Blackbird Waiting
By Panuru (savannahlynnbyahoo.com)
/
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise"
– The Beatles
/
Winter came in a sharp knife slice, dividing warm and cold with its blade. Reki felt it sting her nostrils as if the molecules in the air had been sharpened into daggers of icicles. The window she used to leave partially open for its relief of cool air now let in a long claw of cold. The air slithered through with a whistle, rattling the small clay pots lining the window sill just above the bathtub. Reki watched them to see how long they could stand, her skin prickling with gooseflesh as her bath water stilled and sealed over her like tepid wax. Her feathers tickled the surface; when she lowered her head until the water closed over her nose and squinted her eyes she could see them waving like kelp, becoming clumpy and soft. She let the water close over her head, resting the back of her skull on the bottom of the tub so that the ceiling shuddered on the other side of the soapy screen of water, light dissected and scattered around her in buttery flecks.
I wonder what the ocean is like, she thought, the idea bubbling from her mind like the oval of trapped breath she released to the surface of the water to watch it pop and ripple. She remembered the pictures in the library books of the ocean frozen in white mustaches of waves, the place where the water tapered off, in front of the endless stretch of blue. Reki wanted to lay in the ocean. When she'd told Kuramori of wanting to be lost in the water, the older Haibane had looked at her with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
"You can't get lost, Reki," she had said, "because I'll always be by your side, holding your hand." And, as if to anchor Reki, Kuramori had swept up her hand and clenched it tight.
Reki had felt comforted but smothered, like someone who had stepped into a new wonderful world only to be told it was dangerous as she was shepherded back into her old one.
Old Home.
If she closed her eyes, though, and refused the feel the cold porcelain of the tub, she could pretend that the water was not a tight cocoon, but an endless world, a watery mirror running a race with the sky. Reki lifted her hands out of the water in open palms, making little teardrop-wide rivers rush down her arms. Her wings opened as if waiting to catch a gust of wind to ride on. The thin bones shuddered, making the wet feathers quiver as she snapped them faster and faster, until they beat at the water like the propeller of a boat. Water spit fountain-like out of the tub as Reki lost herself to one reality in favor of another. The high ringing voice of something breaking snatched her mind back into the bathroom; she struggled to sit up, body teetering back and forth before she anchored both hands on the edges of the tub, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. One of the clay pots had been washed over the edge of the sill and had shattered on the edge of the tub, half scattered to the floor and half littered on the bathtub floor. Reki groaned as she lifted the pieces from the pool of bath-water, a single inky feather trickling into her palm in evidence of her guilt.
/
The garden soil had felt cool and velvety in her hands a few days ago, but now it was cold and bitter as Reki scratched a hole between two flowers. When the hole was deep enough for roots to anchor into the ground, she peeled open the top of the small paper pouch and turned it upside down over the crater in the soil, letting the seeds trickle to the bottom before raking the dirt back in, gently pushing it with her forefinger so that it sprinkled like black snow. Reki patted the little swollen place down into the ground before dusting her hands on the fronts of her thighs in little swats of triumph.
"Reki? There you are. Aren't you cold?"
Reki stood and smiled over her shoulder to Kuramori's approaching form, in hopeful redemption for making her worry. There was little she could do, Reki was finding, that didn't cause Kuramori's concern. Reki hoped that this would change once she had memorized the boundaries of her new life; for now, her world consisted of experimental actions, simple tests of Kuramori's reaction. If Kuramori allowed it, Reki continued to do it. There were far more things that Kuramori warned her against than approved of, however, and her face seemed to be in a constant tensed state of quivering facial muscles, like a coiled spring forced to always be prepared.
"I planted a flower," Reki answered her, waiting for this response to cause Kuramori's face to collapse in a mild relaxation of relief. Instead, however, her lips drew into a fine pinched line.
"Oh, no– it's not practical to plant flowers during the wintertime, I'm afraid," Kuramori told her ruefully, stooping down to the soil. "Plants don't usually survive the winter. It might freeze. Where did you plant it?"
Reki frowned as she watched her search for a disturbed patch of soil. "Maybe this flower will survive the winter," she said hopefully. "I planted it to commemorate my birth as a Haibane, so that it can grow with me. Like a pet."
Kuramori folded her forearms over her knees as she crouched, pausing to reconsider in light of this explanation.
"Maybe, then, it'll be strong enough to fight the winter, right?" Reki pushed.
Convinced, Kuramori stood and smiled, cradling Reki's shoulders under one arm as she led her back inside for supper. "I'm sure it will be a strong flower, like you. Just be sure to water and feed it, and give it extra attention, just as you would a child. Can you remember?"
A grin of eagerness sliced Reki's face as she nodded up to Kuramori, who answered the expression with a smile warm with her confidence in the young Haibane.
