Love and its Glory: Prologue
Originally Composed on January 10, 2002
Author's Ramblings and Musings:
Hey peeps, I'm here writing my second Sailor Moon fanfic, though it's
the first one I'll probably submit. Since some fanfic sites I will be
submitting this to don't include teasers, here's a short one.
Serena has grown old and gray, and when the probing questions of
her young friend dig up old memories, a love story is unraveled.
I'm hoping that having readers will keep me up to speed and keep
me from procrastinating like I always do. Hehe. After all, if I get
feedback *hint, hint* I might find the incentive to go work at a good
speed. Well, now I should stop rambling (note how much I make Serena
do that, based on me). Now for the standard disclaimer that I feel is
completely unnecessary
Sailor Moon, all character images and likenesses are coprighted
by Takeuchi Naoko, Dic, Cloverway, et al. The author of this fanfic
is in no way affiliated with any of the copyright
olders. No infringement is intended.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I have always, from the moment I met her, loved Serena. That
wonderful petite old lady next door to me. She sits in her whitewashed
house with its tiny, perfect picket fence and blossoming rose garden,
the envy of the local gardening society (the collection of all the
other old ladies in the neighborhood.) Serena was above those petty
things that the gardening society was concerned with, though, and
winning a garden prize, growing prized tomatoes, or even showing off
grandchildren was of no importance to her. Of course, Serena had no
grandchildren to brag about, and even if it had turned out that she
had, she was (thankfully) not one of those people who loved showing
off their grandchildren to strangers through pictures in her wallet.
I adored her warm, soft azure eyes with that special glint, that
glint that most people only have when they are up to something or
telling a big secret in a hushed, excited voice. Her wrinkled face
would crinkle impossibly more whenever I came calling on her. She
always looked somehow youthful, like there was a bubbly teenage girl
waiting to burst out, though now the girl was a bit subdued by age and
experience.
Then one day when I came over for my weekly visit I found her
sitting in her wicker rocking chair, swaying slowly back and forth,
her eyes closed. I had ventured in to her unlocked house when I found
that Serena was not in her regular spot, the porch. As I approached
she stood, showing her age by her apparent struggle to do so. She
managed a weak smile, more of a badly hidden wince than a smile, but I
appreciated the effort. Serena found the tray of chocolate chip
cookies that she always made for me, and held it out to me, though the
tray was rattling horribly. I plucked the tray from her tiny fingers
and placed it back on the table before I grabbed Serena's hands,
velvety soft and trembling forcefully. I eased Serena back into her
wicker chair, and she sank into it gratefully, wheezing. I was more
surprised than ever. Usually if I had tried to make her sit down she
would have clobbered me. It concerned me, her decrepit state. Serena
never acted this way, and by this way I mean old. All of a sudden she
was arthritic and asthmatic and easily tired. She adjusted herself in
her chair and began to doze.
I took the time now presented to me to look around at my
surroundings. I had been her thousands of times before, and the
scenery was always the same, the Persian rug in the living room, on
the edge of which Serena had positioned her wicker chair, a mahogany
bureau, and various other furniture that one would expect. Much to my
surprise, the room was not the same. It was covered in clothing and
dust, something Serena never tolerated. Dust motes were floating
freely in the air, highlighted by the sunlight coming through the
window, meandering slowly in circles and twirling. The settee,
usually accented by a throw, was instead accented by a week s dirty
laundry. My attention snapped back to Serena when she shifted in her
chair again, sleeping now.
She mumbled something and began twitching, her muscles trying to
complete actions that they could not in Serena's dormant state. I
leaned closer, trying to make out her breathy, gasped, quiet
mumblings. I faintly made out the name 'Mamoru' before Serena snapped
into consciousness, pushing herself up so that she was directly in my
face. She had the look of someone cursing their age and their state
of weakness. While we stared each other in face a million thoughts
ran through my mind. I wondered at the name Mamoru, briefly skimming
over the idea that Mamoru was an old beau, a relative, a friend from
the past before pushing all of those ideas aside. Mamoru must be some
manager of a store that she must call to complain about the service
she received or some such thing as that. After all, Serena had no
relatives, and no friends but me (something I steadfastly refused to
believe until Serena showed me all of the programs from funerals at my
insistence that she must have more friends each program was for a
different friend, the oldest being fifty years old); if she had had
an old beau, certainly she might have married him or kept in touch at
least; if they were not close enough to each other to do so, then he
would most certainly not be memorable enough for her to dream about.
