Disclaimer : Hana's not mine.... DAMN!!!
Title : The Sakuragi Cousins
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CHAPTER 6 : Bloody Birthday
March 31-- 11:00 P.M. Of in the East China Sea
"What? (pause) Is she all right?" Remedios asked a bit frantically, unconsciously gripping the receiver hard. ".... Oh, dear! She what? (pause) Y-yes... I'll try. But its my son's birthday party, how can I--" Her face was covered with worry, confusion and dread. "Yes, yes... Take care of her."
The other line went dead. Remedios slumped down to a seat infront of the mahogany desk.
"What was it?" Hannah interrupted her mother's thoughts. She was leaning against the glass door of the writing room looking troubled.
"Your Aunt Mercedes wanted me to be there."
"But its Hanamichi's birthday! They can't force you to go there!" Hannah straightened her posture.
"Your aunt is in labor!" She pointed out with a tone higher than the usual calmness of her voice. Noting her daughter's wide eye expression due to her raising of voice, she resumed back to her normal and soothing tone. "And they are not forcing me to do it."
"Ow, foo!" She spited out disdainfully, her hair tossing about in forceful contempt. A rational part of her said she was being too harsh and bias towards her mother; but the thought was just making her mad. "Couldn't they take care of her themselves? For crying out loud, she's not dying!!"
Remedios stood up; bewilderment and rage clearly etched in her face. "Hannah, don't you dare talk to your relatives like that! I did not raise you to be so rude and contemptible. Your Aunt Mercedes is in much pain right now and it is also my Hanamichi's birthday. Please, don't try to make it harder for me than it is already." There was nothing more she could say. At the moment, trepidation almost swept her off her sanity. And it was unmistakable that Hannah had delivered much of her agitation in flesh.
The younger woman, with both hands fisted contorting the exquisite beautification so delicately actualized by their own highly sought after friseurs, gave an almost imperceptible yet notable start. Whether the reflex was of impulse or a subconscious need to further emphasize the disappointment on her mother's sudden outburst -- therefore giving her mother the notion of guilt, either on her part or her mother's -- is only known to her. It was not the first time Hannah had contested over something: her enemy being her own mother, or any of the family for that matter. She was known to raise heated comments with a passion, most commonly regarding her brother. And more than often she had somehow triumphed over colloquies: her against almost all of them.
She was about to retort, forcibly pushing her more genial and logical soul that has been telling her to calm down and start acting civilized, when she noticed the sudden change in her mother's expression; an almost audible but discernable gasp escaping her lips.
To her right, a pair of soft brown orbs greeted her immediately. Hanamichi was sitting on one of the upholstered rose plush chairs placed on either sides near the writing room's two door entrance. For some obvious reasons, his seemingly idle gestures suggested that he had been there for quite a long time, probably enough to be of audience to their recent conversation. His innocent gaze somehow further disturbed the two older women to some inexplicable extent, the way his small feet continued leisurely with its paddling motion which emphasized his carefree innocence that was so natural of him.
"Hanamichi..." Remedios uttered. There was a suppression of alarm in her voice. "Since when--" She paused.
It was sensibly stupid to ask. Not that the latter statement made much sense but rather it's a description of a simple sentence turned complicated by certain contradicting ideas and events which were conceived from cryptic intricacies made uncomfortably simple. In other words, let's just drop the subject.
Hanamichi replied an utterly lovely smile for his mother and sister's collective shock. He was there during the reign of their argument, there in the middle of the phone call; and he wanted them to know that he took it not as an offense on his part but rather a privilege, something to be exulted. A new member of the family was about to see the wonders of life for the first time. And to make the moment more special, it is nearly of the same day of his birth, thus giving of more importance and honor to him.
In a swift childish motion, Hanamichi found his feet on the floor, and in its own exultation, trotted forward the direction of the older redheaded woman. Words were almost useless when an extraordinary child's eyes express an affirmation sincerely potent, equivalent to that of being highly vocal. Hanamichi glanced up both women sweetly.
The two siblings watched from afar as the helicopter carrying their beloved mother launched up to air heading for Naha. Hanamichi, then on his sister's arms, was also carried off on his own wistful thoughts. He had heard of his Aunt Mercedes' expected child and like every one else in the clan, he was secretly anticipating for its coming. So anxious was he that he was more than willing to give up his mother's presence. Actually he even wanted to cancel the whole celebration just to witness the event. He wanted to be there when his cousin arrives; he wanted to be there when his aunt christens his cousin as 'Antoinette' -- just as his Aunt Mercedes had long planned it to be; he wanted to touch Antoinette, to take care of Antoinette, and to play with Antoinette.
