Foreword
********
Finally,
after a year and half, this series has come full circle
bearing with it all
the luggage from past tales. Because it's been a while
since I've put it out,
I encourage you to re-read chapter one BEFORE moving
onto this new offering.
Doing so might make this chapter a little more
enjoyable.
Oh,
and for once, we're out of "prelude" mode.
Disclaimer: Everything
associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or
form owned by me. I
don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up
to the larger than life
corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor
Moon in tons of disclaimers
out there apply.
email: doniswong@hotmail.com
Rating: R (cussing)
"Clean"
Chapter 7
Eyes
A fanfic
by
Don
Eyes of the Past
Forever then
How
important are we? In the greater scheme of things, what does the
life of a few petty,
bellicose, viral species known as humans mean? Time
will always go on; the
earth will not stop spinning - well, at least for a
long time, much after
we are all gone. So many greater specimens has the
earth produced: those
who never polluted, never warred, never bickered
about immaterial subjects
like law, language, and knowledge.
They
say that the amount of species who engage in mass warfare amongst
their own can be counted
on two hands; three of them are certain classes of
ants, four are genetic
abominations brought forth by unnatural conditions,
and one... one of them
sits typing, reading, and or saying these words.
I
am not important. My death will not be a great honorable glory where
on the day of my funeral,
the planets will align and the Garden of Eden
will spring to life.
My actions will be lost in a sea of meaningless
gibberish, destined
and fated to be nothing more than a passing memory to a
passing breed of war-like
mutations distantly related to bamboo climbers.
My words will lose their
meaning, my language will fade and my struggles -
however much I would
like to envision them eternal - will be left to the
deaf winds.
Why
don't I lay down and die? Why don't I quicken this evolutionary
pruning? We as part
of this great kingdom of life have destroyed, soiled,
and corrupted more than
our fair share of it. We have left our sinister
mark, so is it not time
to go? Why do I insist on struggling, on denying
myself, on understanding
what will be forgotten in a blink of the cosmos'
eye?
Because...
because these are my struggles. This is my tale. This is my
understanding.
These.
Are. My. People.
I
am not important; we are not important. But, in our insignificance,
we find importance.
We make importance. Our lives may not mean much to the
indomitable will of
time, but for a little while, our overwhelming
selfishness brings us
great hope.
Love,
justice, truth, honor, good - we express what nature has been
built upon in our own
little selfish ways. Our legacy may be nothing, but
the important thing
is we tried and succeeded.
"Tried
and succeeded in what?" you may ask; don't ask me, I don't know.
I'm not important and
neither are you. My absolute absence or presence
means nothing.
So
scary, ne? To have your center of being hinge on what you believe
and what others believe
of you - shoots the argument about everyone having
a soul to hell, doesn't
it? It's quite a logical assumption too: I for one
know first hand the
human "soul" can be tampered with. Besides, "the soul
is a network of cranial
fluids and nerve endings fused together by
observable environmental
reactions - 'experiences' - which are
secondary to survival
and evolution."
"Gray's
Anatomy," volume sixty, edition 601, page 602, paragraph
two.
If
such a fragile, yet previously assumed eternal entity can't escape
the touch and understanding
of man, then it is subject to man's every whim.
Mystery
is what makes us gawk at something's beauty. When the mystery
is gone, analyzed to
death by science, that something is no longer
beautiful, only intriguing.
I
mean, would you rather receive a crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate or
a red rose?
I'd
stick with the rose, thank you very much. Its petals open up,
beckoning me to fall
into it like a lover's dying embrace. The bud forms a
soft kiss, almost like
the lips of a soft-spoken soul with an even softer
spoken heart - again,
it beckons to fall into it and to forget my
troubles... if only
for a little while.
On
the other hand, the crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate loses its grip
on its petals due to
its inability to maintain homeostasis. It
plasmodifies, the inner
membrane shrinking upon itself while the cell walls
remain intact, weakening
the bonds of stem to petal.
Fuck
the crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate.
I
would rather the world be beautiful than intriguing, the very
opposite of its current
situation.
Oh
yes, isn't the dichotomy of earth versus Crystal Tokyo intriguing?
How can so much poverty
roam the streets of London while the mechanical
angels of Tokyo ignorantly
feast like gluttons? What an intriguing social
science thesis paper:
"If one completely removes the self-serving mechanism
of humans, does the
world become a better place? Is altruism the key to
world peace?"
Fuck
intriguing.
Without
selfishness, there would be no undying love. Without evil,
there would be no good.
I know people say, "The universe is a balance,"
but even that isn't
true. The universe isn't about balance; it's about
self-fulfilling survival.
People do good because they believe it gives them
a sense of fulfillment;
likewise, people do evil for the same reason.
