Author's Note: Hey! So, I'm just going to sit here, and...yeah. I'm probably going to keep this whole story pretty short—I might be ending it on the fifth or sixth chapter, depending on how fast I move with this. Actually...make that maybe ten chapters maximum...or twenty...because...I have been moving really slow (with the added on factor of the chapters being really short), and I don't know how I'm going to get to the ending that I want—you know? Probably not. Oh well.
Disclaimer: You know...if I owned Rurouni Kenshin, no one would be watching it anymore with how horrible the storyline would be going. So...I guess it's a good thing that I don't own it—for you, that is.
My Secret Insanity
Chapter 3
I remember a time that I couldn't stand silence. You know that thing called 'uncomfortable silence'? That's how all silence felt to me then. I could never tell the difference between any of the 'silences'. I'm serious! There are a lot of them—comfortable silence, companionable silence, thoughtful silence, happy silence—and the list goes on. Really, what's the difference?
If things got too quiet, I would try to make noise to break it. I remember singing (screaming) the song 'Edelweiss' at the top of my lungs as I stomped down the stairs. I didn't know all the words, nor did I ever bother to learn them. It drove my mother crazy. She enjoyed what she called 'quiet time'—and she happened to like 'Edelweiss'.
I guess I secretly feared silence, because it made everything seem so...sad. It gave me a feeling of hollowness and solitude—and I hated being alone. I couldn't bear being by myself. I think the reason I feared silence was because in my mind, I tied it directly to isolation.
The week after my mother's death was horrible for me. I had never experienced such painful silence before. I felt so lost and so alone. So I turned to painting to numb the pain.
Yet, somehow...now...I can stand it. Silence seems different, somehow. It seems more sacred than uncomfortable. How can my opinion change so quickly? I'm guessing that it's because I know that I'm no longer alone.
The Kyoto Police Station
"Hello?" a middle-aged woman snapped into the receiver.
She was in a bad mood. She had entrusted a worker that she had specially selected with painstaking precision—or, for lack of a better word, at random—with a load of manila folders full of important files. All she had asked was for them to be filed nicely. There were only, what, 768 folders to file, and of course the bumbling idiot couldn't get it right. She had arrived that morning to find the files shoved unceremoniously into one of her desk drawers. She nearly popped a blood vessel. What made things worse was that she couldn't even remember who she had given the files to, so there was no one and nothing to yell at other than her wall.
"Yes, yes. Wait. Who is this? Ah, Kaneshiro. You're working on the Makimachi case, right? Have you found anything?"
She gathered all 768 folders into her arms and set off to find another random desk to set them on.
"Oh, so you read more of her journal? What did it say?"
She hurried down the hallway, pausing only to glare at innocent passerby, in case they happened to be the idiot who had neglected his sacred duty of filing folders.
"She—wait, she talked to a painting! She's nuts, I tell you. Have you even found this painting in her room yet? It should probably be there, since her grandfather said that nothing was missing in her room, right?"
Again, finding herself with no hands to spare, she kicked the door open. The doorknob slammed into the wall, deepening the imprint that she had created the last time someone had neglected their filing duty.
This time, she didn't even stop to examine it. Instead, she hurried past a row of empty cubicles (which, though they had been filled with occupants only seconds before, were oddly deserted at her arrival). There was one young girl remaining, however. She was obviously new, as she had no experience in the art of escape.
The woman smiled down at her and heaved the files onto her desk. "File these, please," she said, and watched with satisfaction as she saw the young girl's forehead redden (which was only just visible over the pile of folders).
She made sure to get a good look at this girl's face before continuing on.
"You haven't found the painting? WHAT? Then...how...wait, did you ask her grandfather about this painting yet? You did? What did he say?"
Sitting back down at her desk, she shifted papers and documents around until she found a blank sheet.
"WHAT? He didn't even know about it? He hasn't seen or heard of this painting that his granddaughter was obviously obsessed with? But how can this be? Was he close to his granddaughter? Did they talk often?"
Her pen hovered over the paper for a few seconds before she finally decided that taking notes on this was not necessary.
"So he said that after she moved into his house, she barely ever said a word? But...at her school...she had to have had some form of a social life. No? She had no friends? She did? Oh, before her mother's death. What was her name? Kamiya Kaoru? Right. Did you question her?"
The woman crumpled the blank sheet of paper into a ball, aimed for a trash bin, and threw it. It sailed across the room and landed quite far away from its goal.
"Oh. She stopped talking to her after her mother's death. So no one really knew what was going on with her, right? It's pretty obvious after you read her journal though. She's not quite right in the head."
She tilted back into her chair and placed her feet on her desk.
"I remember her grandfather saying that she rarely ever left her room. He knew very little of what going on in there because she always locked it. Isn't that what he said?"
She examined her fingernails.
"Right. This case isn't really going anywhere, though, is it? The only clue that we have is this journal of hers—and I'm not so sure that she's that reliable of a source. I mean, how do we know if this painting even exists? It isn't in her room, right? I still don't know what to think. Somehow I don't think this case is a runaway or a kidnapping."
The woman rose out of her chair and picked up the crumpled piece of paper.
"Well...you take care. Read more of that journal! Okay. Bye."
I find myself spending hours upon hours staring into his face. The time passes by unnoticed, and I am only vaguely aware of who I am and where I am. All I know during this time is that...I love him. I love him so much. Yet...since that day, he has not spoken to me once—not one word. Is he angry at me?
During this 'quiet time', hardly a thought passes through my mind. But there always is the occasional "If only..."
I only become conscious of my surroundings when I hear Jiya knocking worriedly on my locked door. Sometimes, I feel guilty when I realize how much I make him worry. But then I see Aoshi again, and all thoughts leave my head.
I have come to like the quiet solitude of my room. I finally understand why silence was so important to my mother. It gives me time to think about things, and it helps me pass hours at a time.
Now that I think back, I can't even remember how 'Edelweiss' sounds anymore. It was one of the few ways that I could fight the silence, but now, even that has escaped me. No matter.
I am no longer afraid of silence—because I am no longer alone.
Author's Note: I didn't get much further in this, did I? Who knows how long this fic is going to be anyway? Do you even care? No? Okay. Thanks to all who reviewed—and...I would like it if you reviewed again! I want to improve! O.O
