"A young boy skipped along a dirt trail next to his ojisan, feeling lighthearted about the sun shining down upon him. He could feel it on his skin and he liked the warmth it provided in the chilly spring afternoon. The young boy inhaled with childlike glee. Spring would be here soon, and the days would be longer. His step became lighter as he gained a few paces above the old man's casual walk. They were in no hurry to reach the next village, but the day was perfect to be a child.
As the day traveled with them and the sun also walked its path as they walked theirs, the duo came within sight of a shrine in the middle of nowhere. It was small, but ornate with many symbols and proclaimed this shrine a very important one. Even though the lad didn't know which god, or even goddess, this shrine was built for, he bowed from good upbringing.
'Ojisan!' The boy pleasantly called, a small hand pointing to the shrine. 'Look, look! What shrine is that made for??'
The old man stopped on his cane and took a second to adjust the pack on his back. He squinted as the young boy skipped back to him, a similar pack on his small shoulders. A brilliant smile overcame his face as he gave a low bow. 'We must be near the shore.' He mumbled, mostly to himself.
The young boy looked up with innocent, confused eyes and blinked. "Eh? What do you mean ojisan??' The young head looked around, hearing what his ojisan said. Thunder from cliffs crashed in the distance by the water meeting their hard surface. A wondrous 'oohhh' escaped his mouth as his attention turned to the distance. Sharper eyes looked across the green fields that started to bloom, squinting to see even further.
The old man straightened his bulky kimono after the straps mussed it and gave the youth a pat on the head. 'That shrine, magomusuko, is one of the many around this land that stand near the waters in respect to the island Honshu. It is made for those who are unable to travel over water to pay tribute to the goddess Amaterasu-sama.'
The young boy blinked wide eyes from the pause in the tale and threw his head back to the wood shrine. 'Ama...terasu-sama? Nani? Who's that?' He asked, cocking his head to the side.
'Otoko no ko.' The elder admonished, waving a finger. 'Haven't your parents taught you ANYTHING?' He tsked and shook his head, grabbing part of the strap over his shoulder and continuing down the path. 'Youth.' He muttered, feeling older than his years. 'Come with me magomusuko, and I will enlighten your narrow mind to this great goddess.'
The youth, not offended by his ojisan's words, happily nodded at the thought of a tale to make the long trip shorter. He continued to skip a lazy pace next to his ojisan as they neared the way to the shrine. It slowly became larger as they neared, and the youth spotted someone bowing in reverence. 'Ah! LOOK ojisan!' He excitedly sputtered, a hand pointing. 'Someone is praying!'
'Of course they are. Would YOU not pray to any shrine that is made for the gods and goddesses of old?' The old man almost rhetorically asked. He smiled and gave a quiet chuckle as the youth pursed his lips, almost in thought. The hand clutching his pack moved and lightly patted the boy on the head again. Passing under a few budding trees, the old man kneeled a few kilometers from the shrine and kneeled under the tree. 'This is a nice place to take a break and tell you all about such a magnificent goddess.'
The youth quickly sat down and took his pack off to be more comfortable. He avidly watched his ojisan as the elder moved around and absently massaged his shoulders. He fought to squirm in impatience, but held his tongue in respect.
Clearing his throat, the old man looked to the shrine with a small smile and then through the gnarled branches to the sky above. 'You see magomusuko, the goddess Amaterasu-sama is a Shinto goddess who rules the Heavens.' His aged eyes sparkled as he met his grandson's. 'She is the daughter to Izanagi-sama, who was god of light and the heavens. After his wife died giving birth, he went to the underworld to return her. They were separated for a long time until his own death. Izanagi-sama cleansed his body and from his left eye came Amaterasu-sama. Her form was so bright and radiant, that her parents sent her to the Celestial Heavens and she ruled there for a long time, casting light to the world.
But she also had a brother called Susanowo-sama. That god was lord of winds, storms, and the oceans. He was an utterly evil god, but also a brave god. He came to the earth and caused havoc on its surface, creating a huge racket with his thunder. Amaterasu-sama retreated to a cave due to the noise and locked herself in tight.'
