Shattered
Wounded Memory
The crisp air of the morning shivered against the rising sun. A glint of light delicately licked against the hospice's windows and slithered down toward the ground. Patients did not awaken to the birdsong and gentle breeze teasing across the grass. In fact, many of the hospice's patients did not wake ever again.
Hitomi did not awaken with the sun, for she never slept. The darkness heralded the return of the memories of the death of her family. She hated the creeping, insipid darkness. Whenever she felt sleep coming to her, Hitomi would quickly turn in her sheets (as quickly as her sluggish body would allow) and gasp at the sharp pains hissing through her. Sleep fled away at the fresh snap of pain and she would resume laying still, tears leaking slowly from her eyes.
Her mind swirled from the day throughout the dark of night and she was able to lay still and comfortable, not forced to fight away her memories. Van's appearance stood foremost in her mind, but Hitomi could no longer discern reality from her dreams and thus felt uncertain of his ever coming at all. His wings and gentle face showed shock at her condition, true to her imagination, but he scampered so quickly from the doctors and nurses chasing him – Van would never do something like that, not the rash and impulsive Van she knew. Of course, five years changed some people. Perhaps Van grew out of his old mannerisms and became a true king. Hitomi didn't know. Whenever she thought too hard, trying to remember the two of them together, the adventure in Fanelia, a headache would stop her progress and render her helpless.
So when the dawn came and the nurse crept hesitantly into the room, Hitomi was nestled into a comfortable visitor's armchair, staring out the window at the brightening sky. This window – the one she suspected Van flew out of, in her dreams or reality – gave her reassurances, placating the pain from her impinging mind.
The nurse, the same woman who earlier refused to return Van's clothing and sword to him, glanced around the antiseptic room. There was a simple batch of flowers on the beside table, next to a full glass of water and the television remote that no longer worked. The bed, still neatly made, stood silently in the center of the room, flanked by two large, cushy armchairs. Hitomi occupied one of the chairs, resting her chin on the lip under the windows, staring into nothing. Gina, the nurse, sighed and rummaged through the room for a moment. With nothing else to do, she checked her watch and sighed louder, trying to catch Hitomi's attention.
Hitomi was interested in nothing but the window. She watched the sun rise slowly, gloriously, supposing that, by now, Van would have returned, had her vision been real. With a sigh of her own, she calmly watched the sun rise over the glass buildings and the nearby park. The world appeared so pretty and pure.
"Ms. Kanzaki," Gina murmured. Hitomi lifted her head, achingly slow and stared into the nurse's face. Gina shivered at the cold, desolate look of the poor, young girl. "You're being discharged today. Please come with me."
Hitomi blinked, uncomprehendingly. Discharged? She was sick, probably dying, and wanted nothing else to pass away and join her parents. Discharging her meant she was better… but she felt nothing remotely near healthy nor was she interested in rejoining the pretty, pure world beneath her window.
Gina bit her lip. The appearance of the angel yesterday made up the devout doctors' minds. They were absolutely sure that the angel emerged to take the girl up to Heaven and end all her suffering. Chasing the messenger away risked the retaliation and the great wrath of God – at least, according to the doctors. Gina remained a nonbeliever, despite working in the hospice and watching people die every day. Even so… the shock of seeing an angel – seeing one with her own eyes! – made her understand their belief, even though the messenger tried fighting them all to remove the girl from this place.
So, with a calm smile to belie her inner turmoil, Gina helped Hitomi up, washed her hair, and dressed her. She bought a less than appetizing lunch for the girl in the cafeteria, which Hitomi plucked and sighed at, then calmly brought the girl to the discharge area. A loud commotion erupted from the main hallways and the two remained in the room until it subsided, though Hitomi's eyes looked toward the disturbance hopefully while it lasted.
The nurse waved goodbye to Hitomi, but she didn't pay any attention to the doting woman. Squinting into the earlier morning sunlight, she wandered back into the city, uncertain where to go.
Meanwhile, the hospice, already in an uproar, witnessed a couple exiting the room Hitomi resided in just hours before, tracing their way back to the elevator, entering just as another gained the room.
Yukari turned toward Amano and gave him a sad smile. In her hand was a white, delicate feather, perfectly formed and soft against her palm. Amano questioned her with his eyes.
"It's a long story, dear. Hitomi never was meant to stay here… I suppose even she knows that now," she hesitated and gazed down at the feather for a long time.
