Conclusion: When Pinocchio Became Human
人形は人間になる! 花、泡およびキンボウゲはもはや完全ではない
Why search for perfection when imperfection is what makes the human or puff heart whole? When any hopes or girlish fantasies of the future have been forever crushed under the selfsame weight you have been told repeatably that you were born to bear-is it worth it?
And when you receive perfection in its purest form-will you cast it away in favor of flaws? Something you were never born to have-something you never knew you...you...
...?
Is it possible to miss something or someone you've never had?
Hallo, you guys. ^^ I figured this story was in want of a conclusion-small or otherwise-so, well-here I am. :) I hope you enjoy it.
Please, take care, everyone.
Quote:
"And so it came to pass that the small, wooden child's tears became real, and his hands soft. Painted cheeks glowed with the true apples of Eden that was and is the flush of a healthy young boy! Pine became flesh, and a makeshift heart crafted from oak and gears began to beat 'neath his breast.
And so it was that Geppetto saw that his young puppet was no longer dead, and had earned the life of a real boy. Weeping with joy for Pinocchio, the old toy-maker tugged his child into his arms, and blessed him profoundly."
Concluding with that passage, Miss Bellum closes the book with a soft sigh before drawing her hand to Buttercup's raven locks, and caresses it for a moment or two with a thoughtful expression on her brow. Somewhat awkwardly, the young girl leans into the gentle touch, awkward and shy and enjoying it all at the same time. Out of habit, however, she nervously glances about herself, hoping that no one can see her.
The ex-assistant to the mayor smiles sadly, and bends to kiss Buttercup on top of her head before cupping the bewildered child's flushes cheek.
"You'll get there someday, hon. In the meantime, just keep your chin up. It's okay to..."
Buttercup just nods as Miss Bellum smiles again; they both know the little girl already understands what the woman was preparing to conclude with: "It's alright to enjoy affection.
Even in front of others."
All the same, Buttercup knows she is learning slowly; just another sign of the imperfection dotting and marring her previous record of unmistakable, undeniable purity.
It is new; and, to be honest, rather frightening. But it's somehow good.
It felt right. Accidentally spilling milk, forgetting to bring in the mail-not that much correspondence came to this small cottage on Kyoto Bay-occasionally failing a quiz that their tutor told them to prepare for-
Buttercup's thoughts are interrupted as Miss Bellum sets the book on the little girl's night table, and tousles her hair before she tiptoes out with a gentle, "Good night," before carefully flicking off the light as she quietly closes the door.
In the darkness, the child smiles as she turns in her bed towards her small bedside table, thoughtfully observing the small bedtime story she had asked Miss Bellum to read to her-though Buttercup already had the reading skills of an average eighth-grader. Awkward and uncomfortable it had made Buttercup feel, it was somewhat nice to inch over to Miss Bellum as the woman read about the rather dimwitted puppet and his misadventures in proving to the blue fairy that he could become human-and the girl was pulled into a warm lap without any raised eyebrows-or coughs, or bewildered stares boring holes into her back. After all, she was obliged to keep everyone else's expectations-and such a thing as allowing herself to be held-even by the professor, who rarely did such a thing in any case-was certainly bad for her reputation. It raised doubts; uncertainty.
Buttercup was to hate "mush." She was to be extremely stubborn. She was a brutal fighter.
THAT was what Buttercup was-and what they believed she forever would be.
But no one in Townsville knew that Buttercup questioned on whether or not she HAD an identity-or if it was mere expectation that formed her habits.
Did she have any opinions of her own?
Did she have anything inside other then the desperation of meeting the expectations of others? What colors did she like? Everyone always gave her green-was that what she liked?
Everyone gave her boxing gloves for her birthday...though she couldn't remember asking for them.
And when she had tried on an extraordinarily lacy, prim tea-dress belonging to Bubbles in the dead of night as her sisters slept...and had stared at herself in the mirror, did it not feel...
...somewhat nice?
But Buttercup had felt nervous with the fancy dress on-as if the fine material would burst into flames at the touch of her rough skin. Because she wasn't supposed to like baths or sprays or those flowery-smelling body washes that were advertised all the time on the telly. Professor Utonium could be heard ranting to his college colleagues on the phone on just drastcally how the element of 'spice' had affected his third daughter. It had affected her body chemistry, and her genetic and mental make-up.
In other words, she had been meant to be a born-tomboy.
So why did trying on that pretty dress feel nice? Why did she enjoy growing her hair out-something the professor had never let her do?
...why did it feel so good to have Miss Bellum tuck her in, and kiss her goodnight?
Buttercup frowned in the darkness, and hurriedly switched on her night-lamp before tugging over the small, leather-bound Pinocchio book to her lap. On the cover, a small puppet with a very long nose was bending over to look at a small cricket while a silver star glowed tranquilly over the two figures, with small glows and sparks of light here and there among the vines the two figures were in. What were those? Fireflies?
