their final costumes, finished with their final
practices. They, in turn, looked up at their friend, the grumpily hanging
ornament.
Outside, the noise had died down and the
immensity of the crowd that had occupied the streets a minute ago were now
disappearing.
Trowa was starting to come back into
consciousness and noticed that he was being carried back to the car across the
street by one of his servants.
"Eww!" he exclaimed as he jumped down from
the man's hold. "Dad, why is this gorilla putting his ugly hands on me?"
His father looked at him, exasperated.
"Son, you've caused quite a scene today and
we're taking you home."
A loud and firm "No!" was the answer.
Mr. Barton was not surprised at his boy's
continual act of defiance so he decided to give up for the time being.
"I'm staying right here!" Trowa proclaimed.
Although his father was not one to argue
any further, Trowa stomped his foot to confirm the statement and was again
relishing in his glory and power when someone yelled at him.
"That is enough!"
Trowa was surprised at the tone given to
him so he immediately looked in the direction of the one that had dared
reprimand him.
The servant that had done so, knowing full
well what the consequences were, was shaking as he continued.
"You can't always get what you want." he
explained. "Someday I hope you realize that and suffer more than we've gone
through with you."
The boy didn't respond quickly, but after a
moment of silence laughed as if the statement were made as a joke.
"You're fired!" Trowa yelled after, his
voice filled with venom.
The poor servant walked away in silence and
everything continued on as if nothing had happened.
People were starting to ignore the argument
by this time although a few weren't able to resist the temptation to glance at
the representation of evil itself positioned just outside the building. The
play was starting soon and they decided that it was less important to find out
the results of the arguments going on within the rich disgruntled family.
A few minutes later, the play started and
the only people left outside were a few petrified servants, a now indifferent
father, and a headstrong boy holding his position.
The play went by smoothly, free of any
problems and Ms. Noin was very proud as she held the hand of her masked
boyfriend. She became ever more excited, however, when Quatre's turn came up.
She looked lovingly at her dear little angel as he was lifted up, the fading
sun's light surrounding him completely.
Outside, Trowa raised his arms up in the
air, looked up and mocked the heavens.
"Oh why, oh why," he cried. "don't you just
give me what I want? Why don't you just give me what I'm looking for?"
Inside, Quatre was very proud of himself as
he smiled at the crowd and said "Gworia..."
He didn't have the chance to finish because
in an instant, the sky turned gray taking on strong winds that hollered on with
great immensity, causing him to wobble. Within seconds, the rope broke and
Quatre was flung off the window.
Everyone gasped as they watched the child
fall. Quatre screamed, closed his eyes, and prayed that his inevitable end
would be quick and painless. To his
surprise, he didn't land on the cold and hard concrete ground he had been
expecting, but instead on some warm, soft arms.
Just when he thought that he had died and
gone to heaven, just like everyone said he would, he opened his eyes slowly and
came face to face with startled green eyes.
Trowa stood agape, shaking his head to
clear his thoughts. Was this what he had been looking for all along? Suddenly,
memories came rushing back into him and he was reacquainted with those sweet
distant memories.
"My angel," he thought. "It can't possibly
be this easy."
He forced himself out of his quiet reverie
and slowly pulled himself back into reality.
"Dad, I'm keeping this one!" he called out.
Quatre couldn't begin to explain how elated
he was that someone broke his fall. He was shocked beyond belief, but upon
hearing the remark which included him being kept like a possession, he
immediately cried out in protest. There was something very familiar nudging his
brain, though, as he did this.
"Hey! You can't keep me. Let me go!"
Trowa ignored the protest and started
ordering his servants.
"Make him clothes." was the first command.
"What kind?"
"The one he's wearing right now!"
"Hey, this is just supposed to be my
costume!" Quatre objected.
"You'll dress up like this for me everyday,
right angel?" was Trowa's retort.
"What? Wait a minute, I'm not..."
"He's too skinny!" Trowa interjected. "Feed
him! Buy us some chocolate ice cream, now!"
Quatre clapped his hands, momentarily
forgetting the situation he was in.
"I love chocolate!" he exclaimed.
"See, I knew my angel would see it my way."
Trowa said as he realized just how conniving his plan was.
"You
traitor!" Duo screamed from the building.
"Oh, and Dad, I'm keeping him in my room."
"Very well, Trowa."
"I said you can't keep me!" Quatre
exclaimed, again remembering what all his protests were about.
"Let me go. Let me go. Let me go." he
repeated continuously while trying to break free of the hold.
Trowa found it somewhat irritating and
decided that he use his most effective method when it came to shutting girls
up. He kissed Quatre square on the lips and his method was proven effective.
Quatre immediately withheld whatever else
he was going to say and blushed furiously, looking away in utter embarrassment.
"That's better," Trowa said.
He turned back his attention to the
servants and with a smirk, said jovially "I told you I always get what I want."
His father couldn't care any less if his
son had picked up some lint on the sidewalk. All he cared was that the boy had
finally found something he was satisfied with. He was tired but pleased at the
way things had turned out so he decided that going back home would be the best
option.
"Let's go, Trowa," he said. "Put him in the
car."
This time, Trowa complied without another
word. He headed towards the parked car silently, the smirk still on his face as
he carried his angel.
He was so lost in the image that he didn't
even hear the protests coming from the people in the building, although he did
hear one familiar voice.
"Hey let our friend go!" Duo yelled while
his two other friends stood beside him, silently promising pain if their friend
was harmed in any way. Trowa looked up in return and stuck his tongue out.
"He's mine now," he said and continued
walking.
Quatre remained silent, unable to utter a
word, still stunned and blushing from the kiss he received.
Finally, Trowa reached the vehicle and as
he deposited his long lost possession into the car, he bent down and gave the
flushed boy another gentle kiss.
Quatre looked up into the mysterious orbs
and watched as they turned from those with malicious intentions into those with
loving memories of long ago.
Trowa smiled at him, winked and said "Didn't I tell you I'd find you?"