By Panuru (savannahlynnbyahoo.com)
/
"Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise"
– The Beatles
/
Winter came in a sharp knife slice, dividing warm and cold with its blade. Reki felt it sting her nostrils as if the molecules in the air had been sharpened into daggers of icicles. The window she used to leave partially open for its relief of cool air now let in a long claw of cold. The air slithered through with a whistle, rattling the small clay pots lining the window sill just above the bathtub. Reki watched them to see how long they could stand, her skin prickling with gooseflesh as her bath water stilled and sealed over her like tepid wax. Her feathers tickled the surface; when she lowered her head until the water closed over her nose and squinted her eyes she could see them waving like kelp, becoming clumpy and soft. She let the water close over her head, resting the back of her skull on the bottom of the tub so that the ceiling shuddered on the other side of the soapy screen of water, light dissected and scattered around her in buttery flecks.
I wonder what the ocean is like, she thought, the idea bubbling from her mind like the oval of trapped breath she released to the surface of the water to watch it pop and ripple. She remembered the pictures in the library books of the ocean frozen in white mustaches of waves, the place where the water tapered off, in front of the endless stretch of blue. Reki wanted to lay in the ocean. When she'd told Kuramori of wanting to be lost in the water, the older Haibane had looked at her with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
"You can't get lost, Reki," she had said, "because I'll always be by your side, holding your hand." And, as if to anchor Reki, Kuramori had swept up her hand and clenched it tight.
Reki had felt comforted but smothered, like someone who had stepped into a new wonderful world only to be told it was dangerous as she was shepherded back into her old one.
Old Home.
If she closed her eyes, though, and refused the feel the cold porcelain of the tub, she could pretend that the water was not a tight cocoon, but an endless world, a watery mirror running a race with the sky. Reki lifted her hands out of the water in open palms, making little teardrop-wide rivers rush down her arms. Her wings opened as if waiting to catch a gust of wind to ride on. The thin bones shuddered, making the wet feathers quiver as she snapped them faster and faster, until they beat at the water like the propeller of a boat. Water spit fountain-like out of the tub as Reki lost herself to one reality in favor of another. The high ringing voice of something breaking snatched her mind back into the bathroom; she struggled to sit up, body teetering back and forth before she anchored both hands on the edges of the tub, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. One of the clay pots had been washed over the edge of the sill and had shattered on the edge of the tub, half scattered to the floor and half littered on the bathtub floor. Reki groaned as she lifted the pieces from the pool of bath-water, a single inky feather trickling into her palm in evidence of her guilt.
/
The garden soil had felt cool and velvety in her hands a few days ago, but now it was cold and bitter as Reki scratched a hole between two flowers. When the hole was deep enough for roots to anchor into the ground, she peeled open the top of the small paper pouch and turned it upside down over the crater in the soil, letting the seeds trickle to the bottom before raking the dirt back in, gently pushing it with her forefinger so that it sprinkled like black snow. Reki patted the little swollen place down into the ground before dusting her hands on the fronts of her thighs in little swats of triumph.
"Reki? There you are. Aren't you cold?"
Reki stood and smiled over her shoulder to Kuramori's approaching form, in hopeful redemption for making her worry. There was little she could do, Reki was finding, that didn't cause Kuramori's concern. Reki hoped that this would change once she had memorized the boundaries of her new life; for now, her world consisted of experimental actions, simple tests of Kuramori's reaction. If Kuramori allowed it, Reki continued to do it. There were far more things that Kuramori warned her against than approved of, however, and her face seemed to be in a constant tensed state of quivering facial muscles, like a coiled spring forced to always be prepared.
"I planted a flower," Reki answered her, waiting for this response to cause Kuramori's face to collapse in a mild relaxation of relief. Instead, however, her lips drew into a fine pinched line.
"Oh, no– it's not practical to plant flowers during the wintertime, I'm afraid," Kuramori told her ruefully, stooping down to the soil. "Plants don't usually survive the winter. It might freeze. Where did you plant it?"
Reki frowned as she watched her search for a disturbed patch of soil. "Maybe this flower will survive the winter," she said hopefully. "I planted it to commemorate my birth as a Haibane, so that it can grow with me. Like a pet."
Kuramori folded her forearms over her knees as she crouched, pausing to reconsider in light of this explanation.
"Maybe, then, it'll be strong enough to fight the winter, right?" Reki pushed.
Convinced, Kuramori stood and smiled, cradling Reki's shoulders under one arm as she led her back inside for supper. "I'm sure it will be a strong flower, like you. Just be sure to water and feed it, and give it extra attention, just as you would a child. Can you remember?"
A grin of eagerness sliced Reki's face as she nodded up to Kuramori, who answered the expression with a smile warm with her confidence in the young Haibane.