The Silver Balloon
手紙を通ってそれらは会う! ローザおよびMikey!
An Odd Correspondence Begins
~*~*~
Bonjour, everybody! And a very happy Easter to you all! *Huggles.*
Forgive me for not updating for a bit...just got back from Wisconsin. There's been a little insanity about here, but everything's okay now.
I certainly like this tale...*Sighs happily...* Wish me luck in completing it.
Please, take care, everyone!
Quote:
"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart."
~Phyllis Theroux
~*~*~
Mikey's already heavy breathing esculated quite sharply as he uncertainly tugged the heavy paper into his tri-fingered hands, heart still fluttering like that of a captive hummingbird's wings, disbelief still pattering about his body as realization began its slow incline in.
No.
No, he had not been wrong. There his name was-in black and white-albeit much more neatly scripted then his small hands could craft-!
Hamato Michelangelo.
He swallowed, feeling uncertain joy quietly thunder about himself, his hands beginning to tremble.
It had worked.
It had actually worked. The startled turtle quickly glanced down at the precious paper once again, heart still pounding.
But who had found the balloon and letter?
And why had they....?
The astonished boy quickly checked the front left of the letter, frowning slightly in the dim light as the seven year old made out a return address in rather spiky, old fashioned handwriting:
Rosa Monroe
7661 Peach Creek Avenue
Dusky Pines Nur. H, VT. 70988
~*~*~
The poor turtle swallowed as he took in the name, squinting.
Rosa Monroe? Who was that? Some lady in...Vermont?
.....Vermont? His balloon had actually gotten so far as past the state borderline?
Now feeling immensely pleased with himself, he glanced down at his newfound treasure once again, before quickly peering about in the dim lighting still flickering faintly from the buzzing street lamp's bulb.
He had to hurry back home-lest Splinter discover that Mikey had still not arrived home for dinner (Which was unseemly for the small joker, in any case....) and came looking for him....
The turtle swallowed.
.....and then, traced his scent up to the surface world....which Splinter had made a point of telling his sons to not do...seven or eight times a day....
With that stomach-lurching thought, Mikey gulped, and after carefully tugging his hood back over his face, the turtle dashed across the street, but not before carefully tucking the small piece of paper into his pocket, three fingers tenderly closed over it-even as he awkwardly made his way back into the sewers, uncertainly dragging the manhole cover back over himself as he did so. Doing these things with only one hand kind of made things difficult. Splinter was still tutoring the turtles on becoming more ambidextrous-but Mikey still preferred the use of both his hands-or, failing that, his right one.
But that could easily be overlooked at the moment. The little boy felt his chest swell as he made his way down the rusty steps.
It was his first-and quite possibly only-letter, and he certainly didn't want to take any chances moving about in the dank darkness that was often referred to as home. Opting to walk rather then take his skateboard, Mikey hummed lightly as he raced home, one hand still locked over his prize.
~*~*~
Luckily, no one had noticed Mikey's absence had not been heavily noted-pardoning Raphael, who claimed that their small clan's quiet reprieve had been concluded with the turtle's rearrival.
After carefully tucking his letter away in his pillowcase, Mikey had immediately responded by tackling his brother to the ground, cascading into a wild, sprawling rumble-concluded only when a slightly bemused Donatello had come into the room, and announced dinner.
Well, that had got their attention, alright.
After the two had raced into the kitchen, and Master Splinter sternly redirected the two grudging boys to turn around-and WALK into the kitchen this time, the meal commenced.
But even Mikey occasionally slipped into lapses of silence today, his own thoughts continuously flickering to the letter, even when Leo and Raph began to kick one another under the table.
Who was this 'Rosa' person?
How had she found the balloon?
Why did she respond? Not that he was complaining, but it seemed an unlikely action for someone to partake. Then again, if some balloon drifted out of nowhere with someone's name and address on it....
....still, the more palpable motion would be to merely ignore said piece of paper. Why had Rosa responded? That MUST have been what had transpired-else, who would have sent a letter to that small hovel-with HIS name on it?
Mikey paused before taking a small sip of milk, Donny now flinging a pea at Raphael.
What had she said in the letter? Anything at all?
And, what had been, exactly? Scathing? Sympathetic?
....nice?
"Masta' Splinter?"
"Hmmm?"
The orange clad turtle awkwardly handed the rat the next clean-albeit damp-plate, doing his best to secure the plate in his father's clawed hands. He'd had more then his fair share of memories of having the soaked, soapy plates slide through his fingers.
