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[one xREDballoon]

Nakajima Shiroi

Was she supposed to reply?

Shiroi kept her smile in place as the man checked his list, doing her best to keep from fidgeting. An exchange student, living in their house! How amazing that would be! Everybody was so sure she would sign up for it, and in a fit of reckless impulse, she had. Nakajima Shiroi, the girl who could make up for a whole welcoming party, they had called her once, for being the over-eager, enthusiastic student who always made everybody feel at home. 'How bad would it get,' she had told her friends, 'it's just a foreigner, and imagine if she were gorgeous and tall~!' Grinning, she had riled her friends into the same bubbly mood she always had, 'maybe she is fantastic at fashion! We could all go down to Harajuku for a shopping spree! Maybe paint our nails and change our hair styles? We oculd have a sleepover, girls' night out for all of us don't you think? Isn't that just so wonderful?' How the other girls had agreed, all cheer and joy, at the thought of a new addition to their little clique of close friends, and possibly a beautiful foreign girl at that, straight from the heart of the Western Cities.

And then, they had informed her that due to the mix-up, there would be no girl arriving after all.

At first, it was merely disappointment on Shiroi's part, shrugging, she had told her friends, and they then all went out for karaoke together just to comfort themselves.

But then, they informed her that due to the mix-up, there would be a boy arriving after all.

Now the girls were excited. Shiroi broke the news to them, grinning from ear-to-ear. A foreign boy they had shrilled, and Shiroi had winced, covering her ears. A foreign boy, a foreign boy! Would he be blonde and blue-eyed like those leading male characters in the recent dramas? Maybe he was the strong and silent type, who was secretly a gentle soul inside? Maybe he was the princely type, the kind who was affectionate and who would shower gifts all over his (girl)friend? Shiroi could feel the sweat drops beading on her head then, at the thoughts of her friends, who were now in a state of enthusiasm that she could not keep up with. It was true, it really could be as they said, but every time Shiroi considered it, she felt that somehow, she was a little less excited than she had been when they told her the exchange student would be a girl.

It's just another guy, she had thought, habitually twirling her brown hair as she stared at the message on her phone, I already share a home with two of them. How fun would another one be? Still, there was no helping the prickle of cheer that joined her every time she thought of it. It might just be one more guy, one who probably wouldn't be able to comprehend what in the world eye-liner was for, or tell the difference between mauve and indigo, but he was still a guest. A foreign guest, maybe he was different. Maybe he was nice and wouldn't tease her all the time like her elder brother, Eiji. Maybe he was actually able to converse intelligently and understand (or at least try to) what she was trying to say when she was discussing painting, and not blank out entirely like her younger brother, Hoshino. He would have to be different, this Colin Rothfuss boy, a totally different education system would have probably made him different, made him more intellectual and caring, maybe less insensitive and entirely sociable! He wouldn't have to be perfect, of course, Shiroi had scoffed, but if he were at least a little different from the two brothers she had - and her male classmates who only ever thought about sports and the gorgeous Sakamoto Haruka next door - then Shiroi was sure she could accept him completely happily.

The other girls would probably hate me for it, she thought, as they crowded into the purikura booth some five days previous, but worse comes to worse, I could simply arrange for him to be sent somewhere else... Or I could just ignore him. She plastered on her usual smile over her thoughtful face for the camera, and posed as the machine counted down to zero with a cheerful trill.

Certainly, Shiroi thought, it won't be too bad for me either way.


[ o x o ]


"This is Rothfuss-san."

"..."

He was completely not what Shiroi had expected.

Though to be honest, she had not had any particular expectations, merely that he would somehow be different from her brothers and classmates. Unconsciously however, Shiroi had not been able to resist drawing a mental image of the boy in her mind. She had envisioned him to be tall, really tall, maybe even six feet or so. After all, weren't most westerners that height? He had thought he would be blonde, at least, thanks to her friends insistence that it was exceedingly common for westerners to have blond hair, as bright as the sun in summer. He would be tanned, she supposed, since most of her classmates were usually quite pale-skinned, and what with all those sports the west had, she was almost certain he would be quite tanned.

He wasn't any of that.

He as maybe a few inches taller than her, nothing particularly drastic, just another guy scraping his way along the extreme ends of the five-foot scale. He pale and skinny, a clear indication that he would be in no way involved in sports, she supposed. She was still studying him as he was forced into a bow, a fact that particularly grated on her just then. Did he perhaps really have no manners? Kyoko had warned her about it, about the drastic differences between the western and eastern ideas of manners. And she had added, waving a finger knowingly, since he's a guy, it might be even worse. Shiroi had remained optimistic, but it seemed, it was lost on him. With a slight air of displeasure, she returned the gesture, with affected politeness. She was surprised when he bowed again, and that made her marginally happier with him. Maybe he wasn't functioning that well because he was suffering from a bout of jet lag? Shiroi turned on him with a sympathetic air then. The horrors of the tired blur that occurs after waking up - nothing a good cup of coffee wouldn't settle however. At the thought, she brightened, just as her stomach growled at her. She sighed.

"Now, be sure to express our thanks to your parents for agreeing with the little mix-up we've had with housing this year. If there's any concerns, they're welcome to call our offices, and we'll see about getting Colin moved."

Immediately she straightened, and bobbed her head with the same smile and polite air. "I'm sure Rothfuss-san won't be that much trouble, he looks a nice guy." she said, off-handedly, in a way that could almost be considered even a little impolite.

"It seems that Colin is very near a fluent level in Nihongo. Though, he'll probably come off as a little formal." She watched as he lowered the clipboard, intently listening to make sure he didn't think that she was somehow ignoring him, "So... communicating shouldn't be a problem."

