Born Again I Suppose: KDO in a different set of circumstances
The characters are not mine.
2. Kazoku
A beautiful woman dressed in an old-fashioned kimono sat making delicate kanji strokes with an old-fashioned ink brush and well. She was the picture of an old-time author. But she was only writing nonsense words and she was sitting in a display case. People peered in at her curiously; there was a class trip taking notes and some assorted old ladies and tourists. It was a Sunday and the museum was, of course, crowded.
Mariko didn't mind her job. It paid relatively well and frankly, it was the only job she could find. After she escaped from her parents when she turned eighteen, she had been hard-pressed to find an apartment and a job to pay the rent. She was finally settled, alone in the world (she called it independent) and surviving.
Sometimes she was assigned to lead tours or assist at a different exhibit but strangely she preferred sitting at this particular display. As the straggling group of second graders was herded on to the next exhibit a mother led her shy child forward. "Don't worry dear. That woman works here. See, she's posing. She won't hurt you." The mother smiled reassuringly at her kid and brushed the glass with her fingers.
Mariko couldn't resist. Abruptly she darted from her docile position to snap at the mother's hand with her teeth. The mother uttered a small scream and leaped backwards not trusting the thin barrier the glass afforded her from this maniac. She looked back appalled, as she led her child away at an almost running pace. Mariko returned to her post hoping the woman wouldn't report her. Her boss had threatened to fire her if she engaged in any more "antics" as he called them. She sighed and began writing kanji again in an endless incoherent stream, mizu, kokuban, natsu, sana. Her hand froze on the last stroke. Sana? That wasn't even a word! Where had that come from? Sana, sana the word echoed in her mind reverberating against the walls returning with nothing but a disturbing feeling of familiarity. She placed the tip of the brush on the page and bemusedly watched her hand trace the image of a lovely girl with long locks that framed eyes gleaming with enthusiasm and life. She dropped the brush with a cry wondering how this face, that she could swear she had never seen in her life, had appeared in her mind and poured forth onto the page. She shook her head to clear the feeling and forced her hand to trace out the kanji tabemono but when she looked down she saw with surprise that her rebellious hand had written the kanji for kazoku, family.
2. Kazoku
A beautiful woman dressed in an old-fashioned kimono sat making delicate kanji strokes with an old-fashioned ink brush and well. She was the picture of an old-time author. But she was only writing nonsense words and she was sitting in a display case. People peered in at her curiously; there was a class trip taking notes and some assorted old ladies and tourists. It was a Sunday and the museum was, of course, crowded.
Mariko didn't mind her job. It paid relatively well and frankly, it was the only job she could find. After she escaped from her parents when she turned eighteen, she had been hard-pressed to find an apartment and a job to pay the rent. She was finally settled, alone in the world (she called it independent) and surviving.
Sometimes she was assigned to lead tours or assist at a different exhibit but strangely she preferred sitting at this particular display. As the straggling group of second graders was herded on to the next exhibit a mother led her shy child forward. "Don't worry dear. That woman works here. See, she's posing. She won't hurt you." The mother smiled reassuringly at her kid and brushed the glass with her fingers.
Mariko couldn't resist. Abruptly she darted from her docile position to snap at the mother's hand with her teeth. The mother uttered a small scream and leaped backwards not trusting the thin barrier the glass afforded her from this maniac. She looked back appalled, as she led her child away at an almost running pace. Mariko returned to her post hoping the woman wouldn't report her. Her boss had threatened to fire her if she engaged in any more "antics" as he called them. She sighed and began writing kanji again in an endless incoherent stream, mizu, kokuban, natsu, sana. Her hand froze on the last stroke. Sana? That wasn't even a word! Where had that come from? Sana, sana the word echoed in her mind reverberating against the walls returning with nothing but a disturbing feeling of familiarity. She placed the tip of the brush on the page and bemusedly watched her hand trace the image of a lovely girl with long locks that framed eyes gleaming with enthusiasm and life. She dropped the brush with a cry wondering how this face, that she could swear she had never seen in her life, had appeared in her mind and poured forth onto the page. She shook her head to clear the feeling and forced her hand to trace out the kanji tabemono but when she looked down she saw with surprise that her rebellious hand had written the kanji for kazoku, family.