Standard disclaimers apply...
-
-
-
2 The Opening Page
"Have his movements changed at all?"
"No."
"But it's been six months since…"
"He witnessed a traumatizing event… he was too young to have to see such a brutal thing… it's only natural that he acts this way…" A moment of silence. "Hey, at least he eats and drinks. It shows that he still has a will to live…"
"But… he just sits there all day at the window… staring out… it's not healthy for a boy his age to do this…"
"You know, it actually seems like he's waiting for something… did you notice how he has rarely taken his eye off the cherry tree?"
"That's true. But if he's waiting for the sakura to appear, he'll waste the rest of his life away… that will never bloom… I was told that the tree has forgotten how… if that's even possible."
"You'd truly be surprised at the range of possibilities there are in the world…" Another lengthy pause. "Well, I just hope he gets out of this stupor before school starts."
"But that's in less than a month! And his state hasn't changed since we arrived! How can you believe that –"
"I only hope for the best… that is all I can do."
"I guess… ugh… but what about Kenshin? How is he…?"
Listless blue eyes were trained upon the cherry tree in the garden. The voices ebbed away with the soft padding of feet as the two individuals walked off. In the distance, a hollow, aged bamboo fell against a rock, releasing a stream of water that had accumulated in its hollow frame. The blue eyes never wavered from staring at the limbs of the cherry tree. Save for the occasional blink and the times he ate, he never took his eyes off that bare tree.
I can hear it cry silently at night; I see how it stands dignified in the light of every day. The others watch unaware of its sorrow; unaware of the beauty still trapped inside. The rain has done nothing to wash away its sadness; its pain. When will it end? When will it remember again? When?
The blue eyes closed for a moment before opening again, blank; devoid of emotion. Inside the tiny blue droplets poured down. Tears for the family he had loved so and been separated from by death and then space… Inside he reached for the warm, giving touch of a mother-sister and a father… only to capture nothing in the palm of his mind's hand.
So he chose to wait – wait for the time when someone would reach back and clasp his small hand in theirs – wait for the time when the cherry blossoms would finally bloom on the tree in the yard… he would wait for his spring – no, their spring to return at last.
The bamboo fell against the rock once more, the sound echoing through the air and causing every cell in his body to quiver along with it.
(Alexander Luthor)
Is it possible for me to breathe? I can't really say. The control I have on my organs have failed to work. My entire body is trembling on the ground; propped up by my locked arms as I stare at this object before my eyes. I smell her. Oh heavens above, I smell that beautiful scent of her. Her image flashes through my mind with great vividness that I feel the tears stinging my eyes. This wall of anger and vengeance that I have built up during my six months alone is quickly deteriorating. But this is hers! This is her journal! With one shaking hand I move to touch it. I almost cannot believe it is there. But then there is that sunflower – bright yellows and deep brown against a captivating black void. The quick scrawl of her name – her beautiful, sunny name – is there; just barely visible. Even in the dim light I can see its stark presence. Or perhaps I am just hallucinating.
My body scrambles up again; hands fumbling – God, I'm fumbling! – for the light switch of a lamp upon my desk. I finally get one to spring to life – the electricity humming; sending waves of heat through the air so that I can barely feel it. My stomach feels like excreting all of its contents (not that there's much anyway) as I turn back to where I left – my love, my life, my everything – her book.
And my knees grow weak when I see it is not just an illusion. My whole body feels like collapsing at the site – just as my heart is crumbling inside me. A gust of wind flies in through the open terrace door sweeping along with it the dust that covers my soul. One shaky step at a time – closer and closer to this heaven-sent, torturous object upon the floor. Falling once again to my knees I close my eyes and drink in the aroma of the book – her book before I open my eyes once again.
Do I dare touch it again? Do I dare to open it at all? Yes; no; yes; no! The whimper slips out on its own – offending my companions; the silence and pride. Once again I move a hand to take hold of it. With a light hand, I trace the sides of it and my chin shakes. Then, with my weight upon my lower half, I use both hands to gently pick the book up once again. The sunflower – a beautiful agglomeration of yellow, deep crimsons and browns – becomes stark against the black. I cannot help myself any longer. I press the book against my chest and hold it tightly there.
And in the comfort of my rocking I sit upon the floor with the last piece of beauty she has left on this earth for me to keep. I'm not sure how long I stay there – all I know is that by the time I stop my forwards and backwards motion, my lower half is numb. But I pay no attention to it. My entire being is focused upon this wondrous book in my hand. With my thumb I lift the cover from the pages inside – little treasures that are worth more than all the money in the world – and see the precise lettering of a computerized font upon the stark white. Somewhere in my mind I hear a small crack and I twitch.
Foreword
We knew it was coming. It was written somewhere up there – along with the stars – a statement claiming it would happen.
By now, I'm long gone from your side; gone from the grasp of the little one that you had first regarded as your curse, but transformed in your eyes into something beautiful: our blessing. I gave you time to evaluate on your own. I only hope that you have not succumbed to the darkness that has been your second calling – the path of your ultimate destruction. If you have… I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I had to leave you and your wonderful son; my brother; our blessings behind.
I know that I can't change time – I can't change what has occurred in the past. But I can change or strengthen your views in life by what I leave behind. So I leave you with this book – my journal. I started it when my father passed away as it was a place where I could store what I felt. I changed its purpose to recording in as much detail as possible of every important event that happened when I realized the limited time we had left together.
I just ask one thing of you: remember that I love you, Alexander Luthor, with my entire entity. I love Jeremy Sullivan-Luthor with just as much intensity but in a different way, of course. Remember the happiness we all shared together and forget the sorrows and sufferings we faced. The things that matter most are what make us smile and glow with joy inside. That is all I ask for.
With all my heart,
C. S.-L.
He stared at the page with unblinking eyes – dry eyes, unable to shed a single drop of sorrow. There was no sense of time in him – just the page; that single page that held everything and nothing at all. The sheets that followed contained Chloe's essence; her mind, a glimpse of her spirit…
He moved when a sliver of sunlight slid close to him on the floor. This time around he was steadier; surer.
(but the walls of the dam were cracking – slowly but surely)
With the book held tightly against his chest he walked towards his bedroom, a strangely vacant expression upon his face. Shutting the door behind him with a definitive click, he slipped into the bed with black silk coverings. Lex shifted his body until he was curled into himself. The book was close to his bent head. Eyes – blinded by the light of loss – closed; the images came fast through his mind's eye; her cheerful grin, her irritated looks, her wanton gaze. Now she was holding up her wrist for him to smell.
It's called 'Sunflower', Lex. Don't you just love the way it smells? Her voice rang so clearly that the dam's fissures grew larger and the water began to seep through.
"I love it," he murmured, not caring that his voice cracked; not caring that there was no one to hear him. "I love you…"
His throat closed and the dam inside him burst – freeing the torrents and waves he'd kept barraged in for so long. In a sob, Lex uttered her name for the first time in six months. His friend, his partner, his lover, his wife… "Chloe."
Across the sea, a pair of solemn blue eyes opened from a dreamless night and slowly moved to watch the cherry tree in the yard. He noticed it was hunched lower than before – its state of grandeur less prominent even in the dull sunlight of autumn.
Remy's breath hitched slightly at the sight. A heightened sense of loss – I feel it, cherry tree. But shall you remember who I am? Do you still remember me? Quietly, he continued to watch, his determination intensified. The sound of the bamboo on the rock was heightened now in the lonely forest of his thoughts.
It was all just beginning…