"Adolescence Post-Apocalypse"
Four
"Choose Your Revolution Without Arms - We've Got a War to Fight, Can't You See?"
As her body was trained, often ruthlessly by a self-imposed regimen, Utena began to claw her way back to what she knew to be strength. The nuns had a concoction that they had taught her to make. It made her woozy, was very high in alcohol content, but it numbed the pain after she had pushed her body to the very edge, just shy of breaking something. She often began shaking off stiffness in her muscles, warming up to the workouts, and then drilled herself as hard as she could. Most days, she just ended up on the steps of the Convent, exhausted, biting down on her scarred, ugly arm to keep herself from screaming.
The once-legendary path to the playground was now just a short interlude in her daily jogs. She would go in, circle around the playground, and then return. She had memorized every single step of the uneven path, knew every tree branch that lined her path. All-in-all, however, she knew that the playground had lost its allure. It was as if she could now see it for what it was, because she wasn't bound to it: the playground was the ruins if a kingdom. She often wondered about the children that might've played there in the past. She doubted that the faceless nuns ever had.
She wondered if she herself had. She always made a mental note to ask Touga about it, but always forgot.
Togua continued to come back. Every few days, she would stretch, warm up with some body-weight exercises, and grab her bokken. If the prince's story wasn't on the radio, and it rarely was anymore for some reason (though she knew that the prince was still stuck, wherever he had gotten lost, and his most noble knight was trying to coerce him to return,) she always made it out just in time to see him emerge from the tree line, carrying his weapon and bringing a pleasant smile with him.
He began teaching her how to fight, how to duel. Utena, after clearing the initial stupor, found that she actually not only rather liked dueling, but that she was good at it. She was nowhere near as good as Touga, of course, whom she always had to chide for letting her land a blow, or letting her come close to winning. He never let her win, of course: they had had to replace her rose twice, but his was still the same one he had started with.
When they were done fighting, she'd be drenched in sweat, and Touga would notice that she was in pain before she could even lament the escape of a whimper. They often sat down on the steps and Touga told her stories. Utena always listened intently enjoying his company. His stories were most entertaining. There was one where a special curry sauce made two people, best of friends (or possibly more) switch bodies. That one had made her laugh so hard she had to try and stop because of back pain.
She asked him things. Things about herself. Things about him. Things about Ohtori City, about Ohtori University. Things about princes and castles and eternity. He answered when he could. He told her about herself, he didn't tell her about him. He described Ohtori City as little he could and said he didn't know much about eternity, but maybe one day he would see what it was.
Touga always left after their conversation reached some sort of a natural end, leaving her aching, worn out and hungry. She returned to her room, comforted by knowing that he would be there again and that this time, she had almost defeated him. She had almost caused a revolution.
Almost. Maybe some other day.
The dreams never left her alone. Every night, it was that same, haunting carousel and words that made her feel like she had been stabbed with a thousand swords. The smell of blood, alcohol and roses was everywhere.
"Seeing you is like seeing myself in the past."
But who were you, she wanted to ask, who did you use to be? Did I know you then?
"I was like you, once."
But what was I like, she wanted to ask, was I truly like you, or you, me? How do you know that you were?
"I thought persistence had merit."
Why can't I persist, she wanted to ask, why am I not made to last? Why can't I withstand? If I can, why won't it mean anything?
"That it was the best way to change the world."
Is that what a revolution is, she wanted to ask, is that what a revolution should be? Why can't I be a revolutionary? Why can't I revolutionize the world?
"But just that alone cannot change anything."
But why can't I, she wanted to ask, she always, always wanted to ask, why can't I change it? Am I not strong enough? Am I not good enough?
The music of the carousel would start to fade then, and in the distance, she could hear a car tearing down the road.
Tell me...
She wanted to ask, because she always knew, always felt, and always, forever wanted to ask...
...what is eternity?