My head began to cause me pain so hard did I wonder. Finally, Serena
spoke, pulling forcefully from my musings. "Is there something wrong
with the cookies, Sienna?"
I giggled slightly. Of course something as irrelevant as that
would pop out of Serena's mouth the minute she awakened. As I shook
my head, the siege began.
Curiosity slowly began to consume me, as insistent as those
annoying little children who find incredible glee in poking you in the
arm, and will not stop no matter how much one tries to suppress them.
"No Serena, the cookies are perfect as usual," I sighed. Should I do
it? Would it be rude? Would she be offended and annoyed? Probably yes.
Will I regret this? Most likely. Oh, what the heck, I finally decided,
and I fired. "Serena, when you were sleeping I heard you mumbling a
name. It was Mamoru." Serena's face darkened slightly, but I
continued anyway, being the fool that I am. "Well Serena, hearing you
mumbling names in your sleep made me realize that even though I have
known you since I moved here two years ago, I really know nothing
about you. Would you share a little history?"
She stood up, holding the chair with a death grip, trying hard
not to collapse into it again, and looked me straight in the eye. Her
mouth was no longer set in a smile but in a grim line, and her eyes
were no longer crinkled pleasantly. "You want to know something about
me, Sienna?" The way she hissed my name sent tingles down my spine,
and I felt myself stepping back as Serena leaned closer. "Well, here
it is. I'm a depressed old woman who has lived in this house almost
all of her entire life, trying desperately to cling to happiness and
forget pain as all the people I knew in my youth give in to death or
move away. I was born into a boring family, had a boring life, and
plan to continue to do so through the rest of my days."
My mouth began moving, but no sound was produced. Serena had
never been this snappish or this depressed. I tried again, though I
was acutely aware that elderly lady's tirades might pursue once again.
"Do you have any friends left, Serena?"
Serena's eyes softened, turning back to their real color, no
longer a stony gray. She collapsed back into her chair and grasped my
hand gently between her aged fingers. She patted my hand absently and
said, not really looking at me, "I have you left, Sienna. You are the
friend that I have left to me. You are all I need."
I hear the lie in her voice, the regret, and the acute sorrow.
Serena was not lying to me, exactly, for she never lied, but rather
she was being her kind old self, trying to assure me that I was the
only source of attention, that I was her only friend, and would hold
on to that position. Even though I loved the fact that I was so
important to her, Serena's new physical and mental states bothered me.
"I meant friends from your youth, Serena, people that have been with
you all the way."
Serena's hands fell to her side, and I immediately felt the loss
of her warm, kindly touch. I saw her straining, arguing with herself,
digging up old memories, ideas, thoughts and pains. Her voice came
out feeble. "Yes. Yes, I do believe that there is one friend from my
youth who still lives. She lives at a Shinto temple in Tokyo. Now
that I think about it, I'm sure that she's still there. There's no
where else she would be. We grew apart I fear; age, trials of life,
and words came between us. I do not think that she will ever forgive
me for what I've done. We did and said horrible things to each other,
but what I did to her, now that cannot be beaten. How I wish I could
turn back time. Many people wish that I suppose, and most realize that
it would not be a good idea in the end. Everyone has something they
wish they had not done, not said..." and Serena rambled off, talking about
time travel, losing friendships, and other such things.