"If it comes down to it, I won't mind having to speak english. I guess. What a relief though!" she replied cheerfully, sneaking a glance at the boy, noting how quiet he was. "Thank you for all the trouble you've gone through," she added, as the man excused himself and left them, waving at him politely and managing to squeeze in a hasty bow.

Now, she turned to him, facing him fully in her usual style. Her usual slightly intimidating way of greeting people, as she bowed at him, a shallow bow for equals she made sure, and held out a hand. "My name is Nakajima Shiroi. I don't know how it goes in your country, but I would prefer if you could call me Shiroi. It is a pleasure to meet you." An introduction, brisk and concise, but polite nevertheless and it served its purpose. She flashed him a smile, one of her signature ones, as she gestured to his suitcase. "Would you like me to help you with anything? My brother was nice enough to give me a lift today since I was running late, and the car park is quite nearby. Come, follow me,"

[one xREDballoon]

tomato#3D9140cornflowerblue

Hinata Ueda
He'd like to believe that he is perfectly normal.
Slow Rain x » x ACIDMAN

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

【卐】 the records show ↓

☠ { hear.it.spoken.in.hushed.words }

Hinata (陽向) x » x literally "to face the sun", denoting honesty and openness of personality.
Ueda (植田) xx » x surname, literally "(a) paddy field".
The Japanese generally do not possess middle names.

Hinata x » xNobody has any problem reading his name out in full. It was, just three syllables, with clear distinct pronunciations that were indeed easy enough to articulate. While it is supposedly only a sign of closeness that the first name is used on its own, years of studying and conditioning to the western society, he's learnt to accept it. Slap on a suffix - preferably -san, or -kun if you are really that close - if a native Japanese speaker, or stick to it on its own if otherwise. Really, Hinata himself doesn't mind.


☠ { counting.the.years }

1O + 1O + O2 equals to TWENTY - TWO ?!


☠ { where.you.fit.in }

A not-so-enthusiastic, absolutely reluctant psychiatrist.

Isn't he a little too young to be a legalized psychiatrist?
Yes indeed he is. Before the war, he had merely been a student, with all sorts of honours to his name, and even a scholarship from the Council of Psychotherapy that had funded his entire stay as a student at the university as he battled through thick textbooks and mind-numbing details of various psychological disorders to major in the field. He was a bright kid, he had a bright future, everything could have been absolutely perfect.

And then came the war, and everything was gone.


☠ { born.to.be }

No matter how much he might look otherwise, no matter how much he may act otherwise,
Hinata was born to run on 1OO% pure testosterone, and will thus forever remain as a male.


☠ { the.curse.that.is.overbearing }

Hinata was cleared with having a perfectly functioning body, and a mind that suffered from nothing apart from intelligence and a photographic memory.
But you know what they say about psychiatrists: it probably won't take very long.

【卐】 the personal information included ↓

☠ { this.is.what.you.see }

"Ah, Mrs Ueda! I see you have brought your child along! How pretty! Would this be little Hinata you've told me about? Why, she is certainly a charming little girl!"
"I apologize Ms Bloomfield, but Hinata is my son."

The existing medical records that belong to Hinata Ueda states that he is below the US height average for males of 1.77 metres, for he stands at only 1.67 metres, around 5 foot 5 inches, at last measure. The records also state that he is in the normal weight range, though perhaps scraping a bit near to the underweight range, at only 52 kilogrammes or 114 pounds. But that is all that the records state.

For example, the records have never stated that Hinata was born a brunet, in the very sense of the word. Dark black hair, always a bit overgrown, always raggedly cut at the edges, is what grows on his head. Despite the careless handling and the rough treatment, his hair is perhaps one of his best features. Smooth and fine, it rests on his head without a fuss, all glossy and silken without the owner actually ever bothering to keep it the way it is. With such fine, beautiful hair, one might think that Hinata at least bothers to, you know, care for it, even a little. Maybe brush it to make sure it's not a vicious mass of tangles (something it rarely ever is), maybe bother to get it cut by someone who knows what they're doing. The very least he could do was to not mistreat it. Oh no. When Hinata had been younger, he had a habit of cutting off the ends of his hair whenever it irritated his eyes with a pair of scissors. Or a penknife. Something sharp would do. Anything sharp did the job actually. His parents were not particularly pleased with his way of dealing with his hair, but somehow, they failed to say anything about it, and he continued to shear at it when it started to annoy. But as he grew older, and went to university (which he never actually completed), he simply decided that he had no time for his hair. All he would do was wash it, and that was that. And so, the raggedly ends grew out and was swept aside, and so he ended up with the hair he has, always a bit overgrown, always a bit ragged at the edges, but always smoothed and tame, framing his face with their uneven lengths.

His face is nothing particularly special, to him at least. When he was young, he had the fresh full face of a child: big dark eyes, framed with equally dark long lashes, a small nose and a mouth that looked to be the definition of a "shallow-cupid's-bow". Indeed, he had looked very much like a girl when he was young. Nobody denied it. Nobody could deny the semblance he bore to the other female children of his age then. Even the narrow eyes and their piercing clarity as he shifted his attention to solely focus on one subject, were disregarded and simply treated as part of his girlish features. Even those high cheekbones and forehead, even that sun-burning translucent skin he had, and especially those full lips of his. He could have passed as a girl for his entire childhood if he so wished. But he had not, and as such, the fair-skinned and petite boy went to school, his fragile looks often subject to teasing. This, he decided, he could endure. After all, he hadn't reached high school, he hadn't reached puberty. Ah, wait till then, he'd change, then all would be right.

He hadn't realised he'd put too much hope in that.

