The Silver Balloon

Letters From Beyond The Wall

書き言葉は中心を結合する! Mikeyおよびローザは単語の普遍的な奇跡に会う!

~*~*~

Konnichiwa, everybody. I hope you are well.

*Huggles.*

Forgive me for my lack of updates lately. I guess I've been a little dispirited, but I think I'm alright for the most part, now. Some complications in my family over custody rights have been risen to a boil...and it will later be resolved on Tuesday of next week. Wish me luck.

This chapter is dedicated to my very dear niichan, Mikell. Thank you for everything, my friend. Doomo arigatou gozaimasu.

Please, take care, y'all. And, for those of you who have seen 'Back to the Sewers,' you might recognize the reference to the episode, "The Incredible Shrinking Sterling" in this chapter. ^^

Quote:

"To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart."

~Phyllis Theroux

~*~


He wriggled underneath the comforting warmth of his pillows, blinking blearily in the darkness before closing his eyes once again with a muffled sigh, hand moving reflexively from where it lay on the quilt cover, absentmindedly tracing about the old blanket's stitched pattern repeatably.

The turtle had been dreaming that he had been wearing a fighter pilot's mask before taking off into the wild blue yonder in his envelope-shaped jet, zooming up into the tapestry of the sky before hurtling over odd, unfamiliar patches of land before enemy fire began bursting behind him.

He frowned lightly, and turned over-

But not in time to miss the pillows now being fired from the pursuing jet's launcher.

~*~*~

Poof.

Biff.

Biff, biff, biff, biff.

He scowled again in his slumber. The other letter-jet was still pummeling him with pillows. And now, he was beginning to feel it....

The turtle turned again as voices began to quietly resound in the room.

"Geez-he sleeps like he's dead."

Mikey made a mental note to return enemy fire as Donatello's voice resonated into the room.

"Poke it again, Raph. It might still be alive."

Another pillow bounced off of the now disgruntled, orange clad turtle as he groaned, shifted under the covers, and, at last, poked his head out from under the covers to meet a trio of faces similar to his own peering bewilderedly at him.

Raph absentmindedly chucked another pillow at him, but even the sleep-deprieved turtle could duck this oncoming missile before grudgingly climbing out of his hammock, yawning heavily as his feet meet the cool stone floor.

"H-Hey? What's the big idea?"

The little red clad turtle rolled his eyes before Splinter's voice resonated from the next room.

"My sons. Tell Michelangelo to rise-we have a lot to accomplish today. Breakfast will be getting cold if you do not hurry up."

Raph nodded vigorously at the growl that bubbled from Mikey's stomach.

"Yeah. What Sensei said-get your lazy shell in the kitchen before Splinta bops ya. We got places to see, things ta do."

Leo wearily sighed, and rolled his eyes from behind Raph.

"Mikey doesn't need a hearing aid, Raph. And I'm pretty positive Sensei didn't say it like that."

"Might as well have."

The turtle clad in blue just exhaled in response.

"Well, Mike-hurry up. Master Splinter's cookin' eggs for breakfast today."

Don shifted to one foot to the other.

"Race you guys there! I want them sunny-side up!"

The little scientist sprinted out of the room, leaving Raph to gag in indignation.

"Sunny-side up? Yeah, and why don't you just fry them on the sidewalk some time? Eccch! C'mon, Don-poaching them or making a quiche is the way to go!"

But the turtle was already sprinting away, and Raph scurried after, looking ready to pout as Leo prepared to make a dash for it.

"Quiche?! Poached?! I want in an omelet!"

The little blue-clad turtle began to make a rush for the door, paused, and curiously turned to Mikey, who was washing his face in the nearby basin.

"Coming, Mikey? If not, I'll just ask Masta' Splinter to make omelets and toast for each of us."

Mikey spluttered, sending hundreds of water droplets spinning in every direction.

"W-Wha?" He demanded, as if Leo had questioned the physics of the need to inhale and exhale oxygen.

"I want mine scrambled! Scrambled-ya hear me?!"

Leo just smiled, and shrugged before inching towards the door, dancing from one foot to the other.

"Then come ON, already, Mike!"