She awoke with a name, but without an answer. Her first thought, every morning since she had learned she was Utena and Utena was she, was that she didn't know what eternity was. She had never seen it.
These days, she doubted it even existed.
What could be eternal? Her parents hadn't been. Her old life hadn't been, and this new one surely wasn't. She had ended once already.
Pain, maybe. But then again, the pain she felt every day, clawing at her body from the inside, wasn't forever. It'd be with her all her life, but it wouldn't survive her.
Utena remembered the dead horses, spinning in their merry circle; their glazed-over, polished eyes staring vacantly at the scenery. She shivered.
She sat up. With one hand, she rubbed her eyes, and with the other, reached for the radio, just to see. Maybe the damned prince's story could cheer her up.
As if waiting for her, the introductory jingle emanated from the speaker.
"Have you heard? Have you heard?"
"Have you heard the news?"
"We interrupt this program for a special broadcast!"
"It's war! It's war, I tell you!"
"The prince is willing to return, but he faces one last obstacle – a nemesis. A mortal enemy!"
"You magnificent bastard, I've read your book!"
"If he wants to, he can stay. He can be imprisoned by his own free will. He can still surrender without a fight and resign to his fate!"
"Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!"
The baying of hounds followed.
"But if the prince chooses to fight, then he has a chance to return to his princess!"
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends!"
"Ahh, this is unbearable! What will the prince do? Can he overcome his enemy? Does he have enough in him to fight for his freedom?"
"Release the hounds!"
"I can't take this suspense! Well, I say the prince must fight! This'll be his revolution!"
"The dogs have our scent! We must run!"
"Wait, you did remember to put them on a leash this time, right?"
"Erm... leash?"
"It's dangerous to let wild dogs run around without a leash! Haven't you heard?"
"Haven't you heard? Haven't you heard? Haven't you heard the news?"
That same piano piece that usually followed came on. Immediately, Utena could feel her insides beginning to twist up. Maybe it was the dream, maybe it was the story, but she decided to listen to it this time. It was a pretty melody, perfect in every way imaginable, yet something about the way the keys resonated made her think of emptiness. Of the void that she now felt in her (mangled, scarred) chest.
Once more for old time's sake, Utena cried like she had cried for months, lying in that same bed, in knowing that agony was eternal.
After her breakfast, Utena returned to her room to stretch. She then grabbed her bokken, pinned her rose to her chest, and walked outside.
Touga was waiting for her. She smiled. There was something in the air on that particular day, something charging the dull gray skies with an electric feeling. The slightly warm breeze smelled of roses to her, but this time, she didn't cry.
Utena took a deep breath and then she knew.
Today would be the day she would beat him.
Touga greeted her in earnest as she descended the steps. She grinned at him. It made him flinch, it made his face contort into an expression of pure concern. His blue eyes were filled with emotion, emotion so clear and so present that she wondered if he could feel it, too – if he could feel that he would be defeated.
"Hello." He said, "Hello, Utena."
"Hey."
"I see that you're ready."
"Always."
Touga frowned. Utena raise an eyebrow. What was he, a sore loser before the duel had even begun?
He held out his hand.
"What?"
"You won't be using that." Touga said.
"What? You mean we're not-"
"If it is what you want, we'll duel."
"What is this?" Utena asked, "Why're you all serious?"
"Utena..." something in the tone of his voice gave her pause, "...stay."
"What?"
"Stay here. I'll come. Every day, you'll find me here. I'll tell you everything. Every day, I'll tell you. Stay, and I'll make you happy."
Utena had to admit that she hadn't spared much thought for what would happen after she had made that final, revolutionary leap and defeated him. She had thought about it from time to time, but hadn't dwelled on it much. She had guessed that when she defeated him, she'd have completed her recovery, and would be free to go wherever she wanted to go.
There was a world out there that he was a part of. She wanted to walk that world. She had come this far, from trying to make her toes wiggle to dueling Touga. She had clawed her way back from the grave, climbed out of her coffin, and she refused to go back.