When he graduated to freshman status, it was clear that change was going to be, by no means, drastic. Yes, he was going to retain those high cheekbones and that smooth forehead. Yes, he was going to retain those full, soft lips and the fine pinkish tint they had. Yes, he was going to retain his paleness, and purposeful exposure to the sun was just going to burn him. Seems like there wasn't much hope for him to escape his state of effeminacy after all. What he couldn't understand, was why. His brow was strongly defined, and so was his jawline to some extent. His eyes were narrow, not as much as some, but definitely more so than the regular females, with its dark, intense stare that some people find strangely enchanting. Even his profile was relatively sharply-defined and not softly drawn like a woman's. Yet, in spite of all this, his features join together to form the soft visage of the opposite sex, as infuriating as it was.

To further aggravate him it seems, Hinata's body also decided to conform to the overall image then. From the slender childish body of the young, he grew up to the leaner, lankier body of the youths. But even then, he was never particularly well-built, nor tall. Never when he was still outside and free before the war, and definitely not now with his long hours and endless report-writing. He finds it ridiculous, the amount of times he has had to speak to people with his head thrown back, and he finds it demeaning how everybody seems to talk down to him. Maybe it was why he didn't talk that much any more. And maybe, it was also why he stopped joining sports because he knew sure as hell basketball wasn't going to make him any taller or fill him out properly. It was as though he stopped trying altogether to change anything. His parents used to worry about him, the pale little kid of theirs that refused to bloom into adolescence with grace and colour like his peers, their dull and sickly-looking kid who avoided the sun and sports like a vampire. But it seems, there was no helping it. Hinata was Hinata, and if he was to remain pale and slender, he would remain as such.


☠ { the.wheels.turning.inside }

Psychotherapy (n.) /sī'kō-thěr'ə-pē/
An intentional interpersonal relationship between two or more people, based on emotions like love and liking, regular business interactions, or some other type of social commitment, used by trained psychotherapists to aid a client or patient in problems of living.


People look at the practice that Hinata is trained in, and they think "Ah, he must be like those guys, the friendly, eager-to-listen types who are always willing to help!". Of course, if this was the norm, then Hinata has broken through the mould: he is nothing close to that. He was made for the life of a researcher, an isolated little nucleus of brains and knowledge, constantly abuzz and at thought or reading, lonely but self-sufficient. Hinata was not made for socializing. He was not made, for any sort of long-term relationships either, for he was the type who was willing to give up on his friends for a good book and maybe a cup of tea. Yes, he was exactly the time people would like to refer to as the cold type. Except of course, Hinata doesn't secretly yearn for company. He is entirely self-sufficient, company is tolerated, but not exactly wanted, though intelligent conversation is a much appreciated factor in most of his relationships. He, being something of a judgemental person, prefers intelligence in his contacts over anything else. Be it appearance, personality or status - as long as he or she were capable of conversing intelligently, of thinking and contemplation, of making him think and contemplate, then they would have most likely found their way into his good books. Hinata would like to think that he is merely being efficient, filtering out on the useless wastage of his valuable time, but really, he merely doesn't know what he is missing out on.

Hinata is proud. Most people can tell that, if not from the way he holds himself, then by the way he walks, and especially the way he speaks. The self-assured tone is the clearest indicator of what he thinks of himself: quite a fair bit of pride, for someone who people constantly talk down to due to height or age. Perhaps this egoistic aspect was a result of his years of being adored and rather spoilt by his parents, and by the awed arm's-length his peers put him safely at. But regardless of where this deadly personality flaw comes from, it is there, and it strikes hard. Being too proud, Hinata finds it easier to not have something than to know he could have something. Example? Think sour grapes: the fox who decided he didn't like the grapes when he couldn't have them. Hinata is like that, the sort of person who, instead of trying to get something, chooses to give it up after only a few tries. As long as he tried, he will be content. It doesn't matter if he tried hard at all, even a few pathetic attempts will count - Hinata never actually quite believed in putting in effort into things. On that count, he could be considered somewhat lazy, choosing to while away his time on what he likes rather than what he should be doing. He is neither driven nor task-orientated. All that matters is himself, and what he himself likes. Come hell or high water.

Of course, Hinata isn't all bad bones and selfish pride. He does have his nice moments too. While being openly affectionate is beyond him, he finds his own ways to express his fondness. Sure, he probably won't be hugging people on the street or kissing anybody in public (even harmlessly on the cheek) for a long time, he doesn't find it beneath himself to harmlessly, every once in a while, sneak in a kind word or two. "I love you" is too much to ask for, as it is for someone of his type, but something innocent like "I always enjoyed speaking with you" is actually a very clear indicator of his feelings. He won't express his feelings outright, whether he likes or dislikes, he won't say anything, but if one learns to understand his language, one finds, that in his own way, Hinata is actually quite expressive already. And is it any wonder, that people find him so very hard to understand but he cannot seem to comprehend why? Maybe they're not trying hard enough to understand this guy and his convoluted sense of pride.

People find it exceeding hard to believe it, but Hinata is actually quite the radical. He may coop himself in a corner, and not speak much, but his thoughts and ideas are bold, extreme even at certain counts, a trait that he found early in life, and one he hoped to hone to fine sharpness with research. Fresh blood and fresh thinking brought about new fresh ideas - Hinata had looked forward to that, but never actually had a chance. But that won't stop him. If he had ever learnt anything, it was that it was always better to be doing. Yes, he isn't the least bit shy about anything - particularly when it involves his ideas or beliefs. If he thinks he is right, he battles out the debate over it to the very end, even when logic runs dry, and all he is speaking on is pure pride. Neither is he shy to approach people if he needs their assistance of any sort. While he still has an aversion to the word 'help' like many egoists are, he retains just enough of that much needed modesty for him to actually open his mouth and call for additional guidance if he thinks he really cannot manage. If his theories need testing on another human subject, he won't hesitate to ask either, even if it means earning him one or two strange looks, even an insult or two. Some people, they say, are beyond humanity, submerged in the world of their own thoughts and ideas. One of them, is Hinata, the one who can transcend and endure all for the sake of theory.