I stopped listening to her. At one point she managed to stand up
and travel to the kitchen, and I could hear her, still babbling on, though
her voice was faded and clogged by the walls now between us. I found
myself standing in the hallway, contemplating. Of course Serena's only
living friend would live in Japan. I was beginning to think that fate had
a plan to make my life as complicated and difficult as possible. I mean,
where would I find the money to transport her here. And even if I got
Serena's priestess friend to come here, was there any reassure than they
could forgive and forget? I was not sure that I should take that chance.
Then I stopped. Why was I even contemplating this? Sure it was
sad that Serena's friends were all gone, but was it really my responsibility
to bring her only friend back to her? I suppose it might be my duty as a
friend, but a broke teenager cannot do much.
The more I thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. I
gave up for the moment and sauntered into the kitchen, but not before
grabbing a chocolate chip cookie. After all, no matter what the
circumstances, the cookies could not be forgotten. Yes, they were
that good.
Serena moved into her family room with its dilapidated couch and
huge television. It was funny that she had it, considering that she
never watched television anyway. Oh well, perhaps it was there with
the faint hope that somebody other than I would come to visit her.
With a suddenly sprightly step she walked to the desk and began
hurriedly pulling out drawers and rustling the papers in them,
searching for something. Finally, when she reached the last drawer,
she let out a sound of triumph and pulled out a rectangular object.
She brought it over to me, leaning heavily on any furniture that was
in her path.
At last she joined me on the couch, flopping heavily down next
to me. She handed me the object, which turned out to be a picture frame.
I turned it the right way up and looked. It was a picture of young people
gathered together, grinning with elation. I smiled; they all looked to
happy and carefree. On the left side there was one pair, a tall boy and
a petite blond haired girl, and he held her in his arms, tilting her head
downwards. She seemed to be wriggling and giggling, teasingly pushing
herself out of his arms, but still managing to look at the camera.
Serena leaned over hurriedly, apparently anxious to see my
reaction. Finally she pointed to the struggling blond haired girl.
"That's me. Oh, how youthful I look. I believe that I was seventeen
when that picture was taken. Well, actually, now that I think about
it, I'm sure that I was seventeen. I remember every detail that led
up to the picture, and everything that came after it."
I nodded apathetically. I was still in shock at seeing a young
Serena. Wow, I thought to myself, she was gorgeous. That was the
only word to describe her, and even that was not good enough. She was
the kind of beautiful girl that I had always wanted to be, perfect
looking every way, and from the time that I had spent with Serena,
almost perfect inside, too. I sighed inwardly. No one should look
that good and not be conceited and vain. I turned to Serena,
struggling to see the teenage girl that she had identified as herself
in the picture. Her face was wrinkled beyond recognition, but her
eyes were still the same bright blue. Right now they were even
brighter than usual, which I had not thought possible.
"And that," Serena pointed to the picture again, "is," she
choked, "Mamoru." I focused my attention on the man holding Serena.
Just when I thought I could not feel any more ugly, I saw him. So
basically Serena was a Greek goddess and she had her handsome
boyfriend, so well formed that even the Greeks could not have chiseled
a statue that perfect. What were these people, mutants? Well, even if
Serena's relationship with Mamoru had not lasted I could understand
why that face might still haunt her dreams.
"Serena, what happened to Mamoru? I mean, you look so perfect
together."
Serena grimaced and leaned back into the couch. "It's a long
story, and there is no guarantee that I will not fall asleep in the
middle of telling it. To tell you what happened to Darien, I have to
start from the beginning, from the moment I met him, for that really
was the beginning; of many things. It may be boring at parts, as most
stories are, but if you really want to hear it I will tell it to you.
It was some time ago. The story begins at around the turn of the
millennium, when I was a teenager. You might regret asking to hear this
story, I mean, after all, I am over one hundred years old, feeling every
year, and I ramble on a lot more than I used to."
Ok, so I only paid attention to half of what Serena had been
saying since I arrived and selected certain parts to hear, the parts
telling me that I might be in for a juicy story. Then that second to
last sentence that Serena spoke snapped me to attention. Hold the phone.