For
example, Mamoru would go to the ends of the world to save Usagi
because his existence
without her would be most uncomfortable. How selfish
is that: to disregard
the world no matter how productive you are and spare
no expenses to reclaim
your happiness. Selfishness permeates that act, but
yet, we call it "undying
love." Mamoru wouldn't go to the ends of the world
for anyone else because
"anyone else" doesn't bring him the joy Usagi does.
He saves Usagi for himself,
because her continued existence makes him so
happy that her death
would be the equivalent of his death. And believe me,
no one wants to die.
I
say, what a double standard! What a sad but true reality! What an
unforgivable travesty!
What
a fucking intriguing question.
Selfishness
brings us importance. Selfishness gives us hope. To remove
that selfishness is
an act of unreasonable malice, like a villain who
derives no reward from
killing but yet continues to kill. Such is an
unfathomable thought
to me, and, my friends, that is why I hate the
Purging.
How
can someone ever do something that doesn't bring them some sort of
- be it infinitely large
or atomically small - satisfaction?
Ah
yes, another fucking intriguing question.
See
what understanding does? It undermines the mystery, the mystery of
undying love, of good,
and of God. No longer are those symbols of beauty
and power but of convoluted
half truths mixed with whole lies. And once
understanding comes,
no one can ever stop. Once something is understood,
there will always be
something else to understand, and then the next and
then the next and the
next and the next until... until...
No.
No "until." It'll never stop.
Such
is the world today, a world without a mystery. Everything is
interesting and intriguing,
but absolutely none of it sustains our
emotional and spiritual
selves.
The
fucking crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate strikes again.
Lazily,
I turn my head to the right and look at the bedraggled, haggard
man. Unkempt and unclean,
so unlike everyone else here.
And
instead of intriguing, I find him mysterious, beautiful. He is like
a stain on a shirt,
a blemish on a face - awesome to behold because of its
imperfection. Only months
away from the outside world and I already miss
his kind of demeanor,
his trust-nobody, grizzly gaze.
Curiosity
pulls me forth. I know he is not a product of my handiwork
and I long to hear the
a real, human tainted voice.
What
do I say to man like that? What do I say to a man's whose steel
enforced eyes glisten
like a feral fangs? What do I say to a man whose
world I helped exclude?
What do I say to the awakened beast inside of us?
What do I say to God's
untouched creation?
What
do I say to a man?
"Do
you believe in happiness?"
The
question catches him off guard. I guess he really wasn't expecting
me - or for that matter,
anyone - to talk to him. Remarkably, he answers.
"No.
We live, we die, and we pay all the way. What's the joy in that?"
I
relate with those words, only, I miss out on the "we die" part.
Sometimes, I wonder
what would happen if I died. Like I said before, I
don't matter to that
invincible stream of time, so what if I had died
centuries ago? Did I
really matter? Did I create that little source of hope
for myself?
Every
night, I wish I could follow one of my dismal actions to its
ultimate conclusion.
I want to see if I set off some chain reaction that
continues to flourish
long after I have moved on. I guess I want to know:
did I change the world
or not?
But
then again, we all know the answer to that question...
"Kind
of bitter, aren't you?"
Obviously,
yes. This man is bitter and rude, two qualities which I
would've long ago hated.
Now though, I can't bring myself to do that. His
attitude reminds me
of my humanity, of my station in life: I may be a
millennium his senior,
but I am no good until I prove myself otherwise.
It's cold, calculating,
yet immensely appropriate.
No
one should ever be judged on name alone.
I
wait, tasting the stale air around him. Seconds drag by, his rudeness
almost off-setting my
talkative mood.
Almost.
I
try another conversation starter. "So what brings a stranger like you
to these parts?"
He
looks at his drink, swishing it around and gawking at it like a
child. His arrogance
begins to grind on my nerves. Yes, yes, it's very true
that I haven't proved
myself in his eyes yet - at least, not enough to
start a deep conversation
- but he is violating humane respect. He should
answer me, if only in
a dismissive grunt. What does he think I am? Forget
that, what does he take
me for?
I
will not grovel in front of an arrogant, egotistical, respect-lacking
bastard.
"Hello?"
I say once more with annoyance, "Earth to- What's your name
again?"
Heaving
a sigh, the man puts down his drink and leers at me. "Evan
Wilson," he drawls,
"People call me anything ranging from Ev to
motherfucker. Take your
pick."
My
lips curl up in a laugh, but I force myself to choke back the
giggles. Such a typical
guy answer, no? Sounds like something from a cheap
western or campy romance
novel. Actually, speaking about campy...
"I
think I'll stick with Mr. Wilson, thank you very much."
Mr.
Wilson - wasn't that from an old kids show? "Dennis the Jerk" or
"Dennis the Dumbass"
or something. My memory fails me occasionally.
Might
as well have some fun with the man's name.