But he couldn't, wouldn't be there in this glorious night. He had said that every one in the clan was anticipating the child's birth; but then, it was every one except his sister, Hannah. She had developed a queer indifference on the subject. Her propensity towards the clan was totally alien to Hanamichi but he tried not to question her (which was then not really possible considering his reluctance to speak). So to avoid any further aggravation, little Hanamichi settled to appease both of his beloved.
After the helicopter disappeared through the night sky, Hanamichi found himself looking wistfully at the dim horizon as he was ushered inside their cabin. He had waited for months for the child. In his youthful mind, he was anxious for a playmate, anxious for someone nearly of his own age. But he had some other people to attend to and it was making him unwillingly sad.
***
March 31-- Approximately 11: 55 P.M. Somewhere of in the East China Sea
It was delightful. He was feeling a bit nervous and excited, his previous discomfort washed away by childish revelry. The outside breeze seemed to calm the atmosphere. A lot of people were waiting for him at the hall; even if only less than 1/6 of the population knew him (or even lesser at such point), he was nevertheless thrilled to meet them.
Hanamichi was becoming restless in his seat. He was told to behave and stay in his room while his sister prepare for the occasion. Staring at the vision of himself in front of the huge wall of mirror opposite him, he could see himself getting more impatient by the second. It was unbearable for him.
Naomi excused herself from priming him when a knock interrupted them minutes ago. Since then she hadn't returned yet and that made young Hanamichi petulant.
He gave out a large intake of breath before he resolutely stirred himself for one last time in his seat.
***
The night was enticing. Though a peevish straw of fate was set out to annoy the darkness and the silence. Peril was notified when suspicious characters dared to venture the premises of the Sakuragi's; in line with that, Hannah's clairvoyance had triggered her strongly, therefore alerting the whole of their mandate whilst keeping the guest ignorant of the disturbance. But they were already busy preparing for the feast. It could not be delayed at this moment, not now when it's five minutes before the celebration. As for the disquieting premonition, Hannah had decided for it to wait.
Unbeknownst to them all, the fiery headed celebrant was out in the shadows.. and perhaps in the most insufferable and turbulent time of his life.
***
He ran as soon as he saw the time indicated in one of the wooden clocks at the waiting area he had just passed by. It was nearly time. In a fit of joyous laughter, he sped up the halls using his small feet. Waves of adrenaline overcame his little body; he wanted to frolic around and drown in the company of happy people. He had never been in such a huge gathering, especially one entitled only for him. Whenever there were parties at the mansion, he would be locked up in his room, having permitted only as far as a glimpse from the door. Other than that, he would spend his time imagining what it would be like among the crowd. Deprived as he was of social contact, he was not totally deprived of love and comfort. There were Hannah, Remedios, and, well, basically -- Naomi and probably Jeantuel could be considered. The point is, he wasn't totally unloved and ignored. Hannah's and Remedios' love would have sufficed him. It was only that the apathy of the mansion hindering much of his comprehension as to why he feels so much abhorred by the remaining kin other than his mother and sister which was inflicting him undesirable isolation: an isolation that shows itself to be too cruel for a child to experience.
Tonight was the night he was to claim himself in front of an audience; the right to be recognized as a Sakuragi; to intrigue the feeble- minded and the clueless; to shock the knowledgeable by showing the definite feat of nature, her mystic design gone unresolved which only fate could answer: the design which was he.
He dashed through the serene night; the unwavering smile and excitement clear on his eyes. Consumed he was of the revelry that he did not notice the chill in the air and the questionable silence of the hall as he approached the destined chamber. Two huge deep mahogany doors greeted him in view; their front festooned with intricate carvings: floral they seem. A very minimal cloud of white emission seeped in between the crevices at the bottom of the door. The cold night and the radiant moon increased further Hanamichi's anticipation; the frigid air making him less stressed.
In one strong movement, he opened the door.
***
The dense white cloud was spread out in the room. It was impossible to see. The room was a cross between night and white heaven, whatever such combination could arise. One would not have seen a 30 feet black giant even if it were standing right in front of him. One would have been groping for his own hand if he were a complete idiot. Which was then not the case of Hanamichi. He had remembered a fog this dense some months ago, when his mother had decided to spend their Christmas vacation on the western part of the world, somewhere in Canada. They woke up one morning with nothing to see but a mass of what seemed like snow inhibiting the sides of the window while a very dense fog shadowed most of the view.
He was not a nervous child nor was he easily frightened. Hanamich could be sensitive but certainly he was a child of common sense. Some years from now his senses would soon be overshadowed by his naiveté but it will not fade. Awkwardly he lingered in the mist, thinking probably of this as a surprise; that his guest, his sister would be coming out from nowhere, greeting him lovingly. It was while having his happy contemplation when a substantial object suddenly tripped him off balance, resounding an ugly thud. He thought it was odd. Had he just tripped on something? Or rather someone? The sound was as distinct as a fallen body. It could not be mistaken.