☠ { turn.back.the.clock.hands }

This story, like many others, begin with another story. It began with the story of Arata and Kotone Ueda, the happily married couple. But of course, it goes further back than that, to the day when they first met on the streets of Harajuku. Ah, coincidental love, the very essence of hollywood and much else besides. Though of course in the real world nothing was really as it seems, and people did not actually happen to meet at first sight and live happily ever after. No indeed. When Kotone Ueda (then known as Kotone Suzuki) first met the man who was to be her future husband some seven years later, he had his arms around another woman, a smiling one, as happy as a lark. "Oh, Kotone!" exclaimed the woman, whose face upon focus morphed immediately into the familiar visage of her close friend Misako, straightening immediately with the same dizzy smile on her face, "How nice to see you here! Shopping? Oh dear, here, I believe you haven't met him..." She had smiled, and bowed politely as the introductions were made, and then not five minutes later, they had left each other, shoulders brushing as they greeted each other a fine day of shopping ahead. They would never realise they would meet again, just five months later.

"Oh hello," he had greeted her one day, catching her off-guard in her little black dress and updone hair, "I believe we've met. Kotone Suzuki wasn't it?" His forwardness had been attractive, and so had been his upbeat personality. She enjoyed the way he chattered, on and on and on, about this artist and that, fondly referring to them by their first names, and seeming to know them just as well. Kotone had taken a liking to him immediately, and with a smile as he dropped her off at her doorstep that night she had told him, "I never expected to see you again. I hope you are treating Misa-chan well."

He had shrugged as he turned, a small smile on his face. "We broke up just yesterday."

And somehow in spite of their rather strange beginnings, they fell in love, enough to marry.

From Japan, they moved, catching a plane and applying for citizenship in the new strange lands of the west. On the outskirts of the bustling Drayton, near enough, but not quite so. It was there that they settled, rebuilding their lives from scratch. Kotone seeking forth to find her place in the world of art, armed with nothing but a paintbrush and her endless energy, while Arata decided his skills were better employed in the corporate field. It was a life that both of them never envisioned: it was perfect. And when Hinata himself was born, he was born a blessing.

He was loved.

Or more exactly, he was absolutely adored. The Uedas thought Hinata probably the best thing that ever came their way, and were quite unafraid to show it. They praised everything he did right and were optimistic with what he did wrong. They told their friends and relatives about him, as were new parents wont to do, and proudly bragged about him to everyone who would listen. Hinata grew up in a life where he would never know what it was like to want. But he didn't live in the world of the spoilt in which he had all either. No, his parents knew better than that, and so did the aunties and uncles who saw the child, in all his awkward childish prettiness. "Give him everything his needs," they insisted, even as Hinata would turn down his lips into a fine pout when he saw something he actually wanted, "But for heaven's sake, don't give him everything he wants." Though of course, nobody could actually resist the pout of a child his age, and a pretty one at that.

As Hinata grew, it became apparent that he was... different. He didn't notice it himself at first, but steadily, as he rose through school with perfect grades, as he went on to take on the hardest courses they could throw at him, it became very clear that he was different. The kid was a genius. Well, Hinata doesn't approve of the term himself, but it was what the school counsellor told his parents, in awe, showing them the results of the school's routine IQ test. "He broke the school record! An IQ of 162! He is a genius, Mr and Mrs Ueda, there is no denying it!" Confused at the apparent ingenuity of their son, they had glanced at him, at his demure posture as he sat there silently, regarding them with dark eyes, a gaze that evidently had the maturity of someone beyond ten years. Somehow, it wasn't too hard to believe that.

It is hard to say what it was that drew him into the field of psychology. Even he himself seems to have doubts as to what he saw in the field. Perhaps it was the fact that the subject was constantly changing and fluid, alive. Perhaps it was because it dealt with the brain, a complex and fascinating organ. Perhaps, Hinata simply decided to go for it because nothing else appealed to him. Either way, he quickly found himself in the classes, sitting through lectures and battling through textbooks, swallowing information by the pageful and throwing them back down onto paper in essays. Nobody was surprised either when he graduated from college with top marks for his major, and was immediately offered a scholarship by the university in Sidham. Nobody was surprised either when he shrugged and signed up for the offer, in spite of the crushing courseload that came with it. Hinata was Hinata, they whispered, a genius like him, he could handle it, even if it meant him uprooting altogether and moving into the lesser town of Sidham. The government will take care of him anyway, the same voices whispered as he passed, he's a talent, they're probably on their knees and crying right now that he accepted.

But it seemed, what was to be a simple life as a university student was about to be abruptly halted.

The war came.

There was the scramble as always, in the beginning. People everywhere fleeing for their lives, trying to gather everything they have for their final departure, cramming onto buses and trains and boats in a valiant effort to escape the war. Hinata soon found himself one of the frantic students of the university, applying for extended leave with the warden of his dormitory.

Needless to say, his leave to return home to his parents in Drayton was rejected as soon as it was applied for.

"I'm not supposed to be here! My parents are still back home in Drayton! As much as that, I'm supposed to be part of Drayton, not Sidham! Why the hell are you detaining me here?"

"You know kid, you don't look stupid, so let me say this to you, just once. You're in the territory of Sidham, it is by the grace of the government that you're here at all. If you don't want to join the rest of the P.O.Ws and receive a bullet in your head, you had better shut your mouth. Understand?"