"Yukari…?" Amano touched her cheek. Yukari sniffled and looked back at him.
"This," she said, holding up the feather, "means Hitomi is in a better place. With better people, a place she'll be happier and will heal from everything life has put her through here. This… this feather is the greatest wedding present she could give us, now. We'll know she's happy forever."
Amano, curious, said nothing and simply patted his fiancé's shoulder. Tears slipped unbidden from Yukari's eyes.
Little did the two of them realize, Hitomi was not somewhere on another world with greater people who would rescue her from any pain. She was, instead, wandering just below the window of her old room, tracing her way through buildings and people, letting her feet lead her to where her heart repulsed.
The sun glittered against her laundered clothing. She chewed on her lip, wondering how hard to bite down before it bled. The afternoon slid across her, heat making the buildings shimmer and sweat. Hitomi sought some relief, wandering slowly through the park. She ran through this area every morning on her way to work… well, used to run through it. Long before this nightmare began.
The pavement under her feet felt familiar and safe. She could hear, somewhere farther off the path to her right, the chirping of birds and the protests of the fat ducks floating in the pond. Those creatures were lazy and patient, always starving and excited to see chubby fingers tossing crumbs and leftovers through the air.
Her path looked aimless and uncertain to the park-goers, but she knew exactly where she was going, knew certainly where she would end up. Even if she kept energy to fight the impulses to return to her ruined home, her feet would not listen, refusing to obey her half-hearted fear.
The park receded behind her and Hitomi abandoned the forgiving shade of the trees, plunging again into the sun, hotter and hotter the nearer she came to her broken home. The trees bordering her neighborhood street did nothing to dispel the scorching sun, their leaves thin and crisped. There, around the corner. She had fought through an epic storm to get her… how long ago? Ten days, last night… she couldn't recall.
There. Her house stood. The white paint, peeling at the corners, the red trim painted again just this year, during the fall. The hedges needed to be cut back, falling onto the sidewalk in unaccustomed bravery. And the bird feeders that hung in the trees needed to be refilled. Hitomi lifted them down, cradling the handmade wooden feeders against her like a precious child. Materialism… things like this were all Hitomi had left.
She walked around the back, noting the lengthy grass tickling her feet. How long had she been away? This poor house… something needed to be done. She entered the tiny garden shed outside the back door. The house called to her, begging her to return and wander amongst the hallways. The empty hallways, now echoing soundlessly with death and blood.
Settling the birdfeeders on a shelf, she measured and poured birdseed into each, filling it nearly to overflowing. Something niggled inside her, tugging and worrying her. Part of her knew she wouldn't return to this place.
Hitomi returned to the front of the house and hung up the feeders. Birds did not rush down. She looked up and back and saw no birds anywhere near her trees or house. Tears stung the back of her eyelids and she looked away.
Hefting a pair of bush clippers she carried down with her from the shed, Hitomi began to neaten the thick mass of branches jutting into the sidewalk. It didn't take long. She stacked the branches beside the sidewalk, in the driveway, and snipped at the trellises. As long as she remained outside, everything would be okay.
Returning the hedge clippers to the shed, Hitomi toyed with the idea of cutting the grass. The lawnmower would feel good in her hands, struggling against its heavy weight, something she had complained to her father of several times, only to be ignored or put off. Her fingers glazed the top of the handle and she pulled against it experimentally. Pain licked down her back, fiery, heady, and sharp. Gasping, her palm rubbed against the shirt, dismayed at the discovery of wet, shining blood.
Her movements became more measured and eased with the acuity of the pain. There in the shed, she looked for a rag or towel to press against the cuts and clot the flow. Nothing stumbled into her hands, and the emptiness she felt increased. Of course, everything she needed was in the house. Just inside that door, through the living room… the family room… was a small closet, stocked with medical bandages and ointments.
Hitomi pressed her forehead against the cool doorframe. She was sweating, and the pain increased every moment she continued to bleed. Finally, braving her fears and her mind, the agony persuaded her to move to the back door and try the knob – locked, of course. She fumbled back into the shed and dug through a pile of pottery and buckets, finding the key enshrouded in cobwebs on the concrete floor.
She stabbed the key into the lock, forcing in the door with her left shoulder, groaning at the spikes of fire ripping her flesh. There; it was open. She fell to the floor and her mouth tasted coppery blood.