Hands frantically searching for the offended object, he moved in all fours. He grabbed it from where he thought it was and realized it to be an extremity: a hand, to be precise, limping heavily and unmoving.
As if on cue, the mist of cloud slowly but surely dissipated in front of his view and proved his senses. It was a hand. Where it came from was something he had regretted seeing. A gentleman, presumably in his tender age of fifteen, was seen sprawled on his stomach, brown eyes looking dead. And from the side of his soft delicate lips issued a rich trail of startling crimson red.
Instantly, the child felt utmost horror; something he had not encountered before. Either it was the corpse's eyes or Hanamichi's that reflected the singularly intense horror which seized him, or both of them did. And in less than two of a second he had visualized himself surrounded by a hundred prone bodies, lifeless and dreadful as he thought they were, through the imagery of dissipating mist. Then for some moments his mind boggled itself whether the vision was from the realm of reality or utter madness. At last, for what seemed to him a dreadful millionth of a time, his mind settled for the undoubtedly palpable and paralyzing vision of reality. There WERE a hundred -- no, even more prone bodies than he could have ever imagined nor wanted to see in his entire childhood. And in terms of realization, his senses was partially rendered numb.
On the floor, all the same to him --man or woman, young or old-- bodies littered literally. Either completely intact and can be mistaken in repose, or brutally dismembered or dimpled by what had to be something frighteningly sharp and lethal. Painstakingly, Hanamichi took the view in front of him, disregarding the lone standing figure in the center of what had to be a blood bath; in the back of the figure lingered still the thick mist, withdrawing there to take view of the desolated child.
"You are safe."
Hanamichi finally regarded the voice, eyes unmistakably wide with shock and innocence that only he can concur. Comprehension lagged behind his young mind; expectedly, he did not take note the whit of vague concern in that statement, thus missing everything else. The young redhead looked pass the mist, the bodies and the lone figure. He could not believe this. There were suppose to be a lot of happy people, a lot of happy, lively people in the room. They could not possibly be lifeless!
He was only two years old. He was aware of death; but by God! his mind was too young to be acquainted THIS close to it, much more be slap in the face by death itself.
The apparition directed himself towards Hanamichi and in his right hand a silvery scythe was eminent. Its edge, long and ominous, was coated graciously by death's desired crimson hue. More shadows slowly formed behind them. In a matter of minutes men, armed menacingly, materialized in all sides and ensued havoc.
Hanamichi's mind was battling somewhere else; the noise, the gore and the wafting smell of blood was unreal. These clearly, he rejected. The angry reports made by equally angry weapons were unreal. The bodies scattered and newly added parts flying were also unreal. Even the familiar voice of Hannah, distant yet furious, the sound of battle cries accompanied by apocalyptic noises, were all seemingly unreal. He had no idea why this is all happening. His consciousness trying fervently to block the ensuing truth.
Just as he was to withdraw himself from the repressing sanity, a sudden startling slap caught the side of his face, pulling forcefully his retreating intelligence. Dazedly, he looked down on his side where the blow had gone to and froze. There in his left shoulder and hand, glaring tauntingly at him, the abominable color of rich, thick blood. Instantaneously, his protective barrier erupted and he stared, for the first time, wide-eyed and horrified at the events unfolding in front of him. The mist that had dissipated was then replaced by chaos, blood, gore and noise.
Hanamichi was still immobile; his eyes glued to the scene, uncaring of the hands that clung to his shoulders and the body which tried frantically to block his sight. Naomi had came up from nowhere, sobbing nervously while trying as much as she can to protect the child. Yet in vain for the child had not but once left his eyes on the bloody chaos presented upon them. For the moment he has regarded the tall figure nearest to them. His back to them and scythe in hand, he savagely tossed a body over, split in half the pitiful lad whose suit declare him to be one of the Sakuragi's guards. Hanamichi's gaze he must have sensed for when he turned around his crystal eyes pierced the young boy's bewildered brown orbs, sending shivers of recognition to his small spine.
Bedaubed he was with the almost intolerable red stain, that initial ethereal aura could still be detected. In that state, the man set to him, stepping on corpse unceremoniously; eyes deeply fixed to Hanamichi's with a frightful glimmer, almost an insane delight, in his eyes. The stance, the movement, and the impressive beauty that the stranger portrayed behest a resemblance to that of the archangel Azrael. With the bloody sickle, he did resemble the Angel of death; and as he then approached, a numbing dread crept over Hanamichi's being.
The Angel of death looked down upon him: amused, sadistic, not a trace of sanity in his gray eyes but lusty, diabolic fire that generated and drowned in his being thoroughly. The scene shifted itself as fast as comprehension could have dawned on Hanamichi at that moment. Naomi's feverish hysteria turned in to a sharp gasp; her body forcefully pulled up, like she was a disgusting leper. Hanamichi saw, for the first time, the utter fear in her eyes; it was absolutely clear that he could almost feel it in his skin, crawling.
