Disclaimer: Sailor Moon belongs to its respective owners. In no way am I making money off of this.
This chapter is rated PG-13 (You'll miss chapters like these) for:
Language
Violence
Forward: If you've read this on Fanfiction.net, and have noticed that I said this fic was going to be graphic, you'll think that I was trying to put up a NC-17 fic when they don't allow them on FF.net anymore…well…I was…by accident. See, I've been lacking access to the Internet since AOL cut my family's prescription (don't ask as it's about money), and still don't have it at my home. I didn't learn about FF.net's No-NC-17 policy until I was uploading the first chapter at the library. So, instead of editing my soon to be NC-17 fic of content, I'll not put it up on FF.net anymore except for this chapter. If you like what you see and don't mind the graphic content, check out the following sites as they have my fic posted on them:
Saiyanz Power (It's a DBZ site of course): Its URL is http://www.saiyanzpower.com/. Check it out. It's a great site, with chunks of info (the most since Planet Namek, and Ginga Giri Giri), and run by a bunch of great guys who I e-mail regularly.
D.Moon: URL is http://dmoon.animationhq.net/main.shtml. A Dragon Ball/Sailor Moon site. Has nice info on both series.
Moving on, I want to say that yeah, things seem to be going slow, and somewhat boring. My mistake, but I promise lots of action soon. Besides, I can't move too fast without developing everything. This issue was brought up by the man they call The Smooster. So thanks, man.
P.S: I just realized that my fic has the same name as a Pink Floyd song. No, it's not a reference. In fact, I hadn't even heard of the song before some time ago. I found out about this a few weeks ago when one of my classmates came in wearing a funky-looking shirt with the name of my fic on his back; boy was I surprised. I asked him what was with the title, and he said it was from a Pink Floyd song. So there you go, it's not a reference, just a mere coincidence. Not that I'm above references…
_________________________________________________________
The Dark Side of The Moon
Chapter 2:
Lunar Path
Date: August 20, 2010
Place: Cleveland, Ohio
The new high school was definitely cleaner than her old middle school. The worst smell she caught was from this one guy in her third period. Not as much as cursing, no fights in the courtyard yet. The paint even looked somewhat new. But the school was still absurdly crowded; all her classes probably stacked up to thirty-five students at the least. She still didn't expect friends.
It wasn't too surprising she flinched when another girl surprised her during lunch.
She had been sitting alone, eating pizza, and the girl come from behind her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I scare you?" It was Molly. She was wearing a flaring red skirt, and a tight silk-type shirt covered with designs of pink, scarlet, and violet flowers.
"Um," she started, "do you want to sit with me, and the guys. We thought you'd like to talk."
Instantly she was suspicious. "No, uh, I'm fine." She nearly stammered while speaking.
"You sure? Space isn't a problem. You can fit."
"I'd rather sit alone."
Molly's grinned was wiped off, and she said, "Okay. Anytime you want, you can come sit with us," and she went off to a nearby table. Naomi didn't bother to look where.
**********
Molly caught up with her in the hall the next day during the time between second and third period. Naomi had her book bag on, while Molly carried her own books. They walked (Molly followed Naomi) through the building.
"Hey," Molly said. She smiled, and her gums barely peeked from under her lips.
Naomi's agitation, if it solidified, would've choked her. "Hi," she said, nonetheless.
"So what class are you going to now?" Molly asked.
Naomi sputtered "Photo" as if the answer was going to sound stupid.
` "Photo? That must be interesting." Molly actually sounded enthusiastic.
"Yeah, um, it's really nice."
"Doesn't Mr. Hathaway teach that class? I hear he's pretty goofy."
"Um, yeah, I guess," said Naomi, looking down, and shrugging her shoulders. Her best attempt at being polite under pressure.
A moment later when they were outside of the building, Molly said goodbye, and left Naomi.
**********
Actually, Mr. Hathaway is kind of goofy, thought Naomi as she sat in Lunch eating a cheeseburger. Otherwise she let her mind stroll.
The cafeteria was noisy, of course. Some tables had up to seven people sitting by them. A few people walked out into the courtyard.
Her daydreaming was interrupted when she noticed two boys walking towards her. One of them found to be Melvin, and another, much larger boy who was black, wore baggy jeans a shirt with the Phat Farm logo on it, and had short, puffy hair.
She flinched as they came up on her, and lifted her chair from both sides on their shoulders. Her chair rocked back and forth, and she had to grab the front of it so she didn't fall off. She barely noticed that the larger boy had her lunch in his left hand, and Melvin had to lift her with both his arms. A few people shouted and giggled at the scene.
Soon they set her down at one table, and Naomi found herself facing Molly. Molly looked astonished, just like Naomi felt.
