Left With Flowers

part two

by ukyou

Chapter One - From the Cold

The city was colder today, colder than usual. You would probably expect a city such as this to be a warm place in the fall, especially when only just a touch away from summer. Today, however, the birds fled to their trees, hiding from the bitter and sharp coolness of the air.

As birds fly away, some are trapped outside, trapped in some other cold they cannot escape. Some inner fire that brings about a chilled fear, some cold nightmare. Something so horrible that one can only hide it away. They dare not speak of it, for speaking brings out the knives hidden in their skin. Only by hiding it in some deep corner can they continue to walk one foot after the next. Such things only work to disturb.

Syaoran had a quick eye, one that he had trained day after day. His job was to find something and shoot it. He would just lift his tool of the trade, and with a press of a button, it would all be over.

This is what he would say, at least, being that he was one to try to enhance his persona. He was a photographer, not a trained assassin.

He spoke little to the people around him, but to those he did speak to, he lied to. Especially women, whom he now had a soft spot for. He would make up intricate lies, something along the lines of an impromtu meeting with "Important Person A" and then graduating in a class with "Important Person B". It didn't matter to him who he chose, so long as the person he spoke to seemed to know that person.

Never had he ever spoken about what had happened two years earlier, how Sakura had died, and how he had been through it all, slowly driven crazy. He had even gone as far as imagining a man, seeing him everywhere, and this man spoke out in crazy metaphors. For a year afterwards, Syaoran did not deny that this man was real. What had happened was all too real, the magic seemed almost flawless. Stopwatches were items that he had carried since then. Still, there is always a time in which you look back and you think to yourself, "Well, maybe I was just a bit crazy back then. Maybe I did imagine it all.", and just as quick as it started, it all disappears and the magic is gone.

In order to cope with Sakura's death, however, he had hidden it away so deep that he would have his third thought about a question with a clear understanding. he had almost forgotten about her.

And in what better way than to be with other women? For him, he thought it was another step in normalcy.

Maybe, however, he was still crazy. That with the memories of her hidden away, the small pinch of insanity that he had never dealt with was only packed away in crates. All he had to do was open them back up, and it would start flying out again. Like birds. Like birds flying away from the cold.

Except this time, there was no cold to run away from.

His apartment was red. His furniture, red, his lights, red. The only thing that seemed to not be red were the walls, which were a strange contrasting green. The walls had always been green, a carryover from the previous owners. He drank red wine, he slept under red sheets. To think that he could make money from a photojournalist's pay was hard to believe. To think that he could squander his money on such a monstrosity for an apartment was beyond even him. There was something inside him that told him to buy red, red, and more red.

He kept all of his old items in a box in his closet, a closet he never opened. The previous owners said something about a creepy spirit that lived in it, and so it seemed like the perfect place to put the box. He wouldn't dare open the doors, or else be forced to deal with some evil spirit. Of course, even after his encounter with the clow cards, such things he would only render as superstitions, although the warning seemed quite potent.

He couldn't even remember exactly what he had put in that old box. Maybe a few pictures, a book or two, his sword. A broken bottle, a broken music box. He kept it all in there. When one would ask about it though, it would be only "another box filled with junk". Maybe even "Oh, just a box.". He would never say "Oh, its filled with ordinary stuff." though, it was junk, not stuff. If it were stuff, it would be worth keeping. Since it was junk, it was only there to be thrown out someday.

He tried to never open it. It basically threw it in the closet the first chance he could and never looked at it again. Guests saw something about the closet curious, and they would always open it, and Syaoran never knew why. People were made to open things, he guessed, maybe they thought it was his darkroom and they could take a peek at his latest photos. Of course, if it were, it would have that bitter smell of a dark room, which there was none of. Maybe his friends found it a hobby to open strange doors.

Sometimes he felt a little nostalgic to just open the box and look inside. Of course, there was the fear of being buried in his memories, but he always felt more and more that he could handle it, that the items contained were just regular items.

Maybe if he opened it today, things would be a little different.

to be continued

Author's Note: This is more of an introduction than a chapter, a "this is how things are going now" kind of entry. Obviously, Sakura is dead, and where I left off the story was with Syaoran coming to terms with her death. Now, years later, he finally seems sane again, but there's that small box that keeps calling him almost. One day he's going to open it and he'll think back about what happened. Maybe though, he'll be forced to confront things that he had only hidden away and not confronted. Afterall, you can't run away forever.