It happened instantly. The sickle coming down to her torso, another to her neck, in motions that had to be supernaturally swift. Blood burst forth like a fountain towards him, almost bathing him with its thickness and smell. The taunting glaring hue was inexorable that it made his stomach twist with nausea. And to add up impression to the already gruesome picture, Naomi's head fell off and rolled forward to his feet facing him. The complete terror and pain in her wide brown eyes was undeniable; her once pleasant face contorted with obvious agony.
He tried to closed his eyes, yet to no avail. He could not believe that it was Naomi there, lifeless and decapitated. The mantra 'it's not her' and 'this is not happening' was desperately repeated in his young mind in attempt to dissuade himself from what was happening. He desperately wanted to cry, to scream, to run, to panic, to do anything other than stand there, immobile, like a damnable stone cold statue doing nothing but to bear and watch as the innocent parts of Naomi fell heavily before his feet. He could only open his mouth, wanting so much to cry and producing nothing more but low incoherent sounds.
"Shouldn't you be screaming?" That cold, sadistic voice snapped Hanamichi back. Slowly he dragged his head to meet the fearful angel's face with his silver eyes gleaming sinister.
How could someone so beautiful and benevolent looking creature do as ghastly as this?
"Shouldn't you be crying? Running?" he flaunted, conceivably amused, taking the child openly into sight as if he was an irresistible candy needed to be taken.
"My, my! Such a brave cute boy!" Then he laughed like a mad man, a frightful laughter surpassing the chaotic noise that was still around them. Though it seemed to Hanamichi that the only persons existing were this madman and he.
The surrounding seized him once more and frighteningly, something in him, a molding paroxysm erupted. The blood, the corpse, the destruction besetting him was simply too much. Instantly, he saw red; he could actually feel it in his whole body.
"Hanamichi!" Hannah's voice burst out from the racket. She had ran across the anarchy to where his brother was, settling herself in front of the Angel of death. She attempted an attack but was flung by an unforeseen surge of air several feet away, crashing painfully on a table. The man was to assess another assault, preferably with his deadly staff.
Somewhere off, a clock struck midnight.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHGGGGGGG!"
This commotion halted almost every movement that was to be executed, even the considered Angel of death stood agape. There in the middle of the room, covered by fiery red light was Hanamichi screaming, for all he care, his fear, agony and frustration. The glowing light pursued its defiant redness which then dissolved the fake color of his hair. The light was like a fire that burned him and the heat was exceedingly becoming palpable. And in one rapid blink of a second, great streams of fatal red light spread out from him throughout the dimensions of the hall, favoring only few special people to run speedily to a leeway and protect themselves from the hazard of the red rays. The unfortunate ones, which were many, were blown away to the walls, splattered like newly fed mosquitoes sticking on the surface. A sight which can be truly called hideous.
This hideous sight greeted young Hanamichi. Then and there he knew he severely needed to cry. They died because of him. He never wanted for them to be dead and yet they were. Surprisingly, the Angel of death stood some feet away, unscathed. His smooth pale skin and albino features marred by a bit of shock, with his red dangling earrings still protruding, was as usual. His stark white clothes bloodied all over were all intact.
Their eyes met; and as Hanamichi gazed at the silvery malicious orbs, it resounded of an unspoken awe that says all that happened.
It was all his fault.
He then fainted.
***
A blurry white ceiling greeted him, along with the smell of something artificial surrounding him. He recognized a faint screaming from afar. Soon it sounded louder, more of a shriek committed to redeem one's life from death's grasps. Weakly, he strained his ears to familiarize with the situation. It was a woman's cry: long, laborious, and dragging moan. Another sound was heard, one last wail before he sank back into the darkness from which he came from. Together with the woman's last wail came another shrill cry. The cry was from an infant. And as he turned back to sleep, a smile flitted on Hanamichi's lips.
-_-;;;; TBC
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(~_~;) k, pips! me back.... let me discuss some things. 1st of all: my fics getting strange neh? there's a lot of genre going in here. forgive the slight morbidity imposed in this chapter. 2nd: bout the pairings. yaoi, yuri, some definite incestuous affinity which hopefully would turn out to be something insane... depends whether my hands would like to work on it (my hands do these things to their own accord. i've no control of them!!!!) some obssessive stalkers, a bunch of sociopaths, sadomasochistic people, politicians, businessmen, scientists, and some wacky others will probably be in this fic. but then of course i'll depend whether my hands would include them all or if they could all fit together in this fic. 3rd: i could execute the story in different ways but as to which of them, i have no idea. we'll see as we go along. 4th and last, since i'm getting lazy.... MERRY CHRISTMAS, pips!!!!! may God bless you all, you wonderful, creative people!!! thank you for reading this and may you have a blessed time.... see you next chap!!! (;~____~)
Title : The Sakuragi Cousins
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CHAPTER 6 : Bloody Birthday
March 31-- 11:00 P.M. Of in the East China Sea
"What? (pause) Is she all right?" Remedios asked a bit frantically, unconsciously gripping the receiver hard. ".... Oh, dear! She what? (pause) Y-yes... I'll try. But its my son's birthday party, how can I--" Her face was covered with worry, confusion and dread. "Yes, yes... Take care of her."