It soon became very clear also, that his life as a student was going to end. The government wasted no time in closing down the schools and the dormitories altogether, and Hinata with countless others were left purposeless and homeless. Whoever that served useful in the battlefield was enlisted, whoever that could help manufacture weapons was pulled into the workforce, as much as they could, the government fought to push the students into their field of work, ignoring the fact that they could have been unqualified due to the incomplete education, ignoring the fact that they knew nothing of the practise, and possessed nothing but pure theory. It was also the same reason why Hinata, forced to give up his bright future ahead as a researcher, and was instead pushed into working at the asylum. Forget that he was lacking a full five years worth of theory and internment, forget that he was still only twenty-two - it was war down here, the government had no time, no money and absolutely no space for a student. Either he worked, or he went out to the battlefield and waste his talent and his life devoted to study. Reluctant but without a choice, Hinata found himself at the doorstep of the asylum where he was to work at from that day on, possessing nothing but his own sheer intelligence and perhaps a change of clothes, that were replaced by the standard issue lab coats anyway.

This was certainly not the life he wanted.

【卐】 who controls you ↓

☠ { bring.out.the.color }

He moves, he thinks, he speaks and he writes.
Oh, a perfectly functioning human being he is!


☠ { pray.to.this.god }

one xREDballoon

[one xREDballoon]

wнατ cαn you cнαnge x » x lιττle sunflower ?

________________________________________ Limits don't mean anything in words,
________________________________________ I declare, let us start a revolution!
______________________________________________________________ Like a shooting star,
______________________________________________________________ Beyond the flow of time,
______________________________________________________________ No one can stop us,
______________________________________________________________ So, let us venture beyond the door,
______________________________________________________________ Let us jump upon the bridge of hope.

•••xxx Slaves' Quarters, Theron Household; 2.26am

It was always a dark and stormy night when bad things happened.

He glared up at the sky, holding out a hand to confirm his suspicions as the sky loomed menacingly ahead, dark and grey. It annoyed him. It never did anything but. The sky, threatening rain, the bright flashes, the pure stark white light of lightning, the low rumbles of an imminent thunderstorm - all this never did anything but irritate him to the extremes. Another rainstorm, another night of thunder, lightning and the insistent patter of rain on the windows, battering in with all the fury of a battle-hungry monster. It was noisy, it was cold, it was depressing - there was nothing - nothing - likeable about the regular thunderstorm.

As a droplet of rain splashed onto his outstretched hand, Hinata was reminded once again of the other things he should now be doing. A perfectly good example, being sleeping. It was late, the sky and its ominous darkness was a clear indicator, the fact that there were no lit lamps was another. The household was asleep, peacefully tucked away, under blankets and quilts, resting on mattresses and floors, all fast asleep till the sun rose the next day. Perhaps indeed, he was the only one awake. It was so quiet after all, not even a murmur of wind as it breezed through the windows, pulled ajar invitingly, playing with the sparse simple curtains that were drawn. Really, how was he going to get up tomorrow if he didn't at least catch an hour's rest for tomorrow? Hinata glanced up at the sky again, through the iron bars of the window, out at the moonless expanse of grey. Was that why the sky was so dark then? He pondered a while, pale hands clasping at the cold metal of the window bars as he pulled his face closer, was it so dark because the moon was missing? That was a strange thought, Hinata commented to himself, why hadn't he considered that before? The sky was the sky, it was bright and blue when the sun was out. It was bright and blue because the sun was out. It would be the same for the night sky then wouldn't it? It was dark and gloomy without the moon!

A crackle of thunder woke him from his musings, and he shook his head with a smile at himself. How silly, wasting so much time on whether or not the sky was dark because of the moon (or lack thereof). What did it matter if the sky was light or dark, if the moon was there or not? Tomorrow, the sun would rise, and it would be yet another day, regardless of whether the moon had been present the previous night. The world would move on, and if he didn't stop the useless waste of brain space, it would move on without him, whether he slept or not.

And, he had better get some sleep lest he keel over in the midst of his chores.
He was sure the head slave wouldn't like that very much.

Then he remembered, remembered that the head slave probably didn't care about him any more. Or actually, he wouldn't even have the power to bother over him the next day. Suddenly, Hinata recalled why exactly he had been struck down by insomnia, why he had been sitting up and laying around instead of trying to get some sleep: he was leaving the next day. More exactly, they were giving him away. They didn't bother to tell him of course, the heads in the household never actually bothered to tell their servants anything, much less their slaves. No, he had heard, and it was not some unreliable tidbit from the grapevine either, he had heard for himself, while passing by the door. At this, he felt a small smirk tug his lips. The head of the slaves probably wouldn't be too pleased to hear that he was eavesdropping from behind doors either. Then again, the head of the slaves never liked him either, not when he was first purchased from his poor mother out of pity, and definitely not now, a mere span of about seven years later. The head slave really couldn't be bothered with another youngling who knew nothing, especially one who did not know his place, not then, certainly not now when he was old and petty. Hinata twirled a lock of his dark hair, playing with it as he contemplated, releasing the window to climb under the thin blanket that marked out his "bed space" on the floor of the rather cramped room. The Theron's had not been bad masters, no indeed, they had been - at a stretch - quite nice really. They were not unkind people, they simply lacked a care for beings that they deemed below their status: the main reason why Hinata, like so many others, was forced to share the tiny room he was in now at night. It wasn't a terrible lodging space, it was a roof at least, and there was a window that faced in the right direction for the occasional breeze, but it wasn't good by any means either.

Unless of course, the idea of thirteen men cramped into one room was one's idea of good.

There was a grunt when Hinata moved, probably the result of his attempt to sidle over to the wall. He prepared an apology as his dark eyes focused on the dark silhouette, but then dismissed the idea as he grumbled and went back to sleep. He probably wouldn't remember it tomorrow either, Hinata decided with a small shrug as he pushed his back against the wall firmly, and curled up on his side, unless he was lucky enough to get a bruise... Which was highly unlikely... His thoughts were trailing by now, was he perhaps sleepy? So soon? He could have laughed then, at himself, at the small whorl of excitement that had abandoned him so quickly. Where had that eagerness gone he wondered, as he closed his eyes, noting the slight change in his field of vision, from the darkness of an unlit room to that of lowered lids, did he no longer look forward to tomorrow? Had he decided that he had hallucinated when he heard the master say, with frightening clarity despite the door, "I believe that boy Hinata would make the perfect gift"?