The young boy gasped. 'She locked herself in?? How did the world get light??' He wondered, leaning forward in rapt attention.
'Hush and I will explain.' The old man's hand waved the boy's questions away. After clearing his throat, he continued. 'Many gods tried to lure her out, but failed. There was only one who could. Uzume-sama. She danced all the other gods into such hilarity, that the goddess peeked out of her hole intrigued.'
The little boy beamed. 'What did Uzume-sama dance?' He wondered, blinking in wonder.
'One was Kagura, and another that symbolized the planting of seeds.'
'What happened to the goddess when she DID peek out?' The young boy wondered.
'Well...a ray of light peeked out with her and that is what the dawn is. After her head glanced for a look-around, she found a mirror Uzume-sama hung on a tree. When Amaterasu-sama went closer to see better, the gods grabbed her and put her back where she belonged. The world was given light again, and all the darkness was swallowed away.'"
"Computer. Stop." She ordered, moving the microphone to her mouth for better sound. Her command was instantly obeyed, and the feminine voice halted.
"Next command?" It queried.
Her lips pursed as she thought. This was the second time in the past HOUR she'd listened to the story of Amaterasu, yet she was having trouble continuing. She was having a hard time finding her muse. A finger tapped her cheek. "Reread first paragraph and stop." The computer did as told, stopping after the one.
"Next command?" It queried.
Her lips pressed together. "Put down generic note." She listened to a small ding as the computer pulled up the program. "'Add more description of outdoors.'"
"Generic note completed. Save?"
"Hai." A few beeps sounded in her headset as the note saved and stopped. She leaned back in the chair and absently cracked her fingers.
"Next command?"
"Reread next paragraph and stop." She listened to the next and a hand thoughtfully covered her mouth. That one needed a LOT more work. When the voice stopped, she listened for its question. There were PLENTY of opportunities to make that paragraph twice as long and even in to two. She thoughtfully tsked, nibbling on her lip. "Put down generic note." She commanded. The same beeping came to her ears. "'Research descriptions of old shrines for broad features to use. Look up symbols for shrine and add more details of mystic hangings on shrine. More possibilities for later use.' End message."
She continued to critique the story once again, adding many notes on almost every paragraph to be read later and fussed over. This made it the third time within the passing time since she sat at the cafeteria. She was alone and didn't fear the embarrassment of someone thinking she was talking to herself. Even with her ear buds in, she could still hear the quiet around her when her computer halted its speech program. After classes were the best time to get things done before the evening chaos befell her. And she would never find it as quiet as this at home.
The footsteps finally came, and she started putting things away. Her essay would have to wait for later, and she had much to work on still. There were a few things that needed to be torn down and retyped before every paragraph was perfect. But she had time, since it was due the day before Christmas break. Thanksgiving break just got over, but she was not one to procrastinate. She was just hoping that by the time it came to turn everything in, she would have enough resources to write another great narrative paper. She mentally sighed. 'Three weeks had BETTER be enough time to add five pages on to the four I've got.' She prayed, shouldering the bag.
"You guys are a little late today." She quietly muttered, giving Beethoven a small pat on the head. Her fingers were licked and she gave a small smile as she reached for the harness.
"Traffic." He quietly responded, already walking away. Giving a tiny nod, she nodded and followed her father to the car once again. The wind blew even fiercer for the beginning of December. Maybe they really WOULD get snow this year. It would be a treat. Even though she couldn't fully enjoy the sight of snow and the wondrous view of it blanketing a landscape, she could smell it and that was something not many people could understand. Or enjoy. They didn't appreciate the soft, almost non-existent touch of feeling flakes fall on your face and letting them melt. That was something people bypassed all too easily.
Even with the thoughts of past winters, she couldn't help but be pensive as the driver's side door slammed closed. She fought a wince and gritted her teeth, quickly looking to the window to keep from getting any suspicious, or knowing, looks. The whole ride back was spent relaxing with the drive, as she always did. By the time they returned to the apartments, she was calmer than she was getting in the car.