The other line went dead. Remedios slumped down to a seat infront of the mahogany desk.
"What was it?" Hannah interrupted her mother's thoughts. She was leaning against the glass door of the writing room looking troubled.
"Your Aunt Mercedes wanted me to be there."
"But its Hanamichi's birthday! They can't force you to go there!" Hannah straightened her posture.
"Your aunt is in labor!" She pointed out with a tone higher than the usual calmness of her voice. Noting her daughter's wide eye expression due to her raising of voice, she resumed back to her normal and soothing tone. "And they are not forcing me to do it."
"Ow, foo!" She spited out disdainfully, her hair tossing about in forceful contempt. A rational part of her said she was being too harsh and bias towards her mother; but the thought was just making her mad. "Couldn't they take care of her themselves? For crying out loud, she's not dying!!"
Remedios stood up; bewilderment and rage clearly etched in her face. "Hannah, don't you dare talk to your relatives like that! I did not raise you to be so rude and contemptible. Your Aunt Mercedes is in much pain right now and it is also my Hanamichi's birthday. Please, don't try to make it harder for me than it is already." There was nothing more she could say. At the moment, trepidation almost swept her off her sanity. And it was unmistakable that Hannah had delivered much of her agitation in flesh.
The younger woman, with both hands fisted contorting the exquisite beautification so delicately actualized by their own highly sought after friseurs, gave an almost imperceptible yet notable start. Whether the reflex was of impulse or a subconscious need to further emphasize the disappointment on her mother's sudden outburst -- therefore giving her mother the notion of guilt, either on her part or her mother's -- is only known to her. It was not the first time Hannah had contested over something: her enemy being her own mother, or any of the family for that matter. She was known to raise heated comments with a passion, most commonly regarding her brother. And more than often she had somehow triumphed over colloquies: her against almost all of them.
She was about to retort, forcibly pushing her more genial and logical soul that has been telling her to calm down and start acting civilized, when she noticed the sudden change in her mother's expression; an almost audible but discernable gasp escaping her lips.
To her right, a pair of soft brown orbs greeted her immediately. Hanamichi was sitting on one of the upholstered rose plush chairs placed on either sides near the writing room's two door entrance. For some obvious reasons, his seemingly idle gestures suggested that he had been there for quite a long time, probably enough to be of audience to their recent conversation. His innocent gaze somehow further disturbed the two older women to some inexplicable extent, the way his small feet continued leisurely with its paddling motion which emphasized his carefree innocence that was so natural of him.
"Hanamichi..." Remedios uttered. There was a suppression of alarm in her voice. "Since when--" She paused.
It was sensibly stupid to ask. Not that the latter statement made much sense but rather it's a description of a simple sentence turned complicated by certain contradicting ideas and events which were conceived from cryptic intricacies made uncomfortably simple. In other words, let's just drop the subject.
Hanamichi replied an utterly lovely smile for his mother and sister's collective shock. He was there during the reign of their argument, there in the middle of the phone call; and he wanted them to know that he took it not as an offense on his part but rather a privilege, something to be exulted. A new member of the family was about to see the wonders of life for the first time. And to make the moment more special, it is nearly of the same day of his birth, thus giving of more importance and honor to him.
In a swift childish motion, Hanamichi found his feet on the floor, and in its own exultation, trotted forward the direction of the older redheaded woman. Words were almost useless when an extraordinary child's eyes express an affirmation sincerely potent, equivalent to that of being highly vocal. Hanamichi glanced up both women sweetly.
The two siblings watched from afar as the helicopter carrying their beloved mother launched up to air heading for Naha. Hanamichi, then on his sister's arms, was also carried off on his own wistful thoughts. He had heard of his Aunt Mercedes' expected child and like every one else in the clan, he was secretly anticipating for its coming. So anxious was he that he was more than willing to give up his mother's presence. Actually he even wanted to cancel the whole celebration just to witness the event. He wanted to be there when his cousin arrives; he wanted to be there when his aunt christens his cousin as 'Antoinette' -- just as his Aunt Mercedes had long planned it to be; he wanted to touch Antoinette, to take care of Antoinette, and to play with Antoinette.
But he couldn't, wouldn't be there in this glorious night. He had said that every one in the clan was anticipating the child's birth; but then, it was every one except his sister, Hannah. She had developed a queer indifference on the subject. Her propensity towards the clan was totally alien to Hanamichi but he tried not to question her (which was then not really possible considering his reluctance to speak). So to avoid any further aggravation, little Hanamichi settled to appease both of his beloved.