Serena was alive during the turnover to the millennium we were currently
in? That must be a world record or something. I mean, after all,
it was 2120.
Now my curiosity was sparked once again. "I want to hear your
Mamoru story, Serena, but first I want to know. Exactly how old were
you at the turnover of the millennium?"
"Sixteen," Serena stated simply.
How was it possible that Serena was 136? No one could live that
long. Serena really was one of the great mysteries of the world.
Come to think of it, considering her age, one of the ancient
mysteries. No wonder all of her friends had given up to death.
Perhaps my thoughts were harsh, but it was pretty spectacular.
Finally, I decided that I might as well hear Serena's story, as she
was so eager to tell it, and I must admit that I was more than I
little anxious to hear it.
"Are you ready now, Sienna?" I nodded complacently and she
began.
"It all began around the time I was sixteen, at the turn of the
millennium, as you already know. I was staying in Japan for a year
as a foreign exchange student, and I remember that I lived with the
nicest Japanese family. I think I can say with accuracy that the mother
was named Ikuko, the father Kenji, and the annoying little twerp they
called their son,Shingo. Yes, well, moving on, it started on my first
day of school. I was oh so nervous about the new kids I would meet, and
I spentcountless hours praying that I would not embarrass myself with my
foreign knowledge of Japanese. I was expecting the sort of treatment
that American kids force upon their foreign peers, that cruel,
unsympathetic, unfeeling torture. Well, I got to my first class with
all of the horror stories about foreign students in mind, and that is
when it began, the love story I mean."
Serena continued, and soon the soft lull of her voice made me
close my eyes, and I could see the whole story playing in front of my
eyes, according to picture that I had seen of Tokyo, and the group
picture I had of Serena and all her friends. The story became all too
real to me, and I finally let up the last of my resistance and fell
into the tale.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hello everyone (again). I hope you like the story so far. Forgive me
if it's amateurish, but I'm
new at this story writing/fanfic writing thing. Feedback would be so
greatly appreciated, as well as reviews.
My email address is icefaerie0719@angelfire.com
Originally Composed on January 10, 2002
Author's Ramblings and Musings:
Hey peeps, I'm here writing my second Sailor Moon fanfic, though it's
the first one I'll probably submit. Since some fanfic sites I will be
submitting this to don't include teasers, here's a short one.
Serena has grown old and gray, and when the probing questions of
her young friend dig up old memories, a love story is unraveled.
I'm hoping that having readers will keep me up to speed and keep
me from procrastinating like I always do. Hehe. After all, if I get
feedback *hint, hint* I might find the incentive to go work at a good
speed. Well, now I should stop rambling (note how much I make Serena
do that, based on me). Now for the standard disclaimer that I feel is
completely unnecessary
Sailor Moon, all character images and likenesses are coprighted
by Takeuchi Naoko, Dic, Cloverway, et al. The author of this fanfic
is in no way affiliated with any of the copyright
olders. No infringement is intended.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I have always, from the moment I met her, loved Serena. That
wonderful petite old lady next door to me. She sits in her whitewashed
house with its tiny, perfect picket fence and blossoming rose garden,
the envy of the local gardening society (the collection of all the
other old ladies in the neighborhood.) Serena was above those petty
things that the gardening society was concerned with, though, and
winning a garden prize, growing prized tomatoes, or even showing off
grandchildren was of no importance to her. Of course, Serena had no
grandchildren to brag about, and even if it had turned out that she
had, she was (thankfully) not one of those people who loved showing
off their grandchildren to strangers through pictures in her wallet.
I adored her warm, soft azure eyes with that special glint, that
glint that most people only have when they are up to something or
telling a big secret in a hushed, excited voice. Her wrinkled face
would crinkle impossibly more whenever I came calling on her. She
always looked somehow youthful, like there was a bubbly teenage girl
waiting to burst out, though now the girl was a bit subdued by age and
experience.