She followed her normal routine, but gave Beethoven a shorter walk than normal. She didn't think he minded anyway, even with his shaggy coat. As they headed upstairs, she could smell the aroma of Udon cooking. She inhaled as the door swung open, letting Beethoven in. Her eyes closed, even as her body automatically moved to her room. She loved Udon...it was her favorite dish. Her mother always... Her eyes shot open and almost noticeably darkened as she trudged to her bedroom, letting Beethoven inside first. No, she was NOT going to go down that road.
Their meal was silent with Beethoven eating in the kitchen. His noisy crunching easily made up for any talk they might've made, if any at all. When they both finished, she gathered her dishes and set them in the sink like normal and left her father to clear his place and put whatever was left in the fridge for leftovers. Even though Udon was so-so heated up, they never wasted food. Twenty doggy nails clicked on the wood floor as Beethoven loyally followed her to the bedroom. After his body brushed past her legs on his way in, she quietly locked the door behind her. It was time to make some headway on her story. She would get a few more things looked up on the network before bedtime.
Mere minutes after she started, she thought she heard the phone ring. Curious at who would call at this time of night, even though she didn't know the precise time, made her take out an ear bud to listen. Her father's voice murmured through the walls and paused. He spoke again and paused to listen before stopping altogether. She jumped when her computer asked for a command, and quickly typed 'hold' on the program. Her ears remained perked for any noise outside her bedroom...and about jumped out of her skin when her father sharply rapt on her door. She cried out in surprise and put a hand to her chest to calm her heartbeat.
"Phone for you." He called out, his footsteps retreating to the living room.
She blinked. "Nani?!" She quietly breathed, almost scrambling from the bed. WHAT?! Was it Mia?? But it couldn't be; she just saw her friend yesterday! She hurriedly yanked the door open and rushed to the kitchen counter, both hands feeling around for the phone. She picked it up, wondering just WHO would call HER. She had no other friends other than Mia, so this was a surprise at the very least! "Moshi moshi." She quietly answered. Hello.
"Hello...is this Ataki Kimon?"
"Hai." She answered, brow furrowing in confusion. The voice sounded professional and even in tone. She was trying to deduce who it was.
"Ataki-san, this is your oji-chan."
She blinked, but a small smile graced her face. "Konban wa oji-chan." She greeted. Good evening uncle. "Is there something you needed?"
"Hai. I was in a conversation with one of the teachers earlier this afternoon mei-chan." There was a pause, one that caused her brows to furrow in curiosity and suspicion.
"One of mine?" She queried, a little wary.
"Don't worry, nothing's wrong!" He hurriedly answered. "They talked to me about one of their students!"
She breathed a quiet sigh of relief and leaned against the counter. She was WORRIED for a second, since her attendance was perfect, and her grades were high. Her lips pursed as she wondered why her uncle would call when he rarely did.
"This student is apparently having problems in class and she's one of your teachers as well. She was wondering if you'd be able to help."
"Help?" She wondered, brow furrowing a little more. "How? In what WAY??"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Cye's brow furrowed as his finger slipped and punctured the top of the wet clay mold. Instantly, his foot lifted and the pottery wheel stopped. He sighed in minute frustration and clumped the clay back into an unrecognizable lump, seeing as how he wouldn't be able to fix the lip of the ornate pitcher he was working on. The day just HADN'T gone right at ALL. Class was a bother, as it normally was with the Christmas season coming up, and the teachers not letting up on homework. There was an essay due the day before Christmas, and it was the heart of his problems. Not to mention the talk a few days ago.
He tried to bypass most of the tension by coming out to the work area of their business and trying to make something. Working with clay was always so soothing, as his mother told him. She urged that he should go and do something constructive if he was going to be so antsy and worried. And considering the fact that he hadn't really done much at their business, he figured it was due time to pull his own weight. But shaping clay with hands that wanted to do more than just LIGHTLY touch something wasn't placating him. He needed something MORE. He needed the satisfaction of knowing he didn't need to worry about FLUNKING.