Questions, questions, questions... Hinata sighed softly as he felt himself slip towards slumber, he had no time for questions any more, he had always had too many of them anyway. Besides, wouldn't he know everything tomorrow?

"Tomorrow..." He whispered, quite unconsciously, in his drowsy state, "Everything... tomorrow."



[ ••• ]

•••xxx Theron Household; 5.35am


"Oi, Hinata! Wake up, the head guy is a-lookin' for yer."

So he did sleep after all. His eyes snapped open faster than his brain had time to accustom to his waking state, and he soon regretted it as his head began to spin. Was it morning already? Damned, that was faster than he anticipated. It seemed like he had only closed his eyes for maybe a minute or two before this wake-up call. He had to do something about the insomnia, seriously. It was really bright in the room also, and as he clambered up to a sitting position, his eyes were already watering and blurring his vision all over again. Damned. He really didn't like waking up in the morning.

"I'm up, I'm up." He assured the other, waving one free hand in acknowledgement as he rubbed furiously at his eye with the other, erasing the fatigue and tears with his sleeve cuff roughly. "Just, one minute..." The other slave merely sniffed at him, shrugging as though to say "well whatever then", as he turned to leave. Hinata wasted no time in getting up then, rising unsteadily to his feet, swaying a little with vertigo as his brain fought to accustom to being awake and functioning with the little rest it had been given. Out of sheer willpower, he took one step forward, nearly tripping over the body of another person, still fast asleep on the floor. Really, what in the world was wrong with people? Wasn't it the time that everyone got up anyway? He blinked as he looked around, with the freshness of being newly-awake. It was to his irritation that everybody, every one of the other twelve men that shared the cramped room, was still fast asleep. Much like a fool, he was the only one awake. What in the world? Was it a prank or something? He certainly had no interest in waking up at some inane hour if nobody else was. God knows he needed the sleep. Annoyed, he was just about to sit down when the other guy popped his head in by the door again.

"Oi. I said the head guy's lookin' for yer. You deaf or what, nancy?"

"It's Hinata. I heard you the first time."

And carefully, he tiptoed his way through the cramped room, his feet barely able to find the floor in the mass of slumbering people, and more than once, he thought he felt himself step on something that was not the hard wooden floor. He winced. They were not going to forgive him if they found out. But regardless, as he threaded his way through, he managed to somehow reach the door with minimum casualties. With a look of clear irritation, he half-glared at the man who had woken him up. All he got in return was a far more irritated stare. This wasn't the head slave, Hinata noted, realisation setting in quite late, it was just another one of his minions. In a minute, he could probably think of his name. Judging from the mousy brown hair and eyes, it would most likely be another James or Damian or something. The Theron's had a strangely large number of them anyway, he was probably just another. "Stop starin'. Move," the statement was paired with a shove at his shoulder, and Hinata felt his irritation rise. This guy, woke him up at the most ungodly hour when everybody was asleep, and was now ordering him around? What in the world was wrong with people nowadays?

But he obliged anyway, more out of lack of anything else to do if anything. Treading the cold wood-panelled floors with bare toes, climbing the stairs and taking care to shut any doors gently. When they finally arrived however, the head slave - a man in his mid-forties with a noticeable lack of black hair - merely gave him a disparaging glance and waved him away. What? So the head guy was that kind of moron, the type to wake people up at ungodly hours just to take a look at them then send them back to sleep. What was he? Too free? He was about to comment on the whole affair when someone grabbed his arm from behind and dragged him away from the room altogether. "I can walk you know," he snapped pointedly at his assailant, as he stumbled and regained his footing once more, "I know you feel an inane urge to prove your strength and prowess, but spare my arm at least."

"Oh shut up nancy."

"I did just remind you, it's Hinata."

But whether or not he heard, Hinata was pushed through a heavy door regardless. With a sarcastic comment ready, he had turned and was about to complain quite plaintively at him when he realised where he was standing. It was room that was longer than it was wide, tiled white on the floors and the walls. The ceiling was high, and slightly fogged with steam. There was a long mirror on one side, slightly rusting at the edges where Hinata stood close to. It was the bathroom, he realised, and with narrowed, questioning eyes, he turned on the brown-haired man who had been nothing but bad news since he was rudely awoken that morning. "What?" He stated, rudely, with an obviously perturbed air as the other rolled up his sleeves.

"Shower o' course. You can't expect to arrive on other people's doorsteps looking like a dirty drown'd cat can you?"

Other people's doorstep? Anyway, he most certainly could bathe himself. As long as they gave him the soap and the water. And surely, as the other turned the wheel on the wall, the shower turned on, and a cascade of hot water poured from the spout set in the wall opposite the mirror. Hinata stared it for a moment, remembering that slaves usually showered with cold water. What was this weird treatment they were giving him? He didn't have time to think as he was pushed under the water, soaking him through, regardless of shirt and trousers.

It was really not going to be a good day.

This he quickly realised, along with the fact that the other guy was something of a cleanliness freak. Hinata was sure that his skin was red raw by the time he had finished scrubbing him down. Especially when he was doused with water that felt like it could cook an egg, it was not at all a pleasant feeling. "Can't I bathe myself? Why do you have to peel me alive anyway?" Hinata grumbled as finally the other gave up and turned the heavy wheel, shutting off the water. A thick towel was thrown onto Hinata's head before he answered, all the while seeming as though he was trying to sandpaper the younger boy into dust with the force he used to towel the dark black hair dry. Hinata thought he felt more than one strand parting with his scalp already.

"Think o' it as a baptism of sorts. Anyway, you're a slave, who knows the kind of filth you get have stuck to you."