His
eyes light up in one of those inquisitive ways, much like a
reporter after they've
stumbled upon something interesting. For a second,
I'm stunned, boggled
at what he would find so intriguing.
"What's
the matter?" he inquires while chugging another unhealthy gulp
of his martini, "I thought
all you people were suppose to be dolls and not
take offense to anything.
What? Something messed up in your genetic
programming?"
Ohhh,
I get it now. He thinks I'm a product of my own work, a puppet
without a master. Such
irony to be mistaken for a race I killed, no? It
says something about
this world and the people outside looking in. It says
that while everyone
here may remain blind to their kidnapped egos, those
from the scary, free-thinking
world see the discrepancies. It says that we
- the Sailor Senshi,
Usagi, me - it says that we tried to play God and
failed miserably.
No
one here knows they're in hell because this is a hell they love.
Begs
the question: is the world better off with 100%, wholesome
spoon-fed happiness
or 2% selective but true happiness?
Me,
I think we are all better off with small doses of heaven. Keeps us
in line with our hearts,
keeps us in touch with our lesser peers, and keeps
us unfulfilled.
Unfulfilled
you ask? Yes, unfulfilled - take note, being unfulfilled
can be a good thing
because once everything is done, what else is there to
do? Once we're fulfilled,
we die, simple as that. When the sun rises
tomorrow and we have
nothing to live for, nothing to fight for, we atrophy.
Look
at the people in this bar. There's silence, and no, it's not the
noiseless silence but
the speechless silence. Music fills the air from
concealed speakers,
but no one is talking. Everyone is content - smiling
even - but there's no
personality. Nothing is beautiful - there's no one
being the shoulder for
someone else to cry on, there's no one cheering up
someone else. When people
are fulfilled, there's nothing left to talk
about: no one needs
cheering up, no one needs hope.
And
from there rises a pregnant silence hidden under a veil of smiles.
Slowly, the people waste
away, all the while thinking they're happy.
Sadder
still is that these people really are happy. They are happy
because they think they're
happy; I just wonder if they'll still be the
same if they could gauge
the situation for themselves.
Such
a cruel joke: God created us with the capacity to sin, but because
of it, we were cast
out from His grace. Now that we don't have the capacity
to sin, what are we?
What
are we?
Another
fucking intriguing question.
Slowly,
I answer Mr. Wilson. "No, nothing went wrong with my genetic
programming. And I am
NOT from Crystal Tokyo, so lay off."
Damn
right I'm not from this... this... place. I'm from Tokyo, a flawed
but brilliant ancient
civilization where somehow, the wrong co-existed with
the ri-
"Growing
an attitude?" asks Mr. Wilson as an arrogant grin crosses his
face. "If you're not
from this forsaken land, then what's up with the goody
two shoes act?"
It's
not an act. I'm just naturally nice like I am naturally blonde,
and damn it, no one
can take that away from me. "What's wrong with being
nice to strangers?"
Suddenly,
his eyes are emblazoned with an unspeakable wrath. He flails
his arms side to side,
almost knocking over his martini.
"Everything!"
he empathetically shrieks, "Have you seen the world? At
every corner, there's
a parentless child begging for food. In every house,
there is a starving
mother of five giving herself up to a richer man's
pleasures so that her
children can eat a meager meal! Governments are
fighting amongst themselves;
some try to solve problems, others fight for
bribes!!! The world
SUCKS, you can't trust anyone! This fantasy is the only
place where you can
honestly say hi to a person and not get clubbed because
you're wearing clean
clothes!"
I've
seen the world, boy, and I know what it looks like and how it
acts. I know about the
desperate mothers, dying children, laughing demons,
and overwhelming troubles:
I made them. I also know that for every one of
those despicable lowlifes
and downtrodden transients, there's a spark of
hope Why else would
they do the things they do? Why else would they club
somebody for their clothes?
Everyone
is fighting for a better tomorrow, and no matter what sorry
state the greater human
race is in, that struggle is beautiful, admirable.
Just
how we do it is questionable.
My
immediate dislike of this man is cut off by my curious nature. "If
you detest this place
so, why don't you leave?"
Almost
unwittingly, he quickly says, "Can't. My boss is making me do
this segment on those
bitchy Senshi chicks. It's... Forget it, you won't
understand."
Boss?
Segment? Senshi? If I didn't know better, I'd say Mr. Wilson here
is a reporter. Doesn't
the world get more and more interesting by the
second? Here he is,
telling a Senshi he's looking for the Senshi.
Oh
boy, I need a drink to stifle my giggles.
After
downing the beer in my mug, I indulge my curiosity and mutter,
"Try me."
He
rolls his eyes and sizes up the situation. I guess he didn't see
anything wrong with
telling me everything: the man probably thought I was
some drunk hooker. "We
suspect there's something wrong in this heaven. Me
being his only reliable
onsight reporter, he's sent me here to check out
the place. We have our
theories about what's wrong, but they're only
theories. I'm out to
prove something."