"Hai?"
His shaggy head peeked in past the English teacher's door, his lips pressing together. "You wanted to see me ma'am?" He queried, almost awkwardly stepping in when beckoned.
"Come and sit Mouri-san." The elderly lady gently ordered. She gave a smile from behind her desk when he did so and folded her hands over a small stack of stapled papers. Her gaze moved down as she twisted it around and moved toward him. "Do you know what this Mouri-san?"
He leaned forward and stared at the black and white title. His lips pursed, seeing a 'C' in a red marker. "My descriptive paper." He quietly answered. His jaw clenched. A 'C'?! On WHALES? For the bearer of TORRENT?!?! There was the WORST case of irony in that...not to mention injustice.
"Hai..." The teacher almost sadly answered, folding her hands back together. "I didn't like to give you such a low grade Cye, especially since you met some of the requirements."
His hand slowly reached up and plucked the papers from the desk and leaned back in the chair. He slowly flipped the first page and saw a few red lines for corrections. "But I still messed up on some stuff." He quietly reported, sad eyes looking to the next page. There were three on up for the many words he so painstakingly tried to get done. To see his hard work not an 'A' like he liked was a let down. Big time.
"It's not just the few grammar and one or two spelling mistakes." She reported, seeing his downcast look. "Though it WAS designated a descriptive essay, which you did in plenty of depth, it lacked originality. The assignment was to collect data on a certain subject, site the sources, and construe the words together." She watched as he flipped to the next page. "Although you did VERY well with the information, it sounds more like you copied it from a textbook of some kind."
His head shot up in alarm. "I didn't CHEAT!" He quickly insisted, eyes widening a little. "I swear I didn't."
"Whoa, whoa Mouri-san." Her hands rose between them. "I believe you. I'm just saying that maybe you weren't in the right mood to write and ended up copying down much from your rough draft into this." The elderly lady's lips pressed together before her hand moved and reached into her desk. "I'd like to show you something..." The chair rolled back as she shuffled in the small file space and pulled out a small manila envelope. "Let's see..." She muttered, eyes intent as fingers flipped through the papers. "Ah, this should be sufficient. I'd like you to read the first page and tell me what you think about this student's writing capability."
He took it and leaned back in the chair. His eyes skimmed the title and found it to be a descriptive essay. Propping his head up, his eyes skimmed the title. 'Iwasehama Beach' glared back at him in font letters.
"There is a thing about Iwasehama Beach that draws tourists from outside Toyama, and even farther than just the country of Japan. The warm summer heat toasts the sands and makes a person just want to stand around all day and warm their toes. All the while looking at the beauty that surrounds them, moving forward and backward on the tide. The dark blue waters are clear and move with a rhythm age-old that draws people to come out and play. People flock to its calm, warm waters by the dozens, their happy shouts and the many screams of children clutter up the beach every day. From before noon to after five o'clock, there is barely enough place to put your feet, let alone anywhere to lay a beach blanket or cooler for the afternoon.
The drawn people have a tendency to feel more expressive and act closer to nature when out near an element. Many tend to be freer and more juvenile, all the while managing to tastefully have fun in the process. Many lie around and soak up the warm rays of the sun on a cloudless day in a deep blue sky. Others bring things to keep them occupied, most likely too lost to the beauty that drifts over the blanket they walk over.
Iwasehama is the best at early morning when the sun rises, or just when the sun is about to set. Barely a soul is on the entire beach, leaving just the seagulls and the ocean as a person's companion. The sand is cool to the touch, and feels extremely good to wiggle through your toes. Often, a cool breeze can be felt gently twisting your hair and bringing the smell of water to your nose. The sound of water lapping against the shore with extreme patience is worth the trip for such late or early hours. It goes with an almost metronome rhythm, never stopping for anything.
