Homura finished the trek across the soggy green lawn, now overlooking the soccer field. The ground squished underfoot, soft from the rains Saturday. A warm Sunday morning breeze passed over the cool grass, whispering like gossiping girls. A number of students were already standing around in gym clothes, talking and warming up. Homura walked towards the stands, which were slightly wet still.
Homura set the towel she was carrying down on the bleachers, sitting down. No wet rear for her, though some of the kids that had also come to watch were not as fortunate.
"Oh, hey Homura!" Someone called cheerily.
"Ma-Madoka," Homura stammered happily, a bit surprised at seeing the pinkette.
"What're you doing out here?" Madoka asked, sitting down next to Homura.
"I came to watch. I-I enjoy soccer."
"Sayaka dragged me out here," Madoka stated cheerily, swinging her legs out. "I kept telling her that I wanted to paint because I got a really good idea, but she insisted I come out to watch her tryout. She kept on telling me how disappointed she'd be if I stayed inside and painted all day, so I told her I was planning on painting outside, but she wouldn't budge. And then of course we had to find and grab Hitomi." The pinkette sulked, puffing her cheeks out in protest. "It was a really good idea."
"Well why don't you paint it later?"
"I lost it."
"Your idea?"
"No. My paintbrushes. All of them. Poof." Madoka made a motion with her stubs to show an explosion. "All three sets, plus most of my extras."
"Who'd do that?"
"I dunno. But getting them all back will require Sayaka and Hitomi's help." Madoka shook her arms, pointing out why she'd need help. "I lost all the little bags and stuff a while ago."
"How do you usually paint outside then?"
"My mouth." Madoka stated this as though there was no other possible option. Which in reality, there wasn't. "I carry some stuff in a backpack, but my brushes go in a little bucket, and I carry the handle with my mouth. They even took the bucket."
"That… sucks." Was there really much more to say on the matter?
"I think I know who did it!" Madoka perked up, grinning.
"Who?"
"Sayaka."
"W-what?"
"By taking away all my brushes, she made it so my only thing to do today was watch her try out."
"Would Sayaka really do that?"
Madoka considered this, even touching her chin with an arm. "No, no she wouldn't. I thought I had it."
"Maybe someone took them so you'd come after them."
"Why would someone do that?"
"Maybe they wanted to talk to you, but were too nervous to start a conversation."
"Did you steal my brushes, Homura!"
"Wha-I-No! I didn't even know you painted!"
"Oh, you didn't know? Maybe Hitomi then? No, she wouldn't do that." Madoka looked positively puzzled.
"What am I being accused of?" A green haired girl said, walking up the bleachers towards the two.
"Oh, hi Hitomi!" Madoka said cheerily, "Any idea who stole my brushes?"
"Don't tell me you lost them yet again," Hitomi giggled.
"I didn't lose them," Madoka pouted, "Someone stole them this time. Even Bucky was gone!"
"B-bucky?" Homura asked, unsure if she wanted to know.
"Bucky the bucket!" Madoka groaned.
"I'd say if even your bucket is gone, it's likely you lost your brushes," Hitomi reasoned, "Yet again. Did you check under your bed?"
"I had them on my desk yesterday. And then I came back, and I put them away, and then someone stole them while I was asleep."
"Where did you put them away?"
Madoka stared at the ground, looking as though she was trying to will the ground to give her the answer. "I dunno."
"Don't you normally store them under your bed?"
"Not when they're wet."
"Were they wet? You didn't paint yesterday, if my memory is correct."
"Well yeah, we went to that tea house in town. So I didn't do any painting. Also the lighting was wrong."
"So, since they weren't wet, then you stored them under your bed."
Madoka stared blankly. "Oh."
Hitomi sighed, sitting down next to Madoka. "I do believe they're about to start now."
"Doesn't that mean you have to get down there?" Madoka asked.
"Yes, I guess it does." The seaweed-haired girl picked herself up, walking down to the sidelines.