"Or," Touga said, as if sensing her thoughts, "Challenge me. If you defeat me, then you can come with me."
"I won't stay. I can't."
"Then say it."
Utena took a deep breath.
"I challenge you."
"I accept."
Touga pinned his rose to his chest as Utena put her bokken down. Touga opened the two cases he had brought with him. Utena whistled. He had brought prop swords this time. Perfect for the day. His own, he set aside; it was a longsword, two cutting edges. The handle was engraved with intricate knots that flowed through one another. He stabbed it into the ground and Utena heard how sharp it was. Part of her was afraid. Her scars were itching, her entire body was itching. It didn't want to be cut again, stabbed again.
But her thoughts smothered those concerns. No, today was the day. Today, the revolutionary would overthrow the prince.
The second case held her sword. It was a bit longer than his, a bit thinner. It was more like a rapier with a golden handle, which snaked around the hilt itself. There was a ruby, scratched and worn, at the bottom of the hilt, and the hand-guard featured an equally worn emerald. It was showy, in the regal kind of way, with the small amount of filigree on the blade completing the picture.
Utena's hand moved by itself and she slid her fingers along the length of the blade. After she passed the halfway mark, her scarred fingertips felt a small crack in the metal. It was shallower than the scars on her body, but circled around the blade, telling her that once, this sword had been broken. It was whole again, but would always carry that mark.
Utena smiled as something in her stirred.
This is perfect.
"How many times have we done this..?" she asked Touga as she weighed the sword.
"I lost count."
"It feels like the first time."
"Yes..." Utena saw Touga's jawline flex, just for a second, "...yes, it does."
"Well, then. That's that."
Utena took the stance Touga had taught her, a fencing variation. She held the sword with one hand. When she decided it was too heavy, she shifted and mirrored Touga's opening stance.
"En guarde!"
They danced. Utena could feel the tremors and the aches clawing their way up from her ankles to her waist after the first few blows, but she ignored it. She shut her pain in a box and sent it away. While Touga was taller, had a farther reach and was more skilled, Utena was simply on fire. With the blind fervor and the volatile fury of a true revolutionary, she cried havoc and matched him, blow for blow. They pushed and pulled, orbiting around one another, their eyes not on the swords but on each other. In the grim silence of the small courtyard, the sound of blades clashing echoed in the air.
Rise.
Utena slipped under Touga's swipe, and use it to go on the offensive. Touga looked surprised: the bulging vein on the side of her forehead, the sweat that was pouring out of every pore on her body, the guttural grunts she let out with every stroke told him that she was in agony. Yet there she was, so strong, stronger than he remembered.
Touga managed to leap backwards, putting some distance in between them. He knew he could win if he kept her on the defensive, but if she controlled the duel, she would have the day.
Revolt.
Utena was a gracious, vibrant blur. She closed the distance quickly and refused to play it his way: she felt fire in her veins, both from the pain and from the intense focus she kept trained on the duel to dull it down. The sword was heavy in her hands, and she was tired, and she ached, and she hurt, and she wanted, more than anything in the world, to lay down her sword and die, right there at his feet. But she carried on, aiming squarely for his rose, distracting him with improvised slashes and thrusts that made her shoulders crack and her neck feel like someone had stuck a jagged needle in just to twist it.
Touga parried. Utena rewound the blow and knew that this would be her last move. Her strength had faded, and she was at her limit, but in order to defeat him, in order to win this duel, she knew she had to push herself past it. She screamed as she thrust her sword forward - a mighty roar that shook the dead branches of the trees bearing witness.
Touga half-turned to avoid the move, but as his muscles executed it, he saw it coming.
The pointy end of Utena's sword cut through the air, vibrating with her scream, imbued with everything that she was in that moment. As Touga rotated, inch by inch, he saw it in her eyes...
...revolution.
Red petals scattered into the air. The Convent's bell began to toll then, sending an eerie reverberation throughout the landscape, announcing the victor.