Buttercup flipped open the book, and impatiently flicked to the seventh page. This was where the fairy told a very eager Pinocchio that he could become an actual human if he so wanted by proving himself brave, honest, and unselfish.
This part before had baffled Buttercup, when Ms. Keene had read the book in front of the class for Pokey Oaks Storytime. Why did Pinocchio want to become "real" so badly? He was already alive-wasn't that good enough? Sure, the kid was wood-which meant that he was termite food-but he could be a kid forever in his puppet form.
...just as Buttercup and her sisters couldn't grow up. Biting her lip, Buttercup closed the book; paused, and opened it once again.
It seemed to her that most adults spent their time dreaming about becoming children again-while the children in her old preschool class had talked of little else other then what they were going to be when they would "grow up."
If kids could stay young forever-would they? If there were no strings attached-no need to prove anything to some old fairy-how many people would jump at the prospect of never growing old?
Buttercup sank her head deeper into the pillow as she stared at the ceiling.
She would have to tell those people that it wasn't great-and was hardly worth it. She knew she would exchange her eternal youth in a heartbeat for the ability to "grow up." Would she exchange her powers for it? Buttercup didn't know.
The girl tilted lightly to glower at the small book sitting innocently on her lap.
If Pinocchio knew that-already knew that watching your friends shoot up and grow while you never changed; always were playing hopscotch while they went on to graduate-perhaps that was why he was so keen on becoming human. He could grow up-be normal-or as normal as someone can be after being granted life by the blue fairy.
Oh, yeah. That line would be great at parties.
Buttercup irritably tossed the book back onto her table, yanked on the cord for her lamp to turn it off-and plopped back into her comforters, willing sleep to come.
Maybe Pinocchio had felt OBLIGED to become a human-after all, that had been precisely what that stupid toymaker and blue fairy had wanted from the beginning. Geppetto didn't know the first thing about parenting-just as the professor knew nothing about the sort, sick sorts they were. Both had MADE their children, and had constructed them from materials.
Pinocchio's dad wanted his son to be happy as a human. But all Utonium had ever wanted was a puppet to dress and direct at the numerous woes encircling Townsville. The people of course-adored the PPG's abilities to solve their woes, petty or nonsensical they often might be-and thus, Utonium's work was well-funded.
Both "parents" had expectations. But unlike the puppet, Buttercup couldn't meet Utonium's expectations. Not on the inside.
Buttercup's face palened in the darkness, and she turned her face to the pillow after biting the inside of her lip to stop herself from making a noise.
In the story, Pinocchio wanted to live and die like anybody else. Which was why he wanted to become human-so that he could obtain an "immortal soul." Blossom had tried to explain it to her, but Buutercup had not quite understood the concept.
When you died, you died, right? You know..."the end," and all of that? The Professor didn't approve of metaphysical talk inside of their home, so the girl was baffled of the thought of enduring on-when you were already dead!
But Miss Bellum had patiently explained the concept of "heaven" where imperfect souls rejoiced at the miracle of meeting in paradise-for, with all of their earthly imperfections-they had still made it. They had failed more then a fair share of times-and had still done GOOD in the world.
Buttercup inched down into her pillows.
Considering what had happened to her, what WAS happening to her-was she becoming "real" too? Did this mean that she wanted-was...forbid the thought...flawed?
And THAT was what brought true and uncalculable...perfection?
Miss Bellum only shakes her head and smiles as Blossom continues to giggle-long after the book is finished, long after Blossom has been kissed goodnight, long after the light has been turned off. The red-haired woman only quietly shuts the door, muffling her own chuckles at the sight of Blossom's evident amusement.
The pink-orbed girl settles back into her comforters, feeling at peace with the world as she contemplates the story that Miss Bellum has just read to her: The Prince From The Kingdom of Pasta. Just thinking about the silly king's ambitions against the kingdom of Oregano has the poor girl shaking with silent giggles.
Utonium only allowed the little girl to borrow books that were very much like his own from Townsville library. Were she to ask for a children's book, the librarian would anxiously ask aloud-in front of a horde of baffled people-if Blossom were feeling well.
And the little girl would turn a shade that would make her eyes proud..
Don't get Blossom wrong. The small girl IS sick of children's novels-of having to constantly read 'See Spot Run' year after wretched year in Pokey Oaks.
But that's just school activity. Outside of school, if it's "serious" reading materials Blossom wants, Blossom gets. Still, it would have been nice to have been able to read a comic book for a change-instead of the endless torrent of classes everyone insists she read, just to see what one was like.
But the professor insisted that the books were poisonous to young minds-and outright refused to have any at the house.