"I'd like to think of myself as about as clean as circumstance allowed." Hinata replied scathingly, as he snatched the towel from his grasp and dried himself on his own, "And I expect you want me to go around the place dressed in the towel too of course?" The other smirked at him, but offered him a change of clothing that Hinata wasted no time in putting on. Combing through his unevenly cut black hair, Hinata only had time to glance at himself in the mirror before he was forced to scurry after the man once more, following him to god-knows-where once again.

But it was just the entrance of the house that he was led to.

He glanced down the steps, the same steps that he had to sweep just yesterday. Perhaps that was what they were bringing him here for. The cleanliness freaks they were wanted him to sweep the stairs again. This thought was quickly expelled when he was pulled down the stairs briskly, nearly missing his footing on more than one step as he tried to catch up and match his speed.

At the foot of stairs awaited horses, just three of them, all stallions and finely cared for. Hinata was not at all excited however when the other guy pushed him insistently towards the roan horse and told him to get on. "I... can't ride a horse." He managed, as he stood by the animal, looking quite disturbed, "I don't know how." The guy only looked impatient as he slipped the reins down so that he could hold on to them. Ungainly and clumsy, Hinata could feel himself flush furiously as he mounted the horse with just as much grace as a duck according to the instructions he was given. But he managed it regardless, and with gritted teeth, he had to stop himself from shivering when he noticed the height he was now at. He really didn't like horses. Anyway, who let their slaves near horses anyway? As the other horse was quickly taken by the head slaves, Hinata felt a small squeak of terror leave his lips as his horse was led forward to stand by the last vacant horse. This, the brown-haired man himself mounted, skilfully, as though he were used to it, after tying down the reins of Hinata's horse to his. And so the procession went, Hinata clinging on to dear life while the other two kept up a cheerful chatter ahead.

Really, what was it with people of a higher rank? Hinata thought, with a fury that could only be brought on by terror.

At last, they stopped.

Hinata, who had only just gotten used to being rocked about and jerked quite violently by the horse who quite obviously realised that his rider knew nothing about riding, was then made to dismount. And thus, repeated the terrible affair of getting down from the dreadful height. Hinata could feel his legs buckle as his feet touched solid ground, and it was sheer pride that kept him from falling to the ground with relief. Tethering the horses, they brought him onwards, the head slave only bothering to poke his shoulder to keep him moving, while the other had a hand hovering by his back, ready to give an enthusiastic push when he slowed. At this pace, they led him on, and up the stairs of the house.

Belatedly, Hinata realised that they really were giving him away.

The head slave knocked on the door then, shaking him from his thoughts. "Excuse me!"


x ❧ x Hıиαtα Uedα x

[one xREDballoon]

To ten million FIREFLIES
I'm weird 'cause I hate good-byes
I got misty eyes as they said farewell (they said farewell)

But I'll know where several are if my dreams get real bizarre


Leave my door open just a CRACK
I feel like such an insomniac,
And why do I tire of c o u n t i n g sheep?

Even when I am far too tired to fall asleep


I'd like to make myself BELIEVE
That planet Earth turns s x l x o x w x l x y x ...
It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep

Everything is never as it seems when x I x fall x asleep

αnd peαce ιs noт тhe heroιne тhαт shouтs αbove тhe cαuse
ιт's noт тhe sтuff тhαт kιlls you тhαт keeps your lιfe αт bαy

[one xREDballoon]

wнατ cαn you cнαnge x » x lιττle sunflower ?

________________________________________ Limits don't mean anything in words,
________________________________________ I declare, let us start a revolution!
______________________________________________________________ Like a shooting star,
______________________________________________________________ Beyond the flow of time,
______________________________________________________________ No one can stop us,
______________________________________________________________ So, let us venture beyond the door,
______________________________________________________________ Let us jump upon the bridge of hope.

•••xxx Setting; Time

How long would they make them wait, Hinata wondered, as they stood by the doorway. It all seemed rather stupid to him: being awoken at some god-forsaken hour, rushed down to be approved of by the head, before being boiled and skinned alive, like a chicken for a pot-roast, and put upon a horse to someone else's doorstep. It was stupid, if not totally ridiculous. They could have at least warned him. Oh wait... The Theron's never told any of them anything. Slaves it seemed, weren't important enough to make it to the list of informants, even if they were intimately involved in the event. Yes wonderful, Hinata thought, a scowl making its way onto his face, settling there like an ominous storm cloud, this would be absolutely friggin' perfect.

The head slave and his assistant were not looking at him. Why? Maybe they didn't see anything worth seeing in him he supposed, though that didn't stop him from glaring at their profiles with the fiercest scowl he could muster. Childish? Perhaps so. There was no reason that they were to treat him like cattle anyway. Who was the head slave but a man in his late prime, with an ample amount of white and greying hair on his head, and a pair of shrewd narrow eyes? Hinata glared at him, at his aged face, at the beaky little nose, at the thin lips and the stubborn set they had, and of course at the immaculate mope of hair on his head that was paired with strangely bushy grey eyebrows over the tiny silt-like eyes. It was odd to be able to stand there and study him, especially when he wasn't about to turn around and start yelling in that old crackly voice of his.

And his assistant, Hinata turned his temper on him then, dark eyes glaring with enough intensity to kill. Brown hair was the first impression that he gave anybody, fine hair the colour of a fine young field mouse. That wasn't all of course, but nothing to start a fine dishing of temper like the demeaning of fine youthful features. Brown hair the colour of a mouse indeed, though of course, he was no where near the size of one. In fact, Hinata was the one who looked like he shrunk, standing next to the assistant who may well have been giant-sized. But then, it wasn't anything new: Hinata had never been anything close to tall. Standing only at a half-decent five-foot-five, everybody looked tall next to him. It was a wonder how he and his pride ever managed to survive the sheer amount of people talking down to him throughout the years.