After the helicopter disappeared through the night sky, Hanamichi found himself looking wistfully at the dim horizon as he was ushered inside their cabin. He had waited for months for the child. In his youthful mind, he was anxious for a playmate, anxious for someone nearly of his own age. But he had some other people to attend to and it was making him unwillingly sad.
***
March 31-- Approximately 11: 55 P.M. Somewhere of in the East China Sea
It was delightful. He was feeling a bit nervous and excited, his previous discomfort washed away by childish revelry. The outside breeze seemed to calm the atmosphere. A lot of people were waiting for him at the hall; even if only less than 1/6 of the population knew him (or even lesser at such point), he was nevertheless thrilled to meet them.
Hanamichi was becoming restless in his seat. He was told to behave and stay in his room while his sister prepare for the occasion. Staring at the vision of himself in front of the huge wall of mirror opposite him, he could see himself getting more impatient by the second. It was unbearable for him.
Naomi excused herself from priming him when a knock interrupted them minutes ago. Since then she hadn't returned yet and that made young Hanamichi petulant.
He gave out a large intake of breath before he resolutely stirred himself for one last time in his seat.
***
The night was enticing. Though a peevish straw of fate was set out to annoy the darkness and the silence. Peril was notified when suspicious characters dared to venture the premises of the Sakuragi's; in line with that, Hannah's clairvoyance had triggered her strongly, therefore alerting the whole of their mandate whilst keeping the guest ignorant of the disturbance. But they were already busy preparing for the feast. It could not be delayed at this moment, not now when it's five minutes before the celebration. As for the disquieting premonition, Hannah had decided for it to wait.
Unbeknownst to them all, the fiery headed celebrant was out in the shadows.. and perhaps in the most insufferable and turbulent time of his life.
***
He ran as soon as he saw the time indicated in one of the wooden clocks at the waiting area he had just passed by. It was nearly time. In a fit of joyous laughter, he sped up the halls using his small feet. Waves of adrenaline overcame his little body; he wanted to frolic around and drown in the company of happy people. He had never been in such a huge gathering, especially one entitled only for him. Whenever there were parties at the mansion, he would be locked up in his room, having permitted only as far as a glimpse from the door. Other than that, he would spend his time imagining what it would be like among the crowd. Deprived as he was of social contact, he was not totally deprived of love and comfort. There were Hannah, Remedios, and, well, basically -- Naomi and probably Jeantuel could be considered. The point is, he wasn't totally unloved and ignored. Hannah's and Remedios' love would have sufficed him. It was only that the apathy of the mansion hindering much of his comprehension as to why he feels so much abhorred by the remaining kin other than his mother and sister which was inflicting him undesirable isolation: an isolation that shows itself to be too cruel for a child to experience.
Tonight was the night he was to claim himself in front of an audience; the right to be recognized as a Sakuragi; to intrigue the feeble- minded and the clueless; to shock the knowledgeable by showing the definite feat of nature, her mystic design gone unresolved which only fate could answer: the design which was he.
He dashed through the serene night; the unwavering smile and excitement clear on his eyes. Consumed he was of the revelry that he did not notice the chill in the air and the questionable silence of the hall as he approached the destined chamber. Two huge deep mahogany doors greeted him in view; their front festooned with intricate carvings: floral they seem. A very minimal cloud of white emission seeped in between the crevices at the bottom of the door. The cold night and the radiant moon increased further Hanamichi's anticipation; the frigid air making him less stressed.
In one strong movement, he opened the door.
***
The dense white cloud was spread out in the room. It was impossible to see. The room was a cross between night and white heaven, whatever such combination could arise. One would not have seen a 30 feet black giant even if it were standing right in front of him. One would have been groping for his own hand if he were a complete idiot. Which was then not the case of Hanamichi. He had remembered a fog this dense some months ago, when his mother had decided to spend their Christmas vacation on the western part of the world, somewhere in Canada. They woke up one morning with nothing to see but a mass of what seemed like snow inhibiting the sides of the window while a very dense fog shadowed most of the view.
He was not a nervous child nor was he easily frightened. Hanamich could be sensitive but certainly he was a child of common sense. Some years from now his senses would soon be overshadowed by his naiveté but it will not fade. Awkwardly he lingered in the mist, thinking probably of this as a surprise; that his guest, his sister would be coming out from nowhere, greeting him lovingly. It was while having his happy contemplation when a substantial object suddenly tripped him off balance, resounding an ugly thud. He thought it was odd. Had he just tripped on something? Or rather someone? The sound was as distinct as a fallen body. It could not be mistaken.