At the thought of Utonium, Blossom's giggles die almost immediately, and tears of a very different nature from the ones of laughter that she had been shedding just seconds ago glazed and overtook her eyes.
She wrenched the comforters to her chin, and turned in the dimness of her bedroom. At least Miss B gave the girls their own rooms. Lonely as it could get without her sisters sleeping beside her, occasional privacy was...nice. In fact, Blossom began to think that she was starting to NEED it every now and again for herself over these past few weeks.
She sighed.
Was what Miss Bellum had done wrong? She had put three little girls ahead of an entire city. It was selfish, so incredibly, extraordinarily selfish-and it made the small girl's stomach contort with guilt every time she thought about it.
But she had wanted, needed-craved what Miss Bellum had to offer: escape. That night, when she and the girls had been drifting over the lonely twilight of the dazzling city below-
...
...
Blossom was not all sure when she had snapped. It had been such an impromptu, random moment-in a brief moment of peace-that the calm had shattered, and the young girl had begun to tremble wildly.
The lights below were shimmering more vividly then ever as her normally excellent 25-20 vision began to hastily blur and contort, and run absentmindedly into one another as the haze blossomed over the girl's thoughts-!
Looking back, Blossom had to wonder if her sisters had cracked alongside her. Had there been a peculiar heat upon their faces, too?
Why was breathing becoming labored?
Why did Blossom want to break something?
Why did it feel like she was first to go?
The entire weight of their existence was tumbling about absentmindedly around and on them-like a building shaking under the immense and awesome powers of an earthquake, with bricks plummeting from a foundation faster then feathers fell from a molting bird.
The world spun. It wouldn't stop. Blossom couldn't stop gritting her teeth as her small hands flew to her hair.
And, just as when she had destroyed her dictionaries, Blossom screamed.
Why, she did not know, why, she could not say, as it was taboo, as it was forbidden, as it was everything that had been roughly buried alive in the outskirts of her heart, the one she was never meant to have-!
Y*E!^&!RE*YYIE:O^&%$$?
She had flown through the air, still screaming. Hot tears were falling from her eyes, and the girl could not help but tear at her hair at the now disheveled girl continued her enraged and desperate shriek of despair.
Randomly, she had cast furious bolts of energy about herself as she shot forwards, targeting nothing in particular, her mind automatically taking her somewhere. Where, she did not know. Where, she did not care.
She had at last landed on the ground-and began to sprint, frantic for a way to empty herself of the gnawing energy-the same energy that seemed pliable to destroy Townsville at this moment out of sheer hysteria and insanity.
Where her sisters were, she didn't know.
She forgot she was Blossom Utonium, forgot how old she was, forgot that she was a protector of Townsville. She forgot that she had a sister named Bubbles, and another named Buttercup. She forgot that the professor wanted her to write a new series of theorems for his latest project-which involved Venus FlyTraps or something of that sort.
She only ran on the sidewalks, chest heaving as the world flashed oddly in and out of her eyes-
And then, a pair of hands had seized the startled girl, allowing her no more then a split second to cry out-before she was hastily tugged into the dark recesses of the trash-sprewn, graffiti-enscribed alley.
She had fought; fought like a wildcat, even in her confusion. But a pair of arms soon slipped around her waist, and a familiar perfume makes her halt, and the flames in her eyes seize up for a fraction of a moment-and frost over.
Miss Bellum tugged her closer after dropping to one knee, murmuring and whispering. For a moment, the stunned girl could not move-and then, began to fight to free herself once again.
But even she knew that the effort was pathetic. She can free herself-can burn Ms. B if she wants to. Can, but can't. She fights-but Miss B's hold only becomes all the more constrictive.
The words came then, but they were a babbled mess of disorientated gibberish. Blossom can't even understand them herself until a few minutes later, when she is still panting for breath-!
"Let me go."
They are forced out-and hard to understand. Blossom had not realized that she had been sobbing.
Miss Bellum would not let go. And, later on, the brilliant young girl had clung to her, not wanting her to-even as the woman stared out at the dark, crashing waters of the sea from around the small boat.
She had known. And the receptionist at the Mayor's office had waited for them just that evening-after she had left her resignation letter at the Mayor's mahogany desktop, curtsied-and left, without so much as another word.
She had come to the city-and had waited for the girls to come to her. And, just as she had anticipated, Blossom had been the one to break down first.
The girl's bow was askew as she had cried into Miss Bellum's warm red office suit-had cried, even as the rain began to drizzle down, then patter, then shower-and finally, erupt in an absolute downpour that had everyone out on the town for the evening sprinting for cover.
Brown cardboard boxes around the two had gotten soggy under the rain's plummeting onslaught-but Blossom only continued to wail as she had never wailed before in Miss Bellum's arms, listening to Bubbles' soft cries from beside her as the woman scooped up her little sisters...listening to an ashamed Buttercup bury her head in Miss B's jacket, and weep-!