Then one day when I came over for my weekly visit I found her
sitting in her wicker rocking chair, swaying slowly back and forth,
her eyes closed. I had ventured in to her unlocked house when I found
that Serena was not in her regular spot, the porch. As I approached
she stood, showing her age by her apparent struggle to do so. She
managed a weak smile, more of a badly hidden wince than a smile, but I
appreciated the effort. Serena found the tray of chocolate chip
cookies that she always made for me, and held it out to me, though the
tray was rattling horribly. I plucked the tray from her tiny fingers
and placed it back on the table before I grabbed Serena's hands,
velvety soft and trembling forcefully. I eased Serena back into her
wicker chair, and she sank into it gratefully, wheezing. I was more
surprised than ever. Usually if I had tried to make her sit down she
would have clobbered me. It concerned me, her decrepit state. Serena
never acted this way, and by this way I mean old. All of a sudden she
was arthritic and asthmatic and easily tired. She adjusted herself in
her chair and began to doze.
I took the time now presented to me to look around at my
surroundings. I had been her thousands of times before, and the
scenery was always the same, the Persian rug in the living room, on
the edge of which Serena had positioned her wicker chair, a mahogany
bureau, and various other furniture that one would expect. Much to my
surprise, the room was not the same. It was covered in clothing and
dust, something Serena never tolerated. Dust motes were floating
freely in the air, highlighted by the sunlight coming through the
window, meandering slowly in circles and twirling. The settee,
usually accented by a throw, was instead accented by a week s dirty
laundry. My attention snapped back to Serena when she shifted in her
chair again, sleeping now.
She mumbled something and began twitching, her muscles trying to
complete actions that they could not in Serena's dormant state. I
leaned closer, trying to make out her breathy, gasped, quiet
mumblings. I faintly made out the name 'Mamoru' before Serena snapped
into consciousness, pushing herself up so that she was directly in my
face. She had the look of someone cursing their age and their state
of weakness. While we stared each other in face a million thoughts
ran through my mind. I wondered at the name Mamoru, briefly skimming
over the idea that Mamoru was an old beau, a relative, a friend from
the past before pushing all of those ideas aside. Mamoru must be some
manager of a store that she must call to complain about the service
she received or some such thing as that. After all, Serena had no
relatives, and no friends but me (something I steadfastly refused to
believe until Serena showed me all of the programs from funerals at my
insistence that she must have more friends each program was for a
different friend, the oldest being fifty years old); if she had had
an old beau, certainly she might have married him or kept in touch at
least; if they were not close enough to each other to do so, then he
would most certainly not be memorable enough for her to dream about.
My head began to cause me pain so hard did I wonder. Finally, Serena
spoke, pulling forcefully from my musings. "Is there something wrong
with the cookies, Sienna?"
I giggled slightly. Of course something as irrelevant as that
would pop out of Serena's mouth the minute she awakened. As I shook
my head, the siege began.
Curiosity slowly began to consume me, as insistent as those
annoying little children who find incredible glee in poking you in the
arm, and will not stop no matter how much one tries to suppress them.
"No Serena, the cookies are perfect as usual," I sighed. Should I do
it? Would it be rude? Would she be offended and annoyed? Probably yes.
Will I regret this? Most likely. Oh, what the heck, I finally decided,
and I fired. "Serena, when you were sleeping I heard you mumbling a
name. It was Mamoru." Serena's face darkened slightly, but I
continued anyway, being the fool that I am. "Well Serena, hearing you
mumbling names in your sleep made me realize that even though I have
known you since I moved here two years ago, I really know nothing
about you. Would you share a little history?"
She stood up, holding the chair with a death grip, trying hard
not to collapse into it again, and looked me straight in the eye. Her
mouth was no longer set in a smile but in a grim line, and her eyes
were no longer crinkled pleasantly. "You want to know something about
me, Sienna?" The way she hissed my name sent tingles down my spine,
and I felt myself stepping back as Serena leaned closer. "Well, here
it is. I'm a depressed old woman who has lived in this house almost
all of her entire life, trying desperately to cling to happiness and
forget pain as all the people I knew in my youth give in to death or
move away. I was born into a boring family, had a boring life, and
plan to continue to do so through the rest of my days."