Sighing lightly with pride as the rat casually took the slightly cracked plate from him, and began to resume wiping another, Mikey's eyes immediately stole to the nearby clock.
He mentally groaned as he turned towards his Sensei once again, shifting from one foot to the other.
"Um....when d'you think bedtime is?"
Splinter's brow furrowed lightly as the sounds of Donatello and Leonardo playfully chasing one another echoed from the nearby living room, but he ignored them as he turned to his youngest son, looking rather puzzled.
"My son, your bedtime is half past eight-which-" (He glanced at the clock.) "-is a hour and a half from now. Same as always."
The rat's expression became rather stern.
"And I don't want any horseplay tonight, Michelangelo. Nor arguments-and no fussing. One story. That is all."
Splinter resumed wiping the dishes dry, moving the plates into a nearby cupboard as he finished each one.
"Matthew is going to attempt to stop Veronica's wedding before it is too late," the rat idly explained, glancing anxiously at the clock once again.
"He has to catch the last flight to Rome if he wants to stop the ceremony and tell her the truth about Steven.....and the flight is already overbooked..."
Mikey only idly nodded before picking up the last dish, and flippantly began to hand it to Master Splinter-
....only to have it slip from his fingers moments later, directly onto the floor.
CRASH!
"O-Oooops...."
"Michelangelo!"
~*~*~
Baths were done (Much to Mikey's pleasure) and a story had been read. Quite normally, this part of the day was Mikey's least favorite-but tonight, bedtime could hardly come quickly enough.
Splinter started as Mikey eagerly shuffled into his pillows, the turtle looking slightly breathless as the rat hesitatingly tucked him inside.
"My son...you look rather...keyed up."
Splinter sounded slightly suspicious-and the turtle swallowed as, from the next bed, Don swiveled his eyes to him, looking curious.
Mikey fought to keep his voice casual.
"U-Um....n-no. Just...r-ready to hit the hey."
Raph snorted as Splinter planted a small kiss on the top of his head.
"Um....kay. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
The small turtle only rolled his eyes as Splinter simply sighed, and reached for the nearby candle still flickering on the nearby nightside table.
Mikey turned slightly pale as the rat blew out the candle, leaving the room in abrupt darkness. Mikey's heart beat somewhat faster as Splinter left a small peck on the top of Mikey's mask, then slowly moved towards Leo and Don's nearby hammocks.
"Goodnight, my sons."
With that, the rat took his usual, quiet gait outside the room. Mikey listened to his footsteps fade away into the distance-no doubtedly going to tune in to see whether or not Steven was really Matthew's evil twin brother.
The small turtle turned in the darkness, listening to Leo shuffle quietly a few beds away, and Raph exhale quietly into his pillow.
Don's easy breathing was already drifting from the nearby darkness. He was already out like a light.
Mikey's own eyelids flickered in the gentle darkness. He fought to keep them open as the turtle simply lay there for awhile, resisting the urge to follow his brother into the clasps of sweet slumber.
~*~
For what seemed to be the longest while, Mikey simply lay there, occasionally moving his hand to his yellow plastron to feel his soft heartbeat reverberate quietly in the dark.
Raph's snores at last echoed North of him, and, none too soon, Leo's small inhales and exhales filled the room, making the youngest of the four more then slightly drowsy by this point.
How very like his brothers to be conspiring against him, even in his sleep. Feh.
Mikey lay absolutely still for a few more seconds, heart beating as his hand slid into his pillowcase, fumbling about for the small piece of paper he knew to be there. In a few seconds, his fingers brushed against the smooth, creamy surface of the envelope.
And, something else.
The turtle coyly drew the small rod of plastic, hurriedly ducking about under his pillows and quilt before hastily flicking the light on. Thank heck that Donny had been able to provide him with batteries for this thing.
Perching the miniscule light awkwardly in his lap, Mikey's hands at last shifted to the envelope, and, after getting his fingertips under some control-began to carefully pry it open, freezing whenever the rip-rip-ripping sound would echo particularly nosily in the small bedroom.
But, most fortunately, no one's breathing was unbroken as the turtle at last slid the small piece of paper out from its confines, swallowing heavily before unfolding the paper with one hand, and reaching for the flashlight with his other as he perched, light directed at the small print directed in front of him:
Dear...Hamato Mikey, as I believe your name to be. Quite the charming name you have there. ^^ Most very interesting.