All over the walls, red painted taunting words and pictures. The carpet was stained, deeply discolored. As she watched, blood seeped between the neat stitches and slowly flooded the floor. Her choked cry cut off as she felt the blood sweep into her mouth, lungs, eyes.
In the corner, next to the couch, lay three bodies, crying and gesturing for Hitomi to come and help them, come and save them before they met their pathetic deaths. She tried to stop the flush of horror savaging her, but could only stagger up, cracking her head sharply on the wooden chair next to her in her haste.
Hitomi burst from the door of the soiled house, screaming. Neighbors started from their lazy afternoons, shivering. The sound hung in the air, continued on and on, played over and over. Dogs whimpered and hid in the homes, under porches, or beneath safe playthings, not daring to bark at the otherworldly moaning.
Her feet, calloused and accustomed to long runs, carry her with little effort away from the haunted house. Her lungs screamed and hissed with the burning exertion and the continuous, fluid screaming. The wound on her back oozed and bled sluggishly, soaking her shirt and pants, dripping on the sidewalk, marking her frantic trail in crimson.
Her body, separated from her mind, which remained far away and shielded from the race, carried her swiftly to the only conceivable place. The park loomed above and around her, legs tiring and heart hammering, perspiration pouring off her from the shivering heat.
Her cries ceased long before she entered the park, hiccups and yelps of fear replacing them.
The park was nearly deserted now, the heat keeping most inside – working or curled under an air conditioner, gasping like fish out of water too long. The trees shaded empty pathways and Hitomi ran on, pounding through the swirling, dizzying labyrinth of her vision.
Someone loomed before her, abrupt and tall. Hitomi began screaming again. Her vision furred with pain and fear and she saw the man shrink, enlarge, and heard his own cries joined to hers as she collided with him.
The homeless man had scurried away from his bench to retrieve a bit of newspaper, replacing what was stolen from him earlier by the impetuous youth. The shrieking girl tumbled against him as he tried to stand. His arthritis made it difficult to lift himself fast enough. Hitomi's back was smeared with blood and he struggled underneath her, trying to get her off and away. But she was off in first, skidding backwards, crashing against a tree. And then she was up, staggering back into a pain-glazed run toward the lake.
The hobo shook his head, noticing how his limbs shivered in surprise. Blood, shiny and new, shimmered on his clothing scraps. He groaned and rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye.
"Damn kids," he snarled under his breath, trying to ignore the quickening of his breath and his thoughts of the poor girl's situation.
"I'm moving to the subway. Less goddamned screamin' freaks runnin' around down there, I wager," he mumbled. Gathering up his papers, he receded from the park, listening cautiously for any other injured humans tumbling his direction.
Meanwhile, Hitomi's feet gained the path again, slightly more unsteady than before. The crash had ripped open the stitches and none remained intact. Blood gushed and painted down her back, now staining her jeans, back to the color they were… that day.
The cool water of the lake rose up to greet her. She crashed into a small clump of bushes on her right, vanishing into the foliage. Her head, already smarting from the crack of the table, crunched into the hard, warm ground. Hitomi's vision swam with stars and bright circles of light before her eyes closed and her mind blanked.
For a brief moment, Hitomi lay there, sobbing loudly inside her head, marveling at the blackness of having fainted and then, she thought no more, and the comforting blackness engulfed her again.
Author's Notes: And another chapter, turned out with somewhat timely precision? And, Rar, when are they going to meet? It's so aggravating, isn't it? Don't worry; I sense a meeting in the near future. Anyway… review, please, with any feedback or comments you might care to make. Thank you for your continued reading!
E-mail me if you would like to be notified each time the story is updated at catwinner(at)earthlink(dot)net.
Xanthia Nightshade: Van is probaby going to think very, very bad things happened to Hitomi, right:P Well, of course! Where's a good, angsty story without the very, very bad things? I hope this update was fast enough for you!
Skittles1: My favorite reviewing fan! Yes, when Hitomi reconnects to the real world, may she have amnesia? Or, perhaps, not want anything to do with Van and forget everything about her previous life? Hee, maybe, but, um, as this is mushy and stuff, well, maybe. :D
Aki Shinko: The language barrier is something that drives me crazy in other stories... but, hey, you can't have different worlds magically speak the same language. 'Cause then, well, it's silly. I hope you didn't have to wait too long for this update!