My mouth began moving, but no sound was produced. Serena had
never been this snappish or this depressed. I tried again, though I
was acutely aware that elderly lady's tirades might pursue once again.
"Do you have any friends left, Serena?"
Serena's eyes softened, turning back to their real color, no
longer a stony gray. She collapsed back into her chair and grasped my
hand gently between her aged fingers. She patted my hand absently and
said, not really looking at me, "I have you left, Sienna. You are the
friend that I have left to me. You are all I need."
I hear the lie in her voice, the regret, and the acute sorrow.
Serena was not lying to me, exactly, for she never lied, but rather
she was being her kind old self, trying to assure me that I was the
only source of attention, that I was her only friend, and would hold
on to that position. Even though I loved the fact that I was so
important to her, Serena's new physical and mental states bothered me.
"I meant friends from your youth, Serena, people that have been with
you all the way."
Serena's hands fell to her side, and I immediately felt the loss
of her warm, kindly touch. I saw her straining, arguing with herself,
digging up old memories, ideas, thoughts and pains. Her voice came
out feeble. "Yes. Yes, I do believe that there is one friend from my
youth who still lives. She lives at a Shinto temple in Tokyo. Now
that I think about it, I'm sure that she's still there. There's no
where else she would be. We grew apart I fear; age, trials of life,
and words came between us. I do not think that she will ever forgive
me for what I've done. We did and said horrible things to each other,
but what I did to her, now that cannot be beaten. How I wish I could
turn back time. Many people wish that I suppose, and most realize that
it would not be a good idea in the end. Everyone has something they
wish they had not done, not said..." and Serena rambled off, talking about
time travel, losing friendships, and other such things.
I stopped listening to her. At one point she managed to stand up
and travel to the kitchen, and I could hear her, still babbling on, though
her voice was faded and clogged by the walls now between us. I found
myself standing in the hallway, contemplating. Of course Serena's only
living friend would live in Japan. I was beginning to think that fate had
a plan to make my life as complicated and difficult as possible. I mean,
where would I find the money to transport her here. And even if I got
Serena's priestess friend to come here, was there any reassure than they
could forgive and forget? I was not sure that I should take that chance.
Then I stopped. Why was I even contemplating this? Sure it was
sad that Serena's friends were all gone, but was it really my responsibility
to bring her only friend back to her? I suppose it might be my duty as a
friend, but a broke teenager cannot do much.
The more I thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. I
gave up for the moment and sauntered into the kitchen, but not before
grabbing a chocolate chip cookie. After all, no matter what the
circumstances, the cookies could not be forgotten. Yes, they were
that good.
Serena moved into her family room with its dilapidated couch and
huge television. It was funny that she had it, considering that she
never watched television anyway. Oh well, perhaps it was there with
the faint hope that somebody other than I would come to visit her.
With a suddenly sprightly step she walked to the desk and began
hurriedly pulling out drawers and rustling the papers in them,
searching for something. Finally, when she reached the last drawer,
she let out a sound of triumph and pulled out a rectangular object.
She brought it over to me, leaning heavily on any furniture that was
in her path.
At last she joined me on the couch, flopping heavily down next
to me. She handed me the object, which turned out to be a picture frame.
I turned it the right way up and looked. It was a picture of young people
gathered together, grinning with elation. I smiled; they all looked to
happy and carefree. On the left side there was one pair, a tall boy and
a petite blond haired girl, and he held her in his arms, tilting her head
downwards. She seemed to be wriggling and giggling, teasingly pushing
herself out of his arms, but still managing to look at the camera.
Serena leaned over hurriedly, apparently anxious to see my
reaction. Finally she pointed to the struggling blond haired girl.
"That's me. Oh, how youthful I look. I believe that I was seventeen
when that picture was taken. Well, actually, now that I think about
it, I'm sure that I was seventeen. I remember every detail that led
up to the picture, and everything that came after it."