Conspiracies
- the great American pastime. There's something to be said
about their sixth sense
for trouble: it's slow. I've been gone for ten
years and now people
finally realize something's amiss?
Maybe
I shouldn't get ahead of myself; maybe it isn't about me at all.
I should ask, "What's
the theory?"
"One
of the Senshi quit."
BAM.
Here comes the part where reality reasserts itself and I feel all
guilty for leaving my
friends behind. In about two seconds, I'll disregard
all of this - my life,
my experiences, my conscience - and unfurl like a
badly wound ball of
twine. My resolve will break and I will suddenly want
to go back to them because
the words of a strangers are the truest.
I
wait for the expect surge of feelings, but they don't come.
"Interesting," I mutter
to myself. Then, I realize this Mr. Wilson
character is still there,
so I quickly make a save. "And what makes you
think that?"
"For
one thing, those infamous royal balls aren't being held anymore.
It's like they're retreating
to a private life while at any other time in
history, they're living
it up in the spotlight. There's bound to be
something wrong if they're
doing that. No picture has been taken of them
for two freakin' years!"
Infamous
royal balls huh? I didn't know our gatherings were considered
infamous. Actually,
the better word is "realize": I didn't realize our
gatherings were considered
infamous. Well, now that I look at it, I could
see why though. Royal
ball equals powerful people. Lots of powerful people
means lots of powerful
deals. Lots of powerful deals means the powerful
people finely dividing
the shattered world amongst themselves.
So
our royal balls were just like golf: a neutral and protected meeting
place for the top few
aristocrats to carve out more power for themselves.
Christ,
no wonder there was war. We unwittingly flaunted our wealth and
good fortune, insulting
and belittling those who weren't as lucky as us.
I
bet that pissed off enough people to want us dead... or at least
severely maimed.
Mr.
Wilson looks at me expectantly, waiting for a reply. I humor the
man and say, "Twisted
logic, but nevertheless, sound. And is this all you
do? Dig up dirt on people
and try to topple Serenity's rule through your
pen strokes?"
If
such is what he is trying to do, then I commend him greatly. He
could start a revolution
without spilling a drop of blood. He could right
the wrongs and build
a new civilization not born out of war and deceit.
"I'm
trying to survive. Frankly, I don't care about anything else.
These Senshi can have
their happy little world, I want to live in my own."
Unfortunately,
not many people are as benevolent as they seem.
Makes
sense though. Why risk so much if there isn't a huge payoff? So,
"This is all for money?
You're risking your life, flying all over the
world, dodging bullets,
and sleeping in dumpsters because of money?"
"Yes,"
he replies, already his attention diverted to another drink.
As
he waves the bartender over, I look back into my near-empty glass
and softly mutter, "Seems
you love your id," before downing what little
droplets remain.
Our
dark side, our bestial qualities - can't live with 'em and
certainly can't live
without them. Without them, I wouldn't have a job...
not that I have one
now. The business of love and justice thrives on hate
and injustice: just
how are you going to bring love and justice to the
world if it's already
there?
"At
least," he suddenly snaps, "Unlike you, I'm fully human."
Oh,
that was low. "I told you: I'm not from Crystal Tokyo." Yet
somehow, what he says
sounds right. No human would ever deprive another
human the ability to
think - no thing with a soul (a true soul mind you)
could ever brainwash
another kindred spirit. However, I did.
What
does that make me?
Getting
up from his bar stool, Mr. Wilson throws a few bills on the
counter before high
tailing it out of here. There's an extra spring in his
step, like he's nervous
or anxious.
"Leaving
so soon, Mr. Wilson?" I playful prod.
"Yeah,
I'd love to sit and drink, but I have a job."
"Will
you be back tomorrow night?"
"No."
Cold
bastard. Yeah, I may feel like shit for the Purging, but
sometimes, I think some
of those people deserved it.
"God
damn no good high and mighty reporter."
Eyes of the Past
Always wise
****************
Eyes of the Present
Fleeting times
Another
night, another stack of reports. With all due respect, my
browsing over the local
law enforcement's daily activities wasn't
necessary, but then,
I was always a girl scout - never let anything fall
through cracks, know
what I mean? In this day and age, no one can be too
careful.
Faint
footsteps reached my ears; by the time I lifted my head, Ami was
already coming through
arch and entering the garden. She immediately picked
out where I was and
came over to the bench I sat on. In her hands were two
cups of coffee.
"Working
late, Makoto?" she asked with a smile.
I
accepted the steaming hot drink she handed me and took a test sip.
"Yeah," I hissed, vainly
trying to expel the heat burning my throat.
We
stayed quiet for a few minutes: I examined police reports while she
examined Endyimon's
bed of roses. Eventually, Ami's nosy ways got the
better of her and her
aimless drifting came to an end behind my shoulder.
