Cleave

Because coffee shops can bring together memories you were never supposed to have. Two-shot.


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Also, creds to MiladyQueenMab (because I stole some of the witty stuff she says in emails, hehe)

Author's Note: Just a little excerpt from the AU that I have created. :P It's kinda (sorta?) a sequel. I dedicate this to Kelzi, Jess and Erika, for without them I would not have realized that I am so darn psychic. :D


From The New York Times, November 16 2012

At The Thirteenth Hour, written by just-turned-twenty novice novelist Aden, is a novel whose two juxtaposing themes of hope and despair tug at its core to crack the whole novel open and display a raw center—a cynical, truthful commentary of the human condition. It follows the enigmatic story of a man whose name is never revealed, and his growth into adulthood thanks to a particular lady with brunette hair. Despite sounding like the typical romance novel, it is far from that. Written entirely in second person, it is set in a twisted, parallel universe where supernatural abilities are used and abused for the sake of government benefits, harnessed within a location called the Academy. With a hint of action, love, and-of course- drama, Aden fails to disappoint readers with his mastery of language, his unique voice, and the enigmatic, yet believable blur of fiction and reality.

The author of the story, under the pseudonym Aden, is an enigma himself. Despite Aden being a secretive writer who expresses no interest in public attention, however, we managed to interview him via phone call, and he spoke about the notion of parallel paths untaken, and an unknown love lost.

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This motif of memory wiping is one that is recurring in your novel. Do you believe that, perhaps by hypnosis, there is a way to force someone to live a completely different life?

Contrary to popular belief, it is not that easy to wipe someone's memory. Not completely, that is.

There will always be fragments, broken pieces of a life not lived, that continue rolling like an edited film. It is hard to force someone to forget when the body cannot explain how scars under the skin were formed. Or when the heart clearly remembers love that the brain never recalls allowing. There are, as I have stated in the novel, aspects of life that will always remain constant- fragments of the universe one can always keep close to heart- even though it seems as though all has been forgotten.

And those, I believe, are the ones worth writing about.

Will you be writing a second story soon?

As I have expressed before, I have no interest in exploring this line of work any more than I already have. I believe that I wrote At The Thirteenth Hour not for the sake of self-release, but for the sole reason of reconstructing shattered memories, piece by piece.

Was it successful at doing that?

Hm, I suppose so. There certainly are aspects of me that I feel are revitalized with the narrator of the story, and likewise, whilst I was writing the story, I did feel a familiar sensation of déjà vu that propelled me to punch sentiments into the typewriter that I myself did not know I possessed. It was strange, really, but a sensation that I did not want to forget nonetheless. As I was writing 'you', I really meant 'me'. I felt the burgeoning emotions of the narrator in his most pivotal moments, and I felt the pungent taste of vexation when the story's last words were typed.

I think that every writer possesses a manifestation of themselves in their characters to a certain degree, but the novel I had written seemed so real- almost absolute- and there could not be any logical explanation for it other than the notion that I had actually lived this life myself. And it seemed wrong to create a solidified ending of which did not yet occur... Perhaps I was meaning to create my own idea of a perfect, happy ending. My novel, on its own, ends with the snapshot of my life as it would be had I been the author of it. I suppose it would be great tragedy to my readers if I revealed the true nature of my life, and the course it is running as of late.

Do you believe in love?

Yes. As bitter as I may sound in my writings, I do believe in it. At least, a form of it- in the form of a girl with pigtails, believe it or not. Once again, it is one of those sentiments that my body remembers, but my mind refuses to. As if it is told not to. So unfortunately, I can only elucidate so much.

What do you remember about this girl with pigtails?

Hm. Like I said, it's a difficult topic to elaborate on, particularly because my memory itself is unreliable. However, all I know for certain is that there is both an overwhelming jubilation when I think of her, as well as an overwhelming suffocation. I see her smile- vaguely- in my imagination, and it provides luminescence in my darkest hours. I only know that she cares for me deeply, as I do for her, and we both have suffered immense amounts together as well as apart.

Sometimes, I receive bits and pieces of our lives in stop motion. All of it, however, is gone in a fragment of a second, and I am lost- wondering where my place is in the world, and feeling completely empty inside.

I know there is a place- perhaps in her arms- where I feel the most security, and yet I am mystified in the next second about what exactly I was thinking of. I know there is a place where I belong, and yet it is constantly taken from me.

It is both heaven and hell.

Do you believe that you have loved and lost—perhaps in a past life?

I don't think there is such a thing as a past life. I believe in the notion of independent lives whose minds and hearts coincide with others by pure coincidence. What I believe you are asking is whether I have loved and lost in a far, distant memory.

Such recollections are difficult to conjure, because they seem to be only caged within the confines of one's nadir. Still, sometimes, they wait patiently for the right moment- the most mundane moments in life, such as when perhaps one is tranquilly sipping their cup of coffee- to burst from the enclosed fence of the impossible, and swiftly make its way to the field of reality. I am simply waiting for that one moment, I think.

So, to answer your question directly- I have loved, yes.

But I do not plan to lose that love, no.

Instead, I plan to harness it, and allow its magnetic pull to give me direction. Record each time such memories inserts itself into my brain, and allow serendipity to take care of the rest. One day, she and I will cross paths. Whether that may be today, tomorrow, or even decades from now- I may never know. But I will not stop searching.

Over time, one may lose their memories, but their faith- never.

This is what remains true- as true as the Sakura Tree we rested under, and as true as the euphonious tone of her name:

Mikan Sakura.

...
...

I'm sorry- what were we discussing, again?


Author's Note: Yup, so it's out there. Maybe they'll meet again, now that he's totally said her name out loud. But his memory resets every so often, so he doesn't even remember what he's said... Hehehe. XD