Ugh. Week and a half for a crap chapter. Gomen, minna-san; I've been having problems with writer's block, and I guess I'm not as over them as I thought I was. So…
Leon's PoV
That little brat. I shrugged off the annoyance. He was gone now. I threw my bag against the wall with a clunk, and grabbed a pen and the blank book lying on my desk. Sliding down into the corner, I opened the book and began to write. Not anything particular, not really a journal. Just anything that came to mind. I did angsty poetry pretty well, a fact that amused Damian no end. I'd been forced into entering the school poetry contest last year, and… yeah. No one had expected to have to call the winner of the poetry contest out of in-school suspension to attend the awards ceremony. It had been rather funny. I smiled slightly and glanced down at my book. I flipped to a new page, and started to write. Today, it was a strait up diary entry, though I didn't title it as such. Only girls and lunatics write 'dear diary'. I liked to just start writing.
First day of school today. Am convinced that there is no god, otherwise would suspect him of a rotten sense of humor. I have two classes with the brat, who I discovered not only goes to my school, but is the pen-pall Yuffie has been raving about for over a year. Arg. That girl is going to kill me someday. The brat moved in across the street two weeks ago, and flipped me off. This did not win my everlasting affection. He doesn't like me much, either, making bating him almost enough fun to make up for the fact that he has to be there. Brat's name is Cloud, btw, and most people could eat for a year on what he must spend on hair gel. Posers like that make me sick. Anyway, if that wasn't enough, Yuffie and Damian brought him along to the library. He is good at math, I'll grant, but he's completely flat. Two-dimensional. Like he's trying so hard to be perfect he forgets to be himself. Or like he thinks he'll only be himself when he IS perfect. I hate people like that.
All this being angry and hating people was giving me a headache. I rubbed the scar on my forehead, cutting between my eyebrows. Odd, but this was the scar I minded the least. Only messed up my face, which was nothing special to start with. I closed the book and returned it to the desk, a vague feeling of melancholy drifting over me. It seemed like too much effort to move. The sun was setting, and the light coming in through the balcony doors was a dark scarlet, the color of blood-red wine. I pushed myself up, and moved to stand in front of the glass, not going out just yet. The sky looked like it was burning, raw orange streaking up to where the sky had already dulled to navy.
Seized by a sudden feel of claustrophobia, I slid the glass door open and stepped out. The air was as hot and dry as only a desert could be, but a rare breeze ruffled my hair. It looked like some artist's rendition of Armageddon, the death of the world. Startling oranges and golds caught on the trees and swimming pools… and in a pair of eyes, belonging to someone sitting in the tree in front of Cloud's house. Cloud himself, as a matter of fact. Watching me. My calm melted as like so much snow, replaced by anger. Twerp! I gave him the finger and stalked back into the house. Just returning the favor. I felt restless, like in itch under my skin. I sat down on the bed and forced myself to remain still and take slow, even breaths. I closed my eyes, and I could feel my pulse in my cheek, where my jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt. I forced it to relax, and then slowly uncurled my fingers from the fist they had formed. I didn't sit there for more than a few moments, but the restlessness was eased. Not gone, but merely repressed. Waiting to come loose.
I got out the math I had pretended to finish at the library. Just thinking about that blond brat helping Damian threatened to make me angry again; I forced it down. The sunset had faded to dusky dimness—the room was dark, so I flipped on the light, grimacing at the nasty yellow color. I set to working on my homework. Eventually, I finished, just as the clock was reading eight-thirty. I hadn't really had dinner, but I wasn't hungry. I walked out on the balcony again, not entirely surprised to see cloud in his tree again—or still. Now that the sun had set it was cooler, but the picking-up breeze was still hot, smelling faintly of asphalt and hot stone. It stirred cloud's hair, and I realized he must have washed it; it fell nearly to his shoulders, somehow seeming spiky even without the ever-present gel. I looked up instead. I didn't feel like fighting; I felt tired, and just a little bit lonely.
The sky was clouded over, dark purple thunderheads that glowed faintly where the moon had just risen. South mountain was barely visible, the dust in the air hiding it. It looked like we were in fore a real storm. Here, we call them monsoons, and no one is sure why. August was monsoon season, a time for the few violent storms that dropped most of our year's rain. More wind than rain, the past few years; we were in a drought, a bad one that showed no sign of breaking. That brought my mind—and my eye—to the column of black smoke, barely visible on the northern horizon. For a moment, the breeze smelled of fire to me. The wind growled and sped up, whipping the dust into wild clouds. I half closed my eyes so that my lashes kept the dust out. The dust storm lasted only moments before the first rain streaked down, mud by the time it hit. Lightning flashed vividly, and I heard the growl of distant thunder. I stood tall, enjoying the wind on my bare arms, the rich, elemental smell of wind, water, and earth. The wind caressed my skin, running over a multitude of old scars. Oddly enough, the one I minded the most was the most subtle, barely a white mark over my collarbone. Most people, even Damian, guessed that the one on my face bothered me most. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, so I'm the only one who knows about Anni. The memory alone was enough to make me shudder, and I forced my focus back to the storm, still absently rubbing the mark. It was coming down good now, and my clothes were already soaked.
I could see Cloud, in the lightning flashes; he had gotten out of the tree, but was still standing in the warm, harsh rain. I couldn't make out his expression, but he hadn't gone inside, even with the wind whipping the rain to lash everything fiercely. He hadn't gone inside. Maybe he wasn't so bad, after all.
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Gomen. The writer's block has been bad. Please review, if you haven't already. Or even if you have, I would love the company. Domou Arigatou, see you next chapter, which will hopefully be sooner.
