Note: The speaker is Pearl.
The air is frigid, cruel to the touch, and the world
around me is full of hundreds of white butterflies that swing around me in a mad
flying dance, swirling in the cold atmosphere, landing on my face and arms and
dress, fluttering upon me with their little wings of ice-- but then I realize
that they are not butterflies at all, but a million particles of falling snow
that cover my arms and hair and face. The universe I dwell in is cold and blue
and clear, and I am freezing, freezing to death in this empty world of snow and
ice, my skin turning white and chill, but I'm still persistently moving, slicing
my way through the icy atmosphere, still running, running towards somewhere.
I can't see anything but the blue embrace of the
world, and everything, the trees and the rolling hills, are black silhouettes
cutting the distance. I can't even tell if it's day or night, because the colors
of white and blue and black spill across the world, everything stark and etched
sharp and clear on my vision like a scenery composed of perfectly formed glass.
Blue reminds me of-- that young knight-- but I
can't recall his name now. His eyes were blue, and sometimes as harsh as this
strange land of deadly snow, and his hair was the color of the black shadows of
the distance. I don't know where he is now-- it doesn't matter, perhaps, because
I can't recall his name, and perhaps he wasn't that important after all, because
I can't remember his name-- I don't even understand now why I recalled him at
all.
Glass reminds me of the tower where all the
windows twinkled ominously and mirrored everything within their flat, dark
surfaces, and I could see my white face reflected within them as well, which
made me afraid, almost too afraid to move sometimes, because the reflection made
my face appear dark and distorted, and it wasn't me anymore but someone else,
someone horrible, someone with a heart like the frozen ice, like the dark
shadows, a face that I could recognize but didn't wish to, a face I would have
rather forgotten, and I am running, running away from this reflection of a
memory.
The snowflakes are cold and white like
little pearls of snow, and perhaps pearls are meant to be cold and white, and to
feel nothing, do nothing except float in a world of blue and white, only to sink
back into their white graves in the snowy earth and vanish-- before they become
dark and hard and shine like molten glass. Perhaps those little white snowy
pearls should not exist at all, but just forget and be forgotten, because they
are cold and biting and they can kill with their frozen touch of death--
But I won't be forgotten, I don't wish to forget,
someone must remember me now before this land of snow swallows me, someone must,
must remember me, care about me, seek me out, before the land swallows me and I
vanish into white--
Don't leave me here, don't
abandon me, please come for me, Elazul...
Comment: This is an attempt to have a look into Pearl's vague, confused mind. I was inspired by the song "Memories of Running" which plays in the snow fields. Actually, I was listening to an Angel Sanctuary song while I was writing this, called Black Ruby. (Click to listen; it's #9).
If you like this story, I am currently writing a novelization of the Jumi storyline. You can find it on my page. Go here: Sparkling City of Ruin
Copyright: The Mana Priestess (mana_priestess@yahoo.com), July, 2001