With picky eyes and
that scrunched up Thinker look, the resident genius
blazed through the paper
I was reading all the while humming a catchy tune.
What was it? Take Me
Home Tonight? Beat It? I knew it was one of those
oldies...
"Do
you mind?"
As
if catching her by surprise, Ami jumped back slightly and blushed
heavily. "Gomen nasai.
I-"
"It's
fine," I lazily dismissed.
"But
Mako-chan, I-"
She
started stammering again, even babbling a little. Admittedly, she
was much better now,
but... but... that wasn't saying much. She was still
as bad as a schoolgirl
caught in a makeout session.
Hmph.
Wasn't I the observant one?
"Just
don't worry about it," I answered amidst her babbling, "I know
sometimes you can't-"
"Makoto,
it's just that-"
"No
need to explain!" I exclaimed. God, was she being chatty today or
what? "All is-"
Exacerbated,
Ami threw her hands up and pointed to my files. "Look!"
"Look
what?"
I
followed her vantage point from face to finger to file. Yeah, so? "Is
there a bug on me?"
I quizzically asked.
"THERE!"
By
now, her eyes were wide with - what was that? - surprise? Glee?
Anger? She lunged at
me, knocking me off the bench and making a grab for a
particular file.
"Ami!
What's your problem?!"
Now
totally ignoring me, she breezed over the report again and bolted
out of the garden, a
whisper of wind in her wake.
"Ami!
Wait up! What's going on?!"
From
the depths of the palace, her voice echoed, "We're going to find
Minako!"
Eyes of the Present
Left behind
****************
Eyes of the Future
Deceiving all
Anticipation
hung thick in the air as we gathered around the conference
table. Those who hadn't
heard Ami's exuberant proclamations were quickly
filled in by an ecstatic
Makoto. That look on Haruka's face - it breathed
of relief. Throughout
the years, she developed a grim outlook on Minako's
fate: she had all but
given up hope for our Senshi of Venus.
Scouring
the world and never quite picking up a scent did that to
people.
The
same mood was passed on to Michiru which in turn trickled down to
Hotaru. Ecstatic they
were not, but nor were they relieved - wistful about
described their outlook.
Down in their hearts, they caught a glimpse of the
journey ahead, a journey
filled with pain, joy, and more pain.
Who
knew what trials Minako had gone through?
Who
knew what changes were ingrained in her vulnerable heart?
A
few of us had a clue including myself, but we weren't telling. The
truth was always better
found, never told.
The
double doors opened again, this time admitting the rest of the
missing ensemble. Rei
and Artemis were stoic, like dead-eyed suburbanites;
Their Majesties positively
glowed, though Serenity seemed to be holding
back some miniscule
but powerful emotion.
I
only assumed Luna had her hands full with Diana.
Without
wasting a moment, Ami blurted out again, "She's here in Crystal
Tokyo! I saw her name
in the police report and her description matched-"
"We
know," I kindly offered. It was hard not to know.
At
that, the room silenced. So many questions, so many paths - we stood
at a crossroad and everyone
sensed it. This was a point in time when
universes intersected
and exploded, one unifying point which all histories
used as a reference.
From here on out, the future distorted, hazed by a
million possibilities
hinged on one yet to be decided course of action.
With
each passing second, doors closed, missed opportunities now left
to languish in the winds
of nonexistence.
With
each passing second, infinite options unfurled, each one lying
before us like fine
meat at a deli.
Haruka,
never one to enjoy the wait, subtly cleared her throat. "I
think we're all asking
ourselves, 'What do we do now?'"
Thud. We were committed.
"We
bring her back," stated Makoto, "Simple as that. We go pay this
deviant, Evan Wilson,
a little visit, jog his memory, and go from there.
She couldn't have gotten
too far - the report was filed a few hours ago. If
she was drinking at
a bar and talking to foul-mouthed onsight reporter, she's
obviously in no hurry
to leave. We have people looking out for her at all
points leaving Crystal
Tokyo and backtrack from her last known location. He
said she took a taxi,
so we check out the public transportation records and
see where they lead.
There, simple as that. I can have the necessary
information here in
ten minutes tops, so we better start-"
"You're
talking like we're hauling in a dangerous criminal."
We
turned our heads and met the darkened visage of Rei, her glossy eyes
leering at Makoto from
under her long, now unkempt bangs.
Shrugging
off the hint of disdain, Makoto replied, "We're trying to
find Minako, and I'm
sorry if I'm going about this like a manhunt but we're
left with little choice.
If she could disappear like she did ten years ago,
this window of opportunity
we have is very small. Simple as that."
A
distressed moan emanated from Artemis. "Could you PLEASE stop saying
those three damned words?!
Maybe, just maybe, it isn't as 'Simple as that!'