Miss B had followed up on her promise when she had dropped the disheveled and whimpering girls at their home later that evening: She came for them in the dead of night.
Luckily, the girls had already packed a few possessions, and had silently glided out of their windows as Miss B had waited for them, arms outstretched by her car and U-Haul attached along behind it.
She'd already bought their tickets for the ferry. And, disguised in small hoods, no one thought anything of the young woman who had arrived at the docks with a shipping order that included most of her worldly possessions, car, and three little triplet...'nieces' dressed in dark blue rain jackets, with hoods deeply stooped over their small faces.
Blossom rubbed at her eyes, and sighed once again as she reached for a small cup on her own bedside table, and took a sip of the cold water inside.
Did the professor miss them? Did she miss him? She didn't know. To be honest, leaving hadn't been half as painful as she had envisioned it to be that fateful rainy evening. Miss Bellum bought a very small house in Japan, telling the realtors that the girls were her recently orphaned nieces. She had left it at that.
Luckily, Japanese was not at all very hard for the girls to learn. Bubbles had already been fairly fluent in the language back in America, and had helped the two along as they settled into their new lives. Luckily, Miss B already spoke the language quite well, and got a decent job as an administrator at a local tourist emporium as a translator.
The girls were sent to school-and not to a preschool. Miss B claimed that the girls were older then they truly appeared like-due to a bone growth deficency they had been born with. That was close enough to the truth, and, their senseis accepted that.
For the first time, Blossom had to struggle in her class to get perfect As. It was an enjoyable feat for her, and it kept her busy, at the end of the day. Even if some of her fellow classmates mocked her for her height and peculiar appearance, for the most part, they treated her as one of their own.
As for her powers? They were a well-kept secret. Occasionally, she and her sisters still fought crime-but it was on their own time, and whenever the police couldn't handle it themselves. Her image was blurred in the articles that vaguely mentioned her name-as nobody really knew who the Puffs were.
As she drifted off to sleep, Blossom thought it best to keep it that way.
A pair of sparkling blue eyes watched as Miss Bellum's figure disappeared from the door, and the young girl listened as footsteps began to fade away into the distance. With a small smile, Bubbles drew her small plush octopus to herself under her comforters-one of the few tokens of her old life that she still carried about with her at home.
There are no dolls to be found in her room. There are no lacy, cold, voiceless dolls lining her shelves. Manga and other books litter the small shelves that Bubbles clumsily installed herself in the little room she now calls her own.
It's a bit funny, she supposes, as she inhales Octi's comforting, unique scent. Though Bubbles still draws quite a bit, no more childish pictures of daisies litter the walls. Now, she is free to use her own ingenuity-a thought that is startling as well as just a little bit scary, these days.
She wriggles lightly, and presses her small plush bunny-which she named Usagi-to her side, remembering when a shy little boy named Sora Fujitaka had given it to her for Valentine's day. She blushes lightly at the memory. Sora is nice-and he smells like vanilla beans.
Back home, the ever-constant expectation from others was that she would someday date Boomer, her PPG antithesis-never mind that the boy found girls disgusting, and had attempted to destroy her more then once. But then again, it would be RIGHT to marry someone as good for you as...someone like you.
Bubbles' eyes overflow with tears as she remembers the professor's words, as he debated on whether or not the four year old girls would ever mate to one of his colleagues-while the girls had been eating cereal beside them.
It was hoped that they would one day each wed their RowdyRuff counterpart-and each have a child with them. She supposed that the Ruffs wanting to destroy the world and the Puffs desperately trying to save it had no part to play there-in the people's eyes.
She whimpers; and she hears footsteps on the stairs again. If it had been the professor, the child would have immediately silenced her tears, and pretended to be asleep-but Miss B is far different from anyone else she has resided with. It was not unusual for the little girl to seek nightly protection from the wraiths of the witching hour- wraiths that power could not deter, or fight back-with Miss B. The young woman would absently rub at the small girl's head as she read a small paperback book in bed, the sound of rustling pages making the girl feel sleepier and sleepier-and safer and safer. Sometimes, Ms. B brought hot chocolate. That sounded nice.
Bubbles was halfway out of bed to have just that with Miss B when she remembered with a sickening thud. Oh. Miss B was watching a scary movie downstairs. Hadn't the woman told her just that after she had finished reading a chapter of Peter Pan?
Well, she'd seek an alternative, then. Bubbles was lonely. Peculiar that she could admit it now.
Without another thought, Bubbles slipped out of bed, and glided out the door, making a beeline for Blossom's room.
Whew. The part 2 of this Conclusion comes in a bit. Not quite happy with this fiction, seeing as I know it can be better...