Michelangelo hastily scrubbed at his face, and, as Leo began to hurry from the room, glanced over at the small piece of paper still lying on his nightside table with a small sigh of relief. At least his brothers hadn't uncovered it. THAT was one explanation that would either end in someone runnin' to tattle on him to Master Splinter, or insist on accompanying him when he went topside.

And Mikey didn't really want that.

The turtle paused before reaching for a nearby towel-and, unlike his usual routine, actually wiped his tri-fingered hands before carefully reaching for his letter, folding it up into a small square, and slipped the small piece of paper under the thin orange cloth upon the turtle's head.

After a quick glance in the looking glass to confirm that his mask didn't look too irregular-it made crinkly sounds whenever he shifted his head, but that was reasonably controllable-the turtle smiled absentmindedly, then made a dash for the nearby entrance.

No way in HECK was he eating a poached egg....deviled, maybe.

But poached was just plain gross.

~*~*~

At least Master Splinter had had the forseen ordinance to prepare several eggs-though he had insisted that the turtles prepare them their own way. Donatello admittedly could hardly blame the rat-for such tiffs in the Hamato household were common.

At least Mikey's eggs were easy enough to make-though the turtle DID break the shells rather peculiarly, and had to awkwardly pick up the tiny fragments of shell from the gooey yolks. Mikey only prayed his hands would not be too eggy when he actually left his response to Rosa later in the small, aged wooden mailbox. If Rosa got his next letter, he wanted the page immaculately clean-which was most unlike the turtle. Mikey curiously felt his forehead as Splinter "helped" Leo with his own dish. Leo wasn't exactly handy in the culinary department, and had already burned two pieces of toast by mistake.

When all were finally seated at the table, Mikey pensively picked at his meal, throwing a curious glance at Raph-who was smearing ketchup on his eggs, much to Don's disgust-to Splinter, who rarely cared how his eggs were prepared, and simply ate his in quiet good humor-to Don, who had his eggs on toast with grape jelly-a feat that had Raph gagging from across the table-to Leo, who was ignoring his...rather well done eggs at the moment, and had switched to his grape juice, instead.

Mikey picked at his own breakfast, face downcast.

If his brothers knew about his new...correspondent of sorts, would they laugh at him? Tattle? Or both? The turtle moodily stabbed his fork into the canary yellow contents of his plate, and swiveled them around. He wasn't feeling very hungry anymore.

If they knew, they'd want to read his letter. Or speak to Rosa themselves. Mikey bit his lip, and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

He was well accustomed to sharing practically everything he owned with his family-and quite liked it. Pardoning the comics he sometimes retrieved from the rain gutters-no one but Mikey really cared about those-the few possessions or actions he COULD call his did mean something special to him.

Master Splinter preferred to teach the boys that their bond with one another was more important then any physical thing-but what about the letters? It wasn't getting one in return that was the most satisfying-though he'd been delighted from beyond all doubt last night when he had read Rosa's message.

It was the act of doing. Of knowing.

That was what made the thought precious to the little turtle-that, and that someone met only by the swiftest of chances-knew about him. And had cared enough to respond.

Mikey took a small sip of milk, his eyes downcast.

He loved his brothers to the hilt-and nothing would ever change that-but what would it be like if he actually kept this secret....secret? A secret that could be called his own? All his-though he was bursting to share it with someone.

But if you have a secret, you want to share it. If you share it-then you don't have one anymore.

And what if Leo DID tell Splinter the truth? Mikey wasn't too sure how the rat would react if he found out he was planning on corresponding to a human-albeit pretty much anymonously. It probably wouldn't end too well. For while the rat did not insist that humans were the epitome of evil-he hardly encouraged them to walk about topside.

Ever.

And, if he had known that Mikey HAD been meandering about on the surface....

The turtle swallowed heavily, causing milk to dribble down his chin. Splinter-who had been wiping his own chin-turned to look at Mikey with a raised eyebrow.

"Michelangelo. Drink in little sips. And don't play with your breakfast-eat it."

Thus, Mikey managed a shrug and a sheepish grin before resuming his meal as his brothers broke out into conversation once again.

"Gee, Mikey-what's wrong? I thought you had a bottomless stomach for an appetite!"

