Chapter V
Day after uneventful day went by, and the people of Tokyo went on with their usual lives. Michiru became fast friends with Elsa, whom she admired for her easy-going nature and firm determination to achieve success—and who, in turn, admired her for her artistic expressiveness and great empathy towards the others. Since she had discovered Elsa also went to her school, they had made a habit of getting together at lunch breaks; Michiru sometimes watched Elsa's team train after school, as well.
At the end of one of these trainings, as she watched her friend pant from the effort and down a bottle of water, Michiru asked:
"How do you do it, Elsa? Doesn't the effort become too much? How can you keep running when you're so tired? I could never make it to the finish line."
Draping a towel around her neck, the tall girl leaned against the iron railing around the school stadium.
"I often get cramps in my legs during the last minutes of the race. Sometimes they're so bad, I know that if I stopped, I'd probably fall over…but that's why I keep going. I know it's just a phase, and if I keep running, it will pass." She wiped her sweaty brow with the edge of the towel. "I know I have to do my best for my team to win! And I put all my effort into it…even if I don't make it to the finish line, I'll know I've tried my best."
"But you also want to be the first to cross the line…!"
Elsa smiled mischievously.
"Well, of course I do! I thrive on the competition, dear Michiru! You know, that's why I envy you sometimes" the girl admitted with a shrug, "you can do your best without outside motivation…everything comes from within your heart. You want my opinion as one who knows what she's talking about? You have it in you. If you had to do it, or wanted to do it… You'd make it to the finish line in any race, Michiru!"
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That evening, Michiru descended in the basement again, where she had arranged the neat and comfortable working space for her hours of painting. Beneath one of the high windows waited the painting she had begun almost two weeks before. The light fell across the large canvas, showing the blurry first brushstrokes. Michiru frowned slightly, looking at the profiling image from all angles.
"Why this mystery?" she asked out loud to no one in particular. "I can't paint something I can't see in my mind…!"
She studied the dark streaks that occupied the upper quarter of the canvas.
It…might resemble a night sky…or maybe an appearing aurora borealis…?
The painting stood silent, not responding to any of her thoughts.
Maybe I was simply in a gloomy mood when I started it…and that mood is gone now. Things have been pretty good these past days. Maybe the painting asks for a lighter tone…
She prepared the oils again, this time choosing the pastel colors instead of the nuances of blue she had used last time.
"Now…work with me, here."
She held the brush in her hand, and tried to envision the next stroke. But no matter how much she contemplated the painting, she could feel no right spot to put the tip of the brush. Which, considering the canvas was three-quarters white, was unsettling. And plain weird.
What's happening? What am I trying to create here?
She looked at the vague image.
"What are you trying to tell me…?"
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Michiru couldn't fall asleep that night.
She opened one of her bedroom windows and enjoyed the chilly night breeze. All around, the neighborhood was quiet and dark, and in the distance, she could see the still waters of the ocean resting.
No…they're not resting. Just beneath the calm surface, there is turmoil.
She shook her head at the thought, unsure where it had come from.
The waters are growing restless.
Michiru directed an uncertain gaze towards the distant ocean. Why did it inspire such strange thoughts in her?
The hairs on her neck rose, and she felt goosebumps form on her arms.
"Must be the cold…"
Decidedly, she closed the window and returned to bed. The cool night air made her feel more tired, and she soon drifted off…
…only to wake up an indefinite amount of time later, covered in sweat.
For a moment, she was afraid to move. But slowly, she pulled the sheets to her chin, and curled under them.
"I don't have nightmares…" she whispered to the empty room.
And it was true. She had never, in her entire life, had a nightmare—at least none she could remember. And definitely none to wake her from her sleep. Yet now, she felt her entire body shaking under the impression of a dream.
A dream she could not even remember.
Michiru swallowed hard, and tried to go back to sleep again. Whatever nightmare had woken her, it was long over, and would not return. She did not get nightmares.
She did not get nightmares.
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Except…she did.
Over the next fortnight, the nightmares returned three times. And every time, it was the same. Michiru would wake up in a sweat, paralyzed with irrational fear, and she would know it had been another terrible dream. But the content of the dreams eluded her. They lingered, black shadows darkening her days, right at the edges of her conscious mind. And no matter how much she tried, she would never recall one single detail. But she knew where to find the details that escaped her.
The second time the nightmare had woken her, she had followed her intuition and descended to the basement. There, the barely touched canvas awaited in the dark, silently inviting her to resume work on it. The mysterious painting seemed to create itself, using her brush as a mere instrument. Michiru watched in awe, as night after sleepless night her hand drew strokes of dark-blue, or green or black, to form what was starting to look like an enormous wall of ominous darkness.
Her mornings had become gray, her evenings almost torture in anguished foresight. She decidedly ignored the nightmares, and refused to give them a second thought. Yet, each time she woke up terrified in the middle of the night, she would quietly go down the stairs, and work on the ever-growing wall of gloomy colors. Then, in daylight, she would cover the canvas, and pretend not to know what hovered beneath the opaque coat.
She pretended not to know that, concealed by the cover and her own reluctant mind, the stuff of her nightmares was slowly taking form.
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AN: Like it? Hate it? Should I go on? Please review and let me know!
Myosotis