I nodded apathetically. I was still in shock at seeing a young
Serena. Wow, I thought to myself, she was gorgeous. That was the
only word to describe her, and even that was not good enough. She was
the kind of beautiful girl that I had always wanted to be, perfect
looking every way, and from the time that I had spent with Serena,
almost perfect inside, too. I sighed inwardly. No one should look
that good and not be conceited and vain. I turned to Serena,
struggling to see the teenage girl that she had identified as herself
in the picture. Her face was wrinkled beyond recognition, but her
eyes were still the same bright blue. Right now they were even
brighter than usual, which I had not thought possible.
"And that," Serena pointed to the picture again, "is," she
choked, "Mamoru." I focused my attention on the man holding Serena.
Just when I thought I could not feel any more ugly, I saw him. So
basically Serena was a Greek goddess and she had her handsome
boyfriend, so well formed that even the Greeks could not have chiseled
a statue that perfect. What were these people, mutants? Well, even if
Serena's relationship with Mamoru had not lasted I could understand
why that face might still haunt her dreams.
"Serena, what happened to Mamoru? I mean, you look so perfect
together."
Serena grimaced and leaned back into the couch. "It's a long
story, and there is no guarantee that I will not fall asleep in the
middle of telling it. To tell you what happened to Darien, I have to
start from the beginning, from the moment I met him, for that really
was the beginning; of many things. It may be boring at parts, as most
stories are, but if you really want to hear it I will tell it to you.
It was some time ago. The story begins at around the turn of the
millennium, when I was a teenager. You might regret asking to hear this
story, I mean, after all, I am over one hundred years old, feeling every
year, and I ramble on a lot more than I used to."
Ok, so I only paid attention to half of what Serena had been
saying since I arrived and selected certain parts to hear, the parts
telling me that I might be in for a juicy story. Then that second to
last sentence that Serena spoke snapped me to attention. Hold the phone.
Serena was alive during the turnover to the millennium we were currently
in? That must be a world record or something. I mean, after all,
it was 2120.
Now my curiosity was sparked once again. "I want to hear your
Mamoru story, Serena, but first I want to know. Exactly how old were
you at the turnover of the millennium?"
"Sixteen," Serena stated simply.
How was it possible that Serena was 136? No one could live that
long. Serena really was one of the great mysteries of the world.
Come to think of it, considering her age, one of the ancient
mysteries. No wonder all of her friends had given up to death.
Perhaps my thoughts were harsh, but it was pretty spectacular.
Finally, I decided that I might as well hear Serena's story, as she
was so eager to tell it, and I must admit that I was more than I
little anxious to hear it.
"Are you ready now, Sienna?" I nodded complacently and she
began.
"It all began around the time I was sixteen, at the turn of the
millennium, as you already know. I was staying in Japan for a year
as a foreign exchange student, and I remember that I lived with the
nicest Japanese family. I think I can say with accuracy that the mother
was named Ikuko, the father Kenji, and the annoying little twerp they
called their son,Shingo. Yes, well, moving on, it started on my first
day of school. I was oh so nervous about the new kids I would meet, and
I spentcountless hours praying that I would not embarrass myself with my
foreign knowledge of Japanese. I was expecting the sort of treatment
that American kids force upon their foreign peers, that cruel,
unsympathetic, unfeeling torture. Well, I got to my first class with
all of the horror stories about foreign students in mind, and that is
when it began, the love story I mean."
Serena continued, and soon the soft lull of her voice made me
close my eyes, and I could see the whole story playing in front of my
eyes, according to picture that I had seen of Tokyo, and the group
picture I had of Serena and all her friends. The story became all too
real to me, and I finally let up the last of my resistance and fell
into the tale.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hello everyone (again). I hope you like the story so far. Forgive me
if it's amateurish, but I'm
new at this story writing/fanfic writing thing. Feedback would be so
greatly appreciated, as well as reviews.
My email address is icefaerie0719@angelfire.com