A few instructions were given, and the kids on the field were off. Homura's eyes were dragged towards a blur of blue, dashing across the field. When asked to do goals at varying distances, the blue-haired figure hit all of them. It was quite an amazing sight, and whomever they were, they were likely one of the best players on the field.
When the applicants were finally done, nearly an hour of kicks, running, push ups, and anything else the coach could think up, it looked like the blue blur was ready to faint.
"Yeah! Good job Sayaka!" Madoka yelled joyously, seemingly oblivious to the fact Sayaka couldn't hear her.
That was Sayaka? Homura wondered. Sure enough, here came up the steps the bluenette, supported slightly by Hitomi. Sayaka was drenched in sweat, but a massive grin had spread across her face. She collapsed onto the bleachers, smiling.
Homura offered her towel, Sayaka nodding to accept her offer. Madoka took it, wiping her friend down like a coach wiping sweat off his boxer. Sayaka's hands begun moving, signing to Hitomi.
"Of course you did great, Sayaka," Hitomi said smiling, signing all her words a the same time as she said them, "You were probably the best one down there!"
"I don't think I've even seen you kick like that!" Madoka beamed, Hitomi signing her words to Sayaka, who smiled.
"Sorry for stealing your brushes, Madoka," Hitomi said, before bursting out laughing at Madoka's response, trying her damndest to keep up with the pinkette.
"I knew it was you! I knew it knew it knew it! You were so adamant about me coming to watch you." Steam was practically pouring out of Madoka's ears, and Hitomi and Sayaka were cackling like maniacs. Homura couldn't help but laugh at the situation herself.
"Maybe I'll steal your uniform before a big game," Madoka pouted, attempting to cross her arms.
Homura entered the library for the second time this weekend. She gently placed the pair of small books she had finished yesterday down the chute on the librarian's desk. A soft pat found her ears, quickly followed by the sound of books tumbling down, then a loud bang, and finally quite a few expletives.
A familiar face brought itself up from under the counter, the silvery haired boy Homura had met yesterday looking straight at Homura.
"This isn't going to become a regular thing, is it?" Kamijou asked.
"I'm really sorry," Homura apologized, "I didn't know you were there!"
"It's alright, it's fine. Ugh, everything fell over." He ducked back under the counter.
"Do you want some help?"
"Sure, that'd be great."
Homura made her way around the desk, sitting down next to the grey-haired boy. There were books strewn everywhere, the two Homura had tossed down the return chute sitting happily, victoriously, on the metal cart. Every book Kamijou picked up he looked over, probably trying to see if it was a music book. The two went about organizing the cart for ten or so minutes, all the while Kamijou glancing over at Homura every minute..
"Is-is everything alright?" Homura inquired, bringing her hand to the right side of her face. She felt anxious. Is he checking me out? Or is it-
"I-uh, it's nothing, just," Kamijou held his tongue for a second before finally saying, "What happened to your face?"
Homura nearly leapt to her feet at his question.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
Homura cut him off, blurting out "I'VEGOTTOGODOSOMETHING."
And with that, she was off.
Homura gazed over her body in the large bathroom mirror. Black burns groped her breast and hip on the right side like a pervert. The marks caressed her arm, pouring onto her hand so that no shirt would cover them. Her scars wheeled around her face and eye. Homura normally had her hair covering the right side of her face, so as to hide it as best she could. She pulled her hair back, tying it into braids, just like she used to in elementary school.
No, she could never do it herself. Her mother always had to do it. Homura had been so proud of herself when she learned how to, back in her second year of middle school.
Her eyes traced the scars, malign tendrils reminding her of her inescapable past. And then there was the small jagged scar between her breasts, looking as ripe as the day she had had her heart surgery, back in October. Homura ran her finger along it, shivering a bit at the touch. Another permanent reminder that Homura was wrong, that she didn't belong. Reminding her that, twice now, her life had changed horribly.
Tears fell down Homura's face, her mind trying desperately to hold back the horde of memories clawing their way up from the darkness. But the tears. Even if the memories were hidden, the tears.
No.
They wouldn't stop coming.