Mikey scoffed.

"Hey! You're to talk, Crater Mouth!"

While playful arguments broke around the table once again, and Mikey was invaraibly obliged to join in the conversation, he did make one final note:

He would keep this secret. And share it with Rosa, if she decided to correspond once again after his reply. It could hardly hurt to do that much.

The paper crackled ever so slightly as Mikey dug into his breakfast, but thankfully, no one noticed.

~*~*~*~

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.

Mikey liked the way the woman talked. The words sounded pretty. He read on.

-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.

From where the turtle perched on the sofa, he frowned absentmindedly at that.

Wheelchair....Wheelchair....

He had seen one of those on the television, right? On one of those Korean soap operas Splinter enjoyed so heartily. They had been pushing a little Japanese boy down a hallway clutching what looked to be a rather familiar looking green and purple plushie in one of those.

He had asked Donny about it-and the young Einstein had only vaguely said that wheelchairs were for people who couldn't get around easily-if at all. So, they remained sitting down-but just kept moving their seat.

Huh. Sounded like a good idea. If Donny could ever remake one or two of them, it would be awesome to have two to race up and down the sewers with-two pushing, two sitting....

He sighed dreamily at the thought. Now he was going to have to beg Donny to see if he couldn't replicate the effect of a normal "wheelchair."

But that brought up a peculiar thought in the small turtle. Why had Rosa been sitting on one near "The Home?" Was she sick? Did she break a leg? Probably not-seeing as she could stand-albeit kinda wobbily, as she put it.

He bent to look at the woman's spiky handwriting once again.

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. ^^

Well.

With the utmost care, Mikey pulled out the paper from underneath his mask, and carefully folded the piece into an envelope-shape. Shame he didn't have any real ones. But then again, it was extraordinarily lucky for Splinter to find any still useful stationary at all from the storm gutter. More then often, the storms simply tore the pages apart, and left a sodden mess in its wake.

Luckily, stamps-as long as they were complacently stuck onto their plastic paper-were a bit more resilient. The Hamatos rarely had use for stamps-and while Mikey occasionally liked to tug out a pretty-colored one to befit his latest masterpiece that was to be hung on the small plastic fridge they owned-they most often remained in the kitchen drawer most of the time.

Mikey carefully placed two stamps on the paper, wincing after he had licked each one. Post Office glue was hardly going to make it as a candy flavoring.

Raph had once said that if you didn't put the right number of stamps on the envelope, the post man would only deliver it halfway-before dumping it in some chasm deep within the Earth. Mikey didn't know whether or not that was true, but he thought he would rather not take a chance. Vermont was the next state over-hopefully two stamps would suffice. It had been what Rosa had done.

He tugged out Rosa's original letter (He had stored that in a shoebox he had buried under his comic collection) and envelope, clumsily copying the address with a small pencil. He certainly hoped the mailman could make out his writing well enough.

It was two in the afternoon-and training had ended just thirty minutes ago. The Hamatos were to go scavaging around half past-which was when Mikey hoped to be able to sneak to the surface and quickly deliver his letter before anyone took notice of his absence. He would just have to be quick on his toes-because there wouldn't be a chance later tonight. Normally, the turtles had to sort their new material once they got back-then immediately have a small wash, dinner, an actual bath, and bed.

Splinter would be up for quite some time tonight-probably longer then Mikey could stay awake. Apparently, he was watching Matthew and Veronica's wedding tonight-only for Steven and Kylde to announce that Matthew was, in actuality, Veronica's ex-half-brother-twice-removed. There would be no sneaking past the rat. Mikey had tried it in training-and regularly failed.

Nope.

He had this one shot, and had to take it-before Rosa forgot that he had sent a letter in the first place. Mikey didn't want to wait until tomorrow!

~*~*~

"Whether, whether, whether, whether, whether you like it or not...."

Mikey hummed to himself as he casually continued to skip the old rope, feet repeatably disappearing and reappearing in a blur.

"....weather, weather, weather, weather, weather is cold, warm, and hot!"

Raph groaned.

"Ah, geez-Mikey, c'mon, already, ya knucklehead. Masta' Splinta says we gotta get more stuff! Did ya fill your bag already?"