We're talking about
Minako, not an outlaw! She is your friend, your sister
- all I ask is that
we treat her accordingly or... or..."
He
took a deep breath and resignedly sighed. "Or we could push away
forever."
Her
defender till the end, her knight in shining armor: the first one
to come to her aid,
the last one to leave her sight. Even after seeing,
hearing, and experiencing
what became of his charge, he still rushed to
protect her.
If
only Minako could see him right now...
...
she'd probably laugh.
Flustered,
Jupiter plopped into her seat, crossing her arms. "Well,"
she huffed, "Anyone
with any brighter ideas, please, be my guest."
No
time was wasted.
"For
one thing," said Rei, "We could try and verify if this Aino Minako
is really Minako. How
many people go by that? All we have right now is a
drunk reporter spouting
off a name which could've come from anywhere. Once
we do that, a few of
us go and talk to her, find out if there's anything
wrong. Like Artemis
said, swearing a warrant for her arrest-"
"I
never said that!"
"But
you implied it."
"Don't
you try and put words in my mouth!"
Swooping
in to make the save was Michiru. "Minna, we're getting
nowhere," she pointed
out. "We have to take advantage of the situation but
still keep in mind Minako's
thoughts and feelings. To do that, we have to
hold back on our emotions
for a little while..."
Good
advice, but how did you rein the emotions of a group individuals
who've been using nothing
but their hearts for all eternity?
"Minna,"
whispered Serenity, "What if she doesn't want to come back?"
If
I recall correctly, my attention drifted that moment (not that it
wasn't drifting before).
Our meeting degraded into ceaseless bickering;
everyone had their own
opinions about what was right. Worst thing was,
everyone was right,
no one was wrong. Ironically, in the clutches of
righteousness, differences
shimmered into the forefront. Diverse
methodology was misconstrued,
reinterpreted in each of their minds as
"wrong."
And
why not? Because two people didn't agree, one of them must've been
wrong... or so they
thought.
Even
after a millennium's evolution, my sisters still weren't able to
wrap their minds around
the conundrum known as "multiple perspectives."
One
plus three equaled four, but so did two plus two. Neither procedure
was wrong, neither procedure
was better - the debate arose from which the
opposing parties preferred.
Of
course, Makoto had gone with an aggressive stance. Rei had proposed
diplomacy, a option
seconded by Ami. Michiru - as always supported by
Haruka - tried to strike
some sort of middle ground.
Such
an intriguing situation, but god awfully volatile as well. How did
it ever get this way?
How did a group innocent, well-meaning family members
ever grow so... so...
...
confused?
They
used their hearts too much, that's how. Each one of them too
idealistic in their
own way, each one of them too stubborn to accept
anything but perfection
- in days when there was still war between good and
evil, their mindsets
were invaluable: it kept them fighting. Over time,
everyone developed their
own sense of honor and morality, as well everyone
should. The problem
arose when peace came around and time to examine
themselves suddenly
cropped up.
What?
You mean Makoto didn't like Rei? You mean Minako never agreed
with Serenity?
The
Senshi were people in themselves. They had many sides, many
opinions, and sometimes,
those opinions didn't coincide with each other.
The Senshi were not
only born to be fighters but also leaders: they were
the whole army from
infantry to standard bearer to general. That's what
made them so effective
and efficient.
But
what happened when leaders came together?
Naturally,
egos clashed. In any situation, there can only be one leader
- at the moment, we
had nine. The natural thing happened.
The
Silver Millennium solved this entropic problem by distributing a
planet to each Senshi.
They would be ruled by a unifying body, but in their
spare time, they could
toy with their own little microcosm. Instead of
trying to impress their
views upon other equally stubborn and righteous
individuals, they could
do it to a pack of willing followers.
Problem
solved.
But
here in Crystal Tokyo, there was one planet of which contained only
one nation the Senshi
held.
Too
many big fish in too small of a pond.
Problem
rising, rising, rising-
And
now, problem quite possibly exploding.
I
don't remember how long it took or how many wounds were dealt, but
some semblance of a
plan rose from the ashes. Everyone agreed that the
starting point should
be Evan Wilson, so they decided to build from there.
Of course, a minor scuffle
occurred about who should go meet this loud
mouthed individual.
And
of course, I stayed out of the decision making and chose to make my
own decisions.
Eyes of the Future
Hidden call
****************
Eyes of the Future
Stoic wall
The
scene unfolded before me, intrigue and all. Makoto and Ami cleared
the bar with a polite
request to the owner; meanwhile, Haruka and Michiru
waited across the street,
scouting for the duo inside. Unbeknownst to them,
one particularly daring
and fool hearted reporter was hanging around in an
alley next to the bar,
a mini-transmitter in hand. Chances were he had some
kind of recording device
hidden inside the establishment. The star of the
show, the object of
our wait, had yet to arrive, but already people were
fighting for her.