Hands frantically searching for the offended object, he moved in all fours. He grabbed it from where he thought it was and realized it to be an extremity: a hand, to be precise, limping heavily and unmoving.
As if on cue, the mist of cloud slowly but surely dissipated in front of his view and proved his senses. It was a hand. Where it came from was something he had regretted seeing. A gentleman, presumably in his tender age of fifteen, was seen sprawled on his stomach, brown eyes looking dead. And from the side of his soft delicate lips issued a rich trail of startling crimson red.
Instantly, the child felt utmost horror; something he had not encountered before. Either it was the corpse's eyes or Hanamichi's that reflected the singularly intense horror which seized him, or both of them did. And in less than two of a second he had visualized himself surrounded by a hundred prone bodies, lifeless and dreadful as he thought they were, through the imagery of dissipating mist. Then for some moments his mind boggled itself whether the vision was from the realm of reality or utter madness. At last, for what seemed to him a dreadful millionth of a time, his mind settled for the undoubtedly palpable and paralyzing vision of reality. There WERE a hundred -- no, even more prone bodies than he could have ever imagined nor wanted to see in his entire childhood. And in terms of realization, his senses was partially rendered numb.
On the floor, all the same to him --man or woman, young or old-- bodies littered literally. Either completely intact and can be mistaken in repose, or brutally dismembered or dimpled by what had to be something frighteningly sharp and lethal. Painstakingly, Hanamichi took the view in front of him, disregarding the lone standing figure in the center of what had to be a blood bath; in the back of the figure lingered still the thick mist, withdrawing there to take view of the desolated child.
"You are safe."
Hanamichi finally regarded the voice, eyes unmistakably wide with shock and innocence that only he can concur. Comprehension lagged behind his young mind; expectedly, he did not take note the whit of vague concern in that statement, thus missing everything else. The young redhead looked pass the mist, the bodies and the lone figure. He could not believe this. There were suppose to be a lot of happy people, a lot of happy, lively people in the room. They could not possibly be lifeless!
He was only two years old. He was aware of death; but by God! his mind was too young to be acquainted THIS close to it, much more be slap in the face by death itself.
The apparition directed himself towards Hanamichi and in his right hand a silvery scythe was eminent. Its edge, long and ominous, was coated graciously by death's desired crimson hue. More shadows slowly formed behind them. In a matter of minutes men, armed menacingly, materialized in all sides and ensued havoc.
Hanamichi's mind was battling somewhere else; the noise, the gore and the wafting smell of blood was unreal. These clearly, he rejected. The angry reports made by equally angry weapons were unreal. The bodies scattered and newly added parts flying were also unreal. Even the familiar voice of Hannah, distant yet furious, the sound of battle cries accompanied by apocalyptic noises, were all seemingly unreal. He had no idea why this is all happening. His consciousness trying fervently to block the ensuing truth.
Just as he was to withdraw himself from the repressing sanity, a sudden startling slap caught the side of his face, pulling forcefully his retreating intelligence. Dazedly, he looked down on his side where the blow had gone to and froze. There in his left shoulder and hand, glaring tauntingly at him, the abominable color of rich, thick blood. Instantaneously, his protective barrier erupted and he stared, for the first time, wide-eyed and horrified at the events unfolding in front of him. The mist that had dissipated was then replaced by chaos, blood, gore and noise.
Hanamichi was still immobile; his eyes glued to the scene, uncaring of the hands that clung to his shoulders and the body which tried frantically to block his sight. Naomi had came up from nowhere, sobbing nervously while trying as much as she can to protect the child. Yet in vain for the child had not but once left his eyes on the bloody chaos presented upon them. For the moment he has regarded the tall figure nearest to them. His back to them and scythe in hand, he savagely tossed a body over, split in half the pitiful lad whose suit declare him to be one of the Sakuragi's guards. Hanamichi's gaze he must have sensed for when he turned around his crystal eyes pierced the young boy's bewildered brown orbs, sending shivers of recognition to his small spine.
Bedaubed he was with the almost intolerable red stain, that initial ethereal aura could still be detected. In that state, the man set to him, stepping on corpse unceremoniously; eyes deeply fixed to Hanamichi's with a frightful glimmer, almost an insane delight, in his eyes. The stance, the movement, and the impressive beauty that the stranger portrayed behest a resemblance to that of the archangel Azrael. With the bloody sickle, he did resemble the Angel of death; and as he then approached, a numbing dread crept over Hanamichi's being.
The Angel of death looked down upon him: amused, sadistic, not a trace of sanity in his gray eyes but lusty, diabolic fire that generated and drowned in his being thoroughly. The scene shifted itself as fast as comprehension could have dawned on Hanamichi at that moment. Naomi's feverish hysteria turned in to a sharp gasp; her body forcefully pulled up, like she was a disgusting leper. Hanamichi saw, for the first time, the utter fear in her eyes; it was absolutely clear that he could almost feel it in his skin, crawling.