"God damn it!" said Molly, uncharacteristically. "What the hell are you two doing?"
Melvin grinned as he sat down next to Molly, though he seemed a bit tired, and said, "You said you wanted her to come here."
"God damn. Yes, but not by dragging her here!"
"Oh, please," said the larger boy, "I'm sick of your nice girl routine. You said, 'Oh, I feel so sorry for her, she seems she lonely,'" as he said this he made his voice higher pitched. "'Why does she sit alone at lunch? I don't think she has any friends.' We couldn't stand seeing you like that, Molly, so we did what we did." He grinned.
Melvin snorted. Naomi just noticed two other kids at the table: one was a black girl wearing a white POLO shirt, and brown skirt; and the other a white boy, choking with laughter at the previous jaunt, with a long bent nose, in a strange red and green plaid-looking shirt, and loose jeans.
Erasing her grim expression and turning it into a concerned one, Molly looked at Naomi, and said, "Are you fine? Did those two dorks scare you?"
"No, I'm fine," Naomi said breathlessly, though she was pretty tired from the earlier escapade.
"Of course she's not hurt," said Melvin, smiling. "Aren't you? We were gentle with her, Molly, don't worry."
Molly roller her eyes before she introduced the others at the table to Naomi and Naomi to the others. Melvin she knew, of course. She still remembered vaguely that his last name was Hanson. The larger boy's name was Albert, the third girl's name was Cindy, and the other boy was named Chad.
"So, you said that you came in here from San Fran," said Melvin. "Were you there for the quake. That was some freaky shit that went on there."
"Melvin, that's none of your business!" Molly said.
"That was some fucked up shit," Chad said.
Cindy sneered, and said, "Shut up, Chad." "So," she said trying to finally change the subject. "What classes do you have?"
"Didn't you say you had Photo?" Molly said. "Chad, and Alberto have that too, but during forth period."
"Yeah," Naomi said.
"You know that Mr. Hathaway is gay. Right, Naomi?" said Albert.
"'Alright class,'" said Chad giddily, beginning an impression. "'We're going make some pictures. Don't get chemicals on yourselves.'" As he said 'pictures', he jumped in his chair with a fake flightiness.
"Stop being a homophobe," Cindy said finally, looking at Chad. "He's probably not that gay."
"Have you even seen that man?" said Chad. "He's so fruity I can smell freaking oranges when I'm around him." He grinned, but stopped when a frail man wearing glasses, and a business suit, holding a black walkie-talkie. Naomi figured he might have been Mr. Watson, the vice-principal.
"What's going on here? I saw you carry this girl here." Mr. Watson's voice was rather deep for someone of his size. He looked back, and forth between the students, paying the most attention to Naomi.
Naomi said, "No, it's okay, really." She paused. "They were just joking around." She blushed when she noticed her voice was too higher pitched than her normal one.
Watson's eyes squinted a bit, and he said, "All right then, but no more of this. I'm only letting you off since school just began, but I don't need you all doing this again. Understand?"
"Yes," said Molly politely. Chad did too, mocking Watson's voice, impersonating it slightly. Watson seemed to make no note of it, and went off.
Cindy turned to Chad, and said, "Oh, God, Chad, you're so immature."
Albert and Melvin chuckled, and no one said anything for a few moments. The others ate, but Naomi sat gaping down at her food, searching for words to use if she had to.
She turned to Melvin, hesitated when he looked up from his food to her, and said, "Hanson. Your last name is Hanson."
"Yeah," Melvin said, and sipped chocolate milk with his straw.
"I thought you were Hispanic. I mean, you are Hispanic, right? Um." She blushed intensely when she realized that her question was a daft one.
Surprisingly, Melvin smiled, and said, "I was adopted when I was about two."
"Sorry for asking."
"No problem."
Oh, God, that was such a bad idea. I really messed up. I wonder what they would think if I moved back to my other table. What would they do?
Naomi lurched in her self-pity until the end of lunch, where the others said nothing to her except their goodbyes.
**********
She clutched the straps of her book bag as she stepped off the bus at her stop.
She should've talked more, definitely. Or she should have spoken at all. Naomi couldn't do anything but freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, and brood. Though, sooner or later she began to tell herself that she couldn't have done it better no matter how much harder she tried.
"Get out of the way, you idiot!"
Naomi hopped onto the grass. A bicycler hustled by her, looking back when he was a few feet further from her. "Shit-head," he muttered.
Nevertheless, she headed the way the bicycler came from to the apartment complex she lived in. She took two minutes to reach the shabby, yet modest place called Rosewood. Each building was three stories tall, probably with twenty to thirty apartments; she never bothered to count. She lived in the building to the back.