Me,
I stood in the dark, unseen like always, gently guiding but never
imposing.
Each
participant stalked some kind of prey and never once realized the
competition they posed
to each other. The line between hunter and hunted
blurred, which begged
the question, "Who was going to strike first?"
Did
Haruka and Michiru have a plan of their own? Were they going on the
presumption that Makoto
was handling the situation wrong? Were they ready
to intercept Minako
at first sight? Moreover, was that Evan Wilson
character merely eavesdropping?
Did he have something truly sinister
planned? Did he fancy
himself Minako's white knight here snatch her from
the clutches of evil?
Was he a relic from our previous wars or was he a
true fool?
And
I hadn't even begun to count the possibilities with Makoto and Ami.
Such
an intriguing turn of events, no?
The
more we don't know, the more we envision ourselves masters of our
world. When was anyone
going to take that to heart?
During
my mental wanderings, Minako appeared. All of us tensed, primed
for battle whether battle
meant psychological or physical warfare. Funny
how she had the ability
to alter any mood to her state of mind - she seemed
to exude, almost impose,
her emotions on others. Her very visage set all of
us on edge.
I
never took notice to the façade of a mystery surrounding her
departure, unlike minna.
Simply put, she was so empathic she felt the
rumblings of discord
from humanity itself. The wounded souls from the
Purging howled in her
direction, hounding her day and night. She was the
walking incarnation
of foolhardy conscience speak, fluent in the language
of all that was emotion.
Whether the emotions undying love or hate, she
heard it all, the wailings
seemingly guiding her course of life.
And
again with the heart-thinking.
When
was she going to learn that her heart would lead her astray?
Sometimes, cold and
calculating was the only way to get to the light at the
end of the tunnel. Would
be great if the heart could be a substitute, but
unfortunately, we all
didn't think nor feel the same. With great emotions
came great egos, with
great egos came divergent opinions, with divergent
opinions came turmoil
- feelings must be sacrificed for a better tomorrow.
The
present was merely time to prepare for the future.
If
some things weren't destroyed ages ago, this present would've never
been.
God forbid, I wouldn't be able to take that.
Eyes of the Future
Shattering fall
****************
Eyes of the Past
Always present
So
that was it. Clean and broken.
I
came, I saw, I retreated. I had neither the inclination nor the
courage to face my fears.
I couldn't correct or destroy them, so I hung my
head in shame, tail
between my legs, and left. For all my musings, I was
still that far from
peace and comfort. Actually, after some level, I hurt
more than ever.
Back
then, there was still hope, hope for right to prevail. Now though,
seeing the static passiveness
of the Senshi, there was no more hope.
What
could I say? They liked it - fewer problems this way.
Instead
of challenging them like I should've, I adopted my aggressive
mask and pushed them
away. Instead of talking, I retaliated. True, words
alone never solved anything,
but they were good starts to the solutions.
Why
did I act so blind?
Why
did I have to be so stubborn?
Why
was I such a coward?
To
descend upon a ravenous daimon, to dance with death in the
battlefield, to sleep
with the enemy both in this life and the last -
child's play compared
to the sheer terror forbidden friendsh- NO, forbidden
love brought. So intense
was and still is my love that I could never hurt
them so by bringing
to light my traitorous thoughts.
What
I'd seen and felt could only spell disaster: look where it landed
me. All questions and
no answers - seemed like some higher power was toying
with my entire existence,
baiting me like a starving fish. At one time, I
might've been able to
pass on my curse.
At
one time.
But
I was being selfish again. This struggle defined me, made me, gave
me reason to continue
existing. No more did I rely on others to give me a
reason to live: I lived
because I willed it so. What I've shared and
experienced gave me
eternal life, life to contemplate about the past, life
to futilely fight against
it.
Would
I be so cruel as to curse them with guilt-ridden immortality?
No.
This was a burden I alone would bear. Should they one day come to
my state of being, I'd
share my thoughts, but till then... till then...
I
wished them the best.
I
loved them, and if not with my mind or heart then at least with what
I'd like to call my
soul. I loved them for the people they were, and on
some level, for the
people they are. They gave me pleasure and pain, home
and homelessness. They
became my family, friends, and enemies. The fact
that I could hate them
so intensely yet so relentlessly shield them from my
sorrow verified my love.
I
hurt for them because they couldn't feel the pain.
How
did the saying go?
"You
only hate because you care enough to hate."
I
may have said many things during these ten years, but I never said I
didn't care. I cared
for everyone and everything, Senshi and mortal alike.
I had too much love
to give and now that the people of Crystal Tokyo didn't
need my love anymore,
I needed to share it with others.
My
actions today - while stupid, hasty, and cruel - felt natural, like
it was suppose to happen.
Maybe
I was wrong and God was punishing me for being an ingrate by
taking away my friends.
