"I'm ready."
Those bitter scars made origin by the overpowering of an element on paper are seemingly transparent as the colors camouflage them but deep within ourselves, we know they exist, waiting to surface once more. In order to preserve the masks we use to conceal ourselves with, it is now the time to start things on a new page, a new beginning, a new light, a new mindset. A farewell to those past days we'll never see again.
And she bids him farewell, as his back turns to her for their exhibition's finale.
Suisai Enogu
A Prince of Tennis Fanfiction
Written by Kiwi of RANNOC
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is a series created by Konomi Takeshi. The story of Suisai Enogu is a fan fiction formulated by the deranged melancholy workings of RANNOC's Kiwi. OC belongs to Ayumi Nazu of RANNOC.
AN: And the curtains are about to fall, is this the end you've awaited for…?
To my friend, reviewers and readers, I graciously thank you for taking the time to read and review this little project of mine. Now, let's get things started, shall we?
Have fun reading, reviews are welcome!
A questionable mewl erupted from the creature sitting upon the young male's lap, a brown and white furred face stared up with large blue wondering eyes. The Himalayan cat purred as its owner scratched the back of its ear, but continued to gaze up at its master's face. Karupin somehow knew that the young man wasn't feeling like himself. He seemed somewhat sadder somehow, maybe.
His eyes that were brimming with overly zealous pride were faded blank like the single coat of watercolor paint on an easel. Although Karupin could sense the warmth as he curled into his owner's lap, he couldn't reach and touch the tips of his owner's soul like he always had. The connection was bleak like the somber look on his complexion.
"It's fine." His master whispered and patted the cat on the crown of its head, exiting his bedroom and entering the bathroom of his house. The lights flickered on and the door shut closed with a click behind him.
Hands stripped off the pieces of cloth hiding the well toned limbs of the eighteen year old male, dropping off the discarded mess on the floor. Water sprayed and the young man stepped into the full bath, his long arms flexed revealing hard muscle which held into the sides of the tub. His torso half dipped into the steam, water droplets cascading down his medium bronzed bare flesh like nature's waterfall, creating a path from his chest, past his developing abs from training, leading lower still past his flat stomach. His sea green tresses curled slightly around at the nape of his slender neck, his bangs were dampened by the humidity and fell over his hazel eyes that were closed shut. His head was tilted back, connecting with the tiled wall behind him.
"So," Ayumi tilted her head to gaze at Ryoma's beautiful eyes, "What do you think of me going into art school?"
"It's your choice." He threw the empty can of Ponta into the trash can after downing the remaining contents.
So many things happened, time flew by so fast and things changed. Ryoma just didn't know if it was for the better.
"You're hopeless." He muttered, a finger rose to rub away the blemish of paint underneath her eye.
She chuckled, "Sorry."
He just didn't know, because she wouldn't tell him.
"I'm guessing this is it then." She looked over at his side.
Ryoma lowered his cap, "Yeah."
"I'm going to enter." Ayumi smiled bitterly, but tried hard to make her smile and voice as smooth as possible.
She didn't say anything.
He continued to stare unblinkingly at the ground, "Sure."
"You're not going to say anything?" The tone of Ayumi's voice cracked slightly near the end of her sentence. He lifted his head to see tears begin to brim over her lashes.
Should he have said something? Should he have stopped her from leaving?
"What do you want me to say?"
A hand brushed through his long tresses and he stared up at the ceiling. Ryoma sighed and got out of the bath, shielding his body away from the cold with a towel. He exited the washroom.
What did she want him to say? What could she have said? What was binding her and keeping her in the dark where she couldn't move? What was it? What was it?
She couldn't…
The first single coat of water paint can easily fade out. We have to try our hardest to continue on with the obstacles in front of us, whether we used the wrong tone, the wrong color, the wrong techniques. We have to continue on with it, no matter what. That was life.
"Nazu-san! It's terrible someone---"
Ayumi's eyes flashed with shock and befuddlement. She scrambled past the shorter girl and into the art room without a second thought as the red head rushed after her. A hand grabbed the handle instinctively and yanked it wide open.
She just couldn't. She couldn't protest and cry out the longing and selfishness she'd kept inside for so long.
With long strides, Ayumi stared at the picture in front of her. The beautiful watercolor painted picture she'd worked so very hard on was defaced. Dark red inked lines ran over the paper, damaging the image, permanently. Writings of discouragement and profanity screamed out at her.
She wanted so much for him to know, more than anything.
"Nazu-san, I'm so sorry about what happened to…"
She wanted to be truthful about her feelings, she wanted to come clean and admit everything.
Hands seized the paper, meeting at the top of the page with a strength of force, there was a single clear ripping sound resounding in the silence.
"Nazu-san," The red haired girl shrieked as she ran towards the brunette, " why did you?! How?"
The girl shut her mouth when she noticed tears running down round pink flushed cheeks.
Ayumi chuckled, "I did what I had to do, and that's all."
And the water and the paint run, together or apart, they meld.
The beauty of the painting completed before our eyes omits such a deep sadness that strikes our hearts with each cold stroke of a brush, shattering into pieces those past dreams we wanted to keep and treasure forever.
We can still view those simplistic dreams, although battered and broken, through the softness and the delicacy of,
Our very own watercolor painting.