As she passed a dumpster, she heard a meow. What shocked her was the cuteness to it. Smooth. She looked, and saw a black cat peering from under the dumpster. It had a very small scar on its forehead where it had no hair.
Naomi turned, and walked away, positive that the cat was a stray. As she reached the stairs, she heard another meow from the cat. She looked behind her, and found it at her heels.
Frowning, she said for the cat to scoot off, but it didn't. Instead of following the spontaneous wanting to nudge it away, she went up the stairs, and didn't look back at all.
She made it to her apartment, and opened the door with her set of keys. The ac was still broken, but the heat inside was not oppressive. Shutting the door, she set her book bag at her side, and entered the small kitchen to get a glass of orange juice. Nothing was in the fridge except a half-empty jug of milk, an almost empty bottle of ketchup, some lettuce, eggs, apples, a few slices of cheese, and a can of tuna.
Mom must have finished the orange juice earlier in the morning. She was at work now, and Naomi rarely saw her. Naomi grabbed an apple and began to eat it.
A curiosity to check on the cat scratched her mind. Of course, she followed it.
She came back to the door, opened it, and her heart jumped in her chest when she almost kicked the cat. It sat at its hind a foot away from the door.
Naomi plucked it up with both her hands, and stared at its green eyes. The scar on its forehead was shaped like a fuzzy crescent moon. The eyes reminded her of radiant emeralds, but that was the only truly beautiful thing about it. She saw it had almost no meat on it. It looked as if it would shiver even in a place that was just cool, and not freezing. She wanted to take care of it, and feed it like a mother would. She began to cradle it in her arms.
Giving it a can of tuna wouldn't be so bad. Mom was planning to go to the grocery store tomorrow anyway. Naomi didn't want to let it die; she absolutely didn't want that.
Rubbing its fur, she brought it into her apartment.
**********
Date: August 21, 2010
Tzu was walking in the downtown area of Monticello, Utah, in the middle of the night when the earth was nearly dead except for the rabid young humans who went to dance clubs and parties. He observed the alcohol shops, the strip clubs, the super markets, the convenience stores, and the apartment complexes; all buildings bigger than some houses of his time.
"Wait for several more months, my father, my creator. Then I will have the means to free you," he said thoughtfully, staring at the sky. Only a few dim stars could be seen.
"Fuckin' weirdo." Tzu was at a street corner under a streetlight when he heard this.
He looked to his left. A robust Hispanic man with a stubby beard, holding an empty beer bottle, wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey and jeans, stared at him. Tzu read the man's mind, with little trouble, and found that his name was Rico.
Rico, an ex-security guard, was a heavy drinker who used abuse his wife and children on a regular basis. Sooner or later the wife got the backbone to divorce him and take custody of their children, and jet out of the state. That was three years earlier. Since then, Rico lost his job because of too many missed days. Now he worked as a construction worker, but he didn't seem to be doing very well there either.
After taking all the information in, Tzu said, "Am I?"
"Damn right you're a fuckin' weirdo. Fuckin' weirdoes are all over the fuckin' place these days." He thought he smelled Rico decaying from the inside, but it was the just the man's breath.
"Would you like to be my servant?" Tzu never changed his calm expression. He knew Rico was just a pathetic, bitter fool, looking for a fight with whomever he thought he could beat.
"You a queer too? Faggot. Get outta my face 'fore I fuck you up."
"Hm? Are you saying no? You cannot say 'no'. You do not have a choice."
"You've a fuckin' choice to get your homo-fuckin' self outta my face." Rico held up his bottle like a battle club. His voice was tired but fierce.
Tzu was unimpressed. He stepped forward. Rico lunged at him. Tzu titled his head so the bottle missed it.
He then implanted his left hand into Rico's chest. Blood dribbled from the mark. The sound of breaking flesh, bone and clothing was outdone by Rico's faint screaming.
Tzu stood unmoving, impassive, as Rico kept slamming the beer bottle into his face. Even when the bottle broke.
Soon Rico stopped moving, his eyes shut. Flickers of electricity could be seen in the blood, and in Tzu's eyes. Rico's body began to seizure. It seemed as if all that was keeping him from falling was Tzu's hand in his chest.
A minute passed, the sparks gone, and Tzu let go. Blood trailed his soaked hand as he pulled out. Rico fell onto his knees, and elbows, and got up slowly. Both his eyes were now a shade of gray, but Tzu knew that would happen.
"Take off your shirt," said Tzu, and began to unbutton his. Rico did likewise. "Drop that one, and take this." He handed Rico his shirt, and Rico put it on. "Now," he said, bare-chested. "Let us head out to do what were made to."
To be continued…