The feel of the tide going in and out on bare feet is the whole reason to visit the beach. No matter WHAT time of day, a person can always feel the simple pleasure of cool water sneak up over their toes, quickly engulfing their skin. The ticklish feeling dissolves to the feel of once damp sand squish around your toes as the weight of your body pushes down with gravity..."
He wanted to continue to find out more about his beloved element, one he visited before, but handed the paper back to the teacher. "It's highly well written." He answered, blinking to pull himself back to reality. "I almost got sucked in."
The teacher grinned and put the paper back in the stack. "This is just one out of many well-done works my student has finished. She is, for lack of a better description, a brilliant artist. I happen to know that she slaves days, sometimes even weeks, over a paper to make sure it is absolutely perfect and captures a reader before they know what hits them." She gave a wry smile. "I am no exception. Once on a narrative story she did a semester ago, I asked if she was going to write a sequel to the paper she did." A quiet chuckle escaped her. "Imagine my surprise when she managed to fit it into an argumentive essay to boot."
His lips momentarily pursed, fingertips pressing together. "So, what does that have to do with me?" He queried, finally pressing the issue...even though the answer was pretty obvious.
She smiled. "I'd like you to ask this person for some pointers Mouri-san. It can't hurt, and maybe you can get some help with your next paper. Which happens to be a narrative piece." She gave a small, dry grin. "And make sure it's different than your OTHER topics. I know you have a thing for water, which is apparent by all your water-type topics, but be ORIGINAL this time. Pick something you wouldn't ordinarily experience or do...or something that you HATE even. Make it into a story. These are due before Christmas break so I have time to pour over them, so you have a few weeks left. Get an idea, and make it a good one. I nitpick over everything in narratives, so I'm giving you fair warning."
"Do you want me to get in touch with this person?" He asked.
Her head shook. "I can talk to the uncle that works here. He'll call her and relay my message. I'd go and call myself, but she's an overly private person and I'm going to tell you now I get the feeling that she doesn't talk at ALL about herself, so I wouldn't try for conversation outside the assignment."
His brow furrowed as something tickled the back of his head. "What's her name?"
"Ataki Kimon."
His head shook as he pulled the clump of clay from the stand and put it back where he pulled it from. Of all the ironicy in the world, it HAD to be her. Mia's friend. The one who said rarely anything, if at ALL, when they first met to him or the others. The enigma he saw on one of his trips to college. He didn't know if someone up there liked him or hated him.
He stopped at the sink and washed his hands before grabbing a rag for the stool to wipe it down. Everything was cleaned, regardless of what it was. That was the only way to keep things in working order. Even though his time in the work area was pretty wasteful, his mind was at least giving him a distraction. Even if he WAS a little unsettled about the news he had to wait for. Apparently, his teacher tracked down her uncle after he left and ran the idea over. As far as he knew, the uncle was going to call tonight or tomorrow, and he would know his answer at class tomorrow or the next day.
The only problem was he STILL didn't have one idea in his head. The ONLY thing that came to mind was writing about the war, but there was no WAY he was going to be so stupid and jeopardize their secret for an 'A' paper. If he did, he'd let Kento beat some sense into him and ALLOW it. Which was a sad fate, since all the things that happened WOULD be enough to write about and get an 'A' in creativity. Any small instance would do and easily fill the required pages. His head savagely shook. No! He would just have to find something ELSE that was utterly original and hopefully never thought up before.
Tossing the towel in the sink to be put in the rag pile later, he stopped outside the doorway. He gave the place one last look-over before turning the lights out and heading back to the house. He ran up the small walkway, not wearing his coat. By the time he nearly slammed the door closed in the high winds, he was freezing. Winter would plan to be a cold one this year, even more so than normal. If that was true, maybe snow would finally fall. They didn't get snow anymore it seemed, with all the problems in the ecosystem by the world's fuel uses. With a shake of his head, Cye headed into the kitchen to check on the time and, mostly likely, get started on dinner. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to work his frustrations and anxiety out by cooking.