Maybe I was right and it was time for me to move
on. Maybe my departure
was written in the stars, fated in some way to bring
the world full circle.
Maybe another enemy was looming in the background
silently manipulating
and destroying us so it could easily take over earth.
Maybe it was time to
care for people outside of Crystal Tokyo and I was to
be the catalyst.
Whatever
the case may be, I had no regrets.
I
had grown up and obviously, the Senshi hadn't. Didn't know if that
was a good thing or
not, but the fact was we didn't see eye to eye anymore.
The person they desperately
wanted back was gone, left somewhere in the
dust on a cold London
day.
When
I said "I quit," Sailor Venus died. I renounced the ageless ties
to my Queen, my subjects,
and my comrades. No longer was I a Senshi, no
longer was I a part
of them. I had become a ronin, a masterless warrior
bound to no one but
myself.
Did
I like that feeling? No. I was empty, devoid of all identity.
Had
Aino Minako still been alive, I might've found some solace in my
resignation. I could
live out my dreams, become a movie star, singer,
dancer, and athlete.
But times were different - formerly simple pleasures
were not appreciated.
Most of the population had no idea what a volleyball
looked like.
I
left Aino Minako behind a thousand years ago when I forsook her to
become Sailor Venus.
With Sailor Venus dead, what was I? Who was I?
I
was a shell of my former selves with the body of a Senshi and the
name of a tragically
killed girl, that's who I was.
A
husk. A shadow.
Empty...
Empty,
but yet driven by naked emotions made by past lives.
Before
I knew it, the taxi had stopped and I hadn't spoken a word to
Evan. Casting a glance
sideways, I saw his puppy dog eyes gazing at me like
a child who had been
caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
I
wanted to open my mouth, to tell him it was alright and that I hoped
he would one day find
his heaven. Instead, my voice failed me.
I
didn't know what to say to God's untainted creation.
I
didn't know what he wanted to hear.
Then,
my feet betrayed me. Five seconds later I was cutting through the
throngs of people, disappearing
amongst the crowd like a ghost. I had
become one of them again
- a person I mean - and it was time to rejoin
them. Something in me
demanded it.
By
natural reaction, I sped toward the European departure gates.
Even
so far away, I felt Evan's stare burrowing into my back, the
maelstrom of confusion
up in his head so strong that even I sensed it. He
wanted to express something,
some thought, but words seemed so inadequate
and useless. He wanted
to expose his heart or at least offer a humble
apology. He wanted a
clean slate with me, as if I was the only person to
ever matter in his life.
However,
he need not say it: I knew... at least, I knew what he felt.
Why
he wanted to have those things I hadn't the foggiest, but I knew
how the words died in
his throat, forever languishing in the unsaid. I knew
how the combination
of thought filtered through sounds seemed
inappropriate, how they
resonated so lamely while his heart pounded with
ferocious strength.
I
only knew too well.
I
never was the wordsmith.
So,
I settled upon a small "smile and wave;" he settled upon a look
between mystified and
relieved. It was perfect, beautiful, perfectly
beautiful. No words,
no ambiguities, just a set of simple actions.
Funny
how a smile was worth a thousand good-byes, a million apologies
and a billion words.
As
the plane quietly rumbled to life, I caught a brief glimpse of the
Senshi charging onto
the runway. Too late though - they didn't know where I
was and I wasn't about
to tell them.
Clean
break, right? That meant no more going back and crying to
anybody. That meant
I was alone in this world with no kindred spirit.
And
damn it, I felt good. I felt good to be amongst mere mortals again
even if I wasn't truly
one of them; and really, I didn't think my status as
a former Senshi made
any difference.
Besides,
wasn't my center of being hinged on what I believed and what
others believed of me?
My slate wiped clean, my heart reborn - I didn't
have a soul to tamper
with just yet: no knew of me, not even myself.
Now
began my redefinition, my second shot at life.
Now
began my happiness, happiness I would find based on what I thought
to be true.
Now
I could truly be called a dreamer, a dreamer of not only a better
today but also a better
tomorrow.
Now
I will claim my soul, the soul I was never privileged to have.
I
thought I'll earn it.
But past and future collided.
My
mind cleared; the previously unnoticed fog in my eyes lifted.
I
saw a gloved hand on my shoulder; my lips parted enough to whisper
one word.
"Setsuna."
Eyes of the Past
Dead.
**************
Author's Notes
**************
Strange,
no? Please stay tuned for one more chapter and the epilogue
where some of your questions
will be answered...
My
sincerest thank you to those fans who stuck by me through the good
times and bad. This
series has been taxing on my work riddled mind; your
patience and encouragement
are what keep me going. I have yet to discover
the appropriate words
to express my gratitude, but when I do, you will all
hear from me.
Till
next time. I hope you've at least enjoyed this experimental foray.
-Don.
3/10/01