Your balloon was caught in a nearby branch near the Magnolia tree of the Home. I was just outside, admiring the scent and appearance of such rare and frail beauties....when what should my wandering eyes look upon-a crumpled barrage of silver! I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me-the balloon looked rather lovely in the sunlight. It sent a small, spectrumed rainbow near the roots of the tree whenever it caught the illumination. Twas quite nice.
But I could hardly let it sit in the tree all day, and pulled out my wheelchair to perch upon to retrieve it. It was a bit of a job-I'm hardly as young as I used to be-but I did manage, in the end. Bit of a small shame-it did look nice, where it was.
In any case, I was hardly expecting to find a namecard attached to the string! It was not damaged-and for that, I am grateful....it rained later that night, and another night alone in the twigs would have been the end of your notecard-along with your balloon.
It certainly was quite the sight for sore eyes, however. I'm merely happy that your name did not become too obscure in the time that it WAS caught in the brush.
Am not quite sure why I am writing. I recognized your handwriting as that of a child's-and I pondered the idea of you leaving your address to the balloon in case it should wander away-rather like one would leave an address to a dog or cat's collar. I am sorry to say that while your balloon is ruined....it did brighten up my day a bit, and I did wish to thank you for that.
It is getting late. Time passes, as is it's ought. I must have George send this out in the morning. Do take care.
Rosa. ^^
~*~*~
For a minute, Mikey just sat there, feeling a small but unmistakable smile curve up his face.
So she had been confused-but happy. Happy to see it. She had even responded.
Feeling a light bloom of warmth, Mikey's hands immediately scrambled for his nearby box of crayons, and his small sketchpad. Sprawling back into a sitting position, the turtle awkwardly flipped through the pages, searching for a clean sheet before hastily beginning to write.
Dear Rosa,
Hi! How are you? I am fine.
I can't believe someone actually got my letter!! Wicked awesome.
Mikey heavily inhaled. That seemed a good way to start. But what now?
The turtle bent over his work once again.
Thanks for responi-ripict-
Mikey paused, blinked, and scratched his head bewilderedly before resuming. Mikey's black crayon moved messily about the paper, fussily rubbing out the bad spelling attempts before beginning once again.
-talking back. I was really glad you did.
What was left to say after that? The turtle paused, and bit his lip.
He hadn't actually expected anyone to FIND his letter. It had more then certainly caught him off guard. He really should have thought this out.
Mikey shot an uneasy glance at the door.
What about Splinter? Would he mind if he knew the truth? Well, he'd certainly mind that Mikey was sneaking about on surface, but....
.....and that would end any chance of ever responding to Rosa-let alone converse with a human.
Mikey's eyes dulled, then brightened.
Surely, if the rat never found out-if he never had to ask-especially since he knew what the answer would be, anyway-
He grasped a green crayon, and partook it to the page.
I didn't think anyone would. And no-that wasn't what I was trying to do. But that's a pretty cool idea, anyways.
What's your favorite color? What d'you like to do?
That seemed okay to ask.
I live in New York City-the best one in the world. City, I mean.
I have three brothers. My favorite color is orange.
Do you like Vermont? Is it pretty? Do you live in a city? Or the suburbs? I've never seen them on anywhere but the telly.
What's a Magnolia tree? Did my balloon hurt any of the flowers? I hope it didn't. And, I'm really sorry if I did.
Mikey hesitated, then began to fold the small piece of paper into an envelope. He hesitated, unfolded it, and began to write again.
Will you write back? I won't mind if you do. Actually, it'd make me very happy, if you're not too busy.
And thanks. I like my name. I like yours, too. 'Rosa' sounds pretty.
It was an embarrassing thing to say, but Mikey liked the name. And it seemed like a good enough way to end a letter.
Except for...hold on...
I hope that you don't mind that I wrote back. Sorry if I bugged ya. My brother Raphael says that's what I do best.
Please write back soon (If you don't mind)
Mikey (Michelangelo, but I like Mikey better.)
With that, Mikey let out a small sigh, placed his letter and crayons on the table, and lazily flicked his light off before sinking back into his pillows.
He could find a way to mail the letter in the morning. For now, it was good.
Losing the war against his eyelids, Mikey at last gave in and folded, allowing the drowsiness to wash over him, whence sleep followed soon after-and he thought no more.