It happened instantly. The sickle coming down to her torso, another to her neck, in motions that had to be supernaturally swift. Blood burst forth like a fountain towards him, almost bathing him with its thickness and smell. The taunting glaring hue was inexorable that it made his stomach twist with nausea. And to add up impression to the already gruesome picture, Naomi's head fell off and rolled forward to his feet facing him. The complete terror and pain in her wide brown eyes was undeniable; her once pleasant face contorted with obvious agony.
He tried to closed his eyes, yet to no avail. He could not believe that it was Naomi there, lifeless and decapitated. The mantra 'it's not her' and 'this is not happening' was desperately repeated in his young mind in attempt to dissuade himself from what was happening. He desperately wanted to cry, to scream, to run, to panic, to do anything other than stand there, immobile, like a damnable stone cold statue doing nothing but to bear and watch as the innocent parts of Naomi fell heavily before his feet. He could only open his mouth, wanting so much to cry and producing nothing more but low incoherent sounds.
"Shouldn't you be screaming?" That cold, sadistic voice snapped Hanamichi back. Slowly he dragged his head to meet the fearful angel's face with his silver eyes gleaming sinister.
How could someone so beautiful and benevolent looking creature do as ghastly as this?
"Shouldn't you be crying? Running?" he flaunted, conceivably amused, taking the child openly into sight as if he was an irresistible candy needed to be taken.
"My, my! Such a brave cute boy!" Then he laughed like a mad man, a frightful laughter surpassing the chaotic noise that was still around them. Though it seemed to Hanamichi that the only persons existing were this madman and he.
The surrounding seized him once more and frighteningly, something in him, a molding paroxysm erupted. The blood, the corpse, the destruction besetting him was simply too much. Instantly, he saw red; he could actually feel it in his whole body.
"Hanamichi!" Hannah's voice burst out from the racket. She had ran across the anarchy to where his brother was, settling herself in front of the Angel of death. She attempted an attack but was flung by an unforeseen surge of air several feet away, crashing painfully on a table. The man was to assess another assault, preferably with his deadly staff.
Somewhere off, a clock struck midnight.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHGGGGGGG!"
This commotion halted almost every movement that was to be executed, even the considered Angel of death stood agape. There in the middle of the room, covered by fiery red light was Hanamichi screaming, for all he care, his fear, agony and frustration. The glowing light pursued its defiant redness which then dissolved the fake color of his hair. The light was like a fire that burned him and the heat was exceedingly becoming palpable. And in one rapid blink of a second, great streams of fatal red light spread out from him throughout the dimensions of the hall, favoring only few special people to run speedily to a leeway and protect themselves from the hazard of the red rays. The unfortunate ones, which were many, were blown away to the walls, splattered like newly fed mosquitoes sticking on the surface. A sight which can be truly called hideous.
This hideous sight greeted young Hanamichi. Then and there he knew he severely needed to cry. They died because of him. He never wanted for them to be dead and yet they were. Surprisingly, the Angel of death stood some feet away, unscathed. His smooth pale skin and albino features marred by a bit of shock, with his red dangling earrings still protruding, was as usual. His stark white clothes bloodied all over were all intact.
Their eyes met; and as Hanamichi gazed at the silvery malicious orbs, it resounded of an unspoken awe that says all that happened.
It was all his fault.
He then fainted.
***
A blurry white ceiling greeted him, along with the smell of something artificial surrounding him. He recognized a faint screaming from afar. Soon it sounded louder, more of a shriek committed to redeem one's life from death's grasps. Weakly, he strained his ears to familiarize with the situation. It was a woman's cry: long, laborious, and dragging moan. Another sound was heard, one last wail before he sank back into the darkness from which he came from. Together with the woman's last wail came another shrill cry. The cry was from an infant. And as he turned back to sleep, a smile flitted on Hanamichi's lips.
-_-;;;; TBC
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(~_~;) k, pips! me back.... let me discuss some things. 1st of all: my fics getting strange neh? there's a lot of genre going in here. forgive the slight morbidity imposed in this chapter. 2nd: bout the pairings. yaoi, yuri, some definite incestuous affinity which hopefully would turn out to be something insane... depends whether my hands would like to work on it (my hands do these things to their own accord. i've no control of them!!!!) some obssessive stalkers, a bunch of sociopaths, sadomasochistic people, politicians, businessmen, scientists, and some wacky others will probably be in this fic. but then of course i'll depend whether my hands would include them all or if they could all fit together in this fic. 3rd: i could execute the story in different ways but as to which of them, i have no idea. we'll see as we go along. 4th and last, since i'm getting lazy.... MERRY CHRISTMAS, pips!!!!! may God bless you all, you wonderful, creative people!!! thank you for reading this and may you have a blessed time.... see you next chap!!! (;~____~)