Mikey helplessly gestured to the already overstuffed sack beside him, looking bored.

"Yep. I can't help it that I'm faster then you, Raphey boy."

The red clad turtle just groaned again-but with Splinter three feet away, the little big guy was hardly willing to make too much of a fuss. Instead, he bent by the canal bank once again, something silver catching his eye.

Donatello hummed absentmindedly next to the rat while they sifted through the rain drains for anything that caught their interest, and Don was currently poking at a small, plastic toy robot with a stick.

Mikey anxiously shifted from one foot to the other, feeling apphrensive. Normally, the turtle rarely found sewer scouring a disagreeable activity. Quite the contrary, actually.

But today, he was so full of anticipation, he felt liable to explode as he anxiously twitched, unconciously pacing.

Dare he make a run for it already?

Mikey cleared his throat somewhat lightly, glancing down at his small, slightly wet bag.

"Um, guys? I'm going to...uh..."

What was the word Don so often used?

".....backtrack a bit. I think I saw something interesting back there that...I wanna go see, so until then, buh-b-"

"Michelangelo!"

Just as the turtle had been ready to leave, the rat's stern voice firmly broke out. Mikey winced as Splinter's onyx orbs flashed to him.

"Just what exactly are you doing? What is your hurry?"

Mikey just shrugged, heart pounding like a drum beneath his plastron.

"I dunno. Tell ya about it later. See ya!"

"Mich-"

And with that, the turtle took off, intersecting before Splinter could speak once again.

The old rat paused, then wearily groaned, his clawed hand under his chin.

~*~*~

At last.

The turtle hastily scurried up the rusted ladder, praying-from beyond all doubt-that one of his brothers would not follow.

Or worse-Splinter. The rat quite regularly threatened the turtles-beyond any doubt-to stay underground. Mikey whimpered as he thought of the many bottom-whackings he would receive if the rat knew that he had been up here ONCE....though Raph had already seemed to have forgotten the one time he had caught Mikey up there....

Forcing the sewer grate aside, Mikey took a grateful rush of the fresh air he so rarely had chance to breathe in, wincing as a hail of sunlight poured down from the heavens upon his own brow.

The turtle moved a hand to protect his eyes from the dazzling sunlight, though he had to admit-it felt good upon his skin. It felt nice. It felt right.

Mikey's heart sank as he cautiously inched towards a nearby torn box in the nearby alley, carefully pondering the road in front of him-and avoiding the smashed green powder of a broken bottle from behind him. People and their trash.

For a few minutes, he did not move. But not noting any cars, the turtle hastily tugged his cloak's hood over his head (Master Splinter noted that it could get drafty in the upper levels) and, without any other thought, tore across the street, breathing ragged as he forced open the old mailbox, and hastily pulled his letter from his pocket-only to thrust it in the mailing box once again.

Mikey sighed in relief as he began to remove his hand-only to brush it against something else. Curious, the turtle withdrew a tiny packet of paper-

One with his name upon it.

~*~*~

It had not taken long for Mikey to withdraw back near the old box, trembling fingers carefully prying the paper open.

Rosa had wrote something else? There was a small bulge in the tiny packet-one that was no larger then his fist-but what else had the woman to say? A PS, maybe?

As Mikey shakingly turned the opened packet upside down, something small fell into his hands, along with a thin scrap of paper. The turtle blinked, and considered the small, odd item in his hands for a moment or two.

What was this?

He shook it, looking puzzled. Mikey turned it about, felt the rather hard exterior, and shrugged absentmindedly before hastily tucking in the small scrap of paper into his pocket before dropping into the sewers once again-leaving behind the only sign that Mikey had ever indeed been topside at all-the rattling mancover.

~*~*~

As Mikey slid down to the bottom of the ladder, he pondered again the strange little....thing he now held in his hands.

What was it? What was Rosa trying to say with it?

The orange clad turtle started as Don's voice echoed over from the corner.

"Hey, MIKEY! C'MON! We're moving on to the next sector! You comin', or what?"

Mikey hastily stowed away the odd...whatchamacallit into his pocket before hurrying ahead.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"