But yes, the assistant had fine brown hair. Brown as a field mouse's and just about as silky as one. Fuzzy little thing - nothing like the essence of youth to smooth over the awkwardness of a growing kid. He couldn't be much older than he was: at most he looked to be twenty, or maybe eighteen if he merely looked mature beyond his years. This one looked nothing particularly special, just another youth: brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. Hinata thought he looked much like maple syrup even, with his overwhelmingly tanned skin. But of course, the eyes were a different matter, his eyes were chocolatey and seemed just as warm. Almost at once, the thought of maple syrup and chocolate brought him back to another scene, where he was eight and barely five feet. He didn't run around bare-footed then, lest his parents scolded him, and certainly, maple syrup and chocolate was always whipped into a sickeningly-sweet concoction that the maids would use to ply him into obedience. It was probably just as well he didn't like sweet things, he wouldn't be able to handle the memories that came with them anyway.

Not that people fed slaves sweets: nope, cattle ate grass, not trifles or cakes.

The door creaked open then, softly and carefully. Hinata turned to glance at the entrance to the house as it was opened, and they were greeted not with a proper polite greeting, but a warning.

"Please do not knock. Lord Li Yaun is with his pet right now who is asleep. Disturbing him will only end in your pain."

This did not sound to be good news. What sort of household was this, to greet guests with dire warnings? Hinata did not know, and frankly, would not have cared, had there not been the certain feeling of imminent dread settling in his gut like a heavy stone. And they were giving him away to a household like this. Hinata didn't want to even begin to think of what would happen to him. He doubted very much he would be able to be meek, to be effortlessly polite and everything the maid now was. It was beyond his talents, and acting was besides the point. As the maid held open the door to let them enter, another came to bring them into the house proper, politely as servants were wont to do.

"It is wise to stay away from Lord Li Yaun, his pet is very… possessive."

There was that word again, pet. Was this Lord of theirs fond of animals? There was another issue. Hinata wasn't fond of animals. There was no particular reason for the distaste, merely a preference. Though he didn't deny the beauty of a well-bred stallion nor the sleek gracelessness with which a dog runs upon release, it was still a stretch to say that he liked any of them. No, he really didn't quite like any animals: he tolerated them at best. Horses were too much work, and had the worst tempers he had ever seen. Dogs were too sloppy and reliant, always ready to lick his face and hands, cover them with spit. Come to think of it, Hinata thought, there was nothing worse than a dog. Always acting like they owned their masters, wagging their tails and drooling everywhere, yet always entirely reliant and dependent. They annoyed him, their furry bodies that were always too warm to touch, the fur that they left everywhere, the eyes that were either as soft and melty as chocolate or razor-sharp and penetrating. The eyes that seemed to see everything. All this was frankly just annoying.

And of course, there was nothing remotely like a cat to better the dog.

But before he could even begin to contemplate on that, someone had grabbed his arm.

"Wha--!"

But it was only the assistant, with his maple syrup hair, chocolate eyes and butterscotch skin.

"Listen... Whatever your name is--"

"Hinata. Third reminder."

"Hinata... Well listen Hinata. I don' think I told you this, bu' now I'm tellin' you once. Everything has just been staked on you. Yer hear me? You could very well end the terrible relationship between this household and master and mistress' back home. Whatever your thoughts are on this, impress their son for us, do yourself a favour and do us a favour. Lord knows we haven't mistreated you."

Impress? As the assistant freed his arm, ending his impromptu, hastily whispered speech, Hinata found himself thinking of something completely different.

They were staking that much on him? The kid lied. Why would they put so much on him, when he was a slave. Hadn't the household spent the past six years telling him how little he meant to the household, and how he had better learn his place or suffer the consequences of punishments. Hinata stared at him, at the tall looming figure he was from the back. But this boy didn't seem like he had much reason to lie to him. And what he had said was true in some parts. The Theron's hadn't mistreated him. They bought him without complaint from his poor ailing mother, even though he was already fourteen and past the impressionable age at which most slaves were purchased. They may have starved him sometimes, beaten him at others, scolded him often, but those were punishments for whatever mistakes he had done. In a way, he had "deserved" it, as unwilling as he was to admit it. But that didn't mean that they trusted him enough to stake the relationship of two households on him. That was too far a stretch, and Hinata knew that much.

So then, why?

The maid was looking at him as she held open the door for them once more. Hinata glanced at her, at her plain face and plain dress, the little smile on her face barely registering in his mind. For all he knew, she was merely a bland little flesh-coloured blur in a maid's dress. But he felt her gaze, felt it on him, felt it as sharply as it was a physical touch: pity. He knew it like it was an old friend. Pity and self-relief. How many times had people given him such looks?

There was no time for all that however, as the three of them were brought to stand directly opposite the son that they had wanted Hinata to impress.

Immediately, Hinata felt weary and tired: this was not going to be an easy job.

The white hair made a distinct impression, as surely as pale hair was wont to do. But he was young, youthful features and youthful body. Those eyes, well, Hinata couldn't deny the small shiver that worked its way down his spine as they fixed on him. It was probably what 'like a deer caught in the headlights' meant. But Hinata didn't see a point in backing down or looking away meekly: his pride wouldn't have allowed it, and it wasn't in his nature to be so shy. Rather, it was with the same intensity that he met his gaze, pulling himself together with the air that only someone with enough arrogance as he had could do. If they expected a meek little child, they were not going to be pleased.

"What the hell do you want from my life?” came the question, rude and interrogative.

Hinata shrugged, pushing back a lock of his unevenly cut black hair carelessly as he spoke before any of the others could muster a reply. "If I could have my way, I would say nothing." He stated, clear as day, his voice with the same crystal quality and arrogance as he had when speaking with anyone. "But of course, since I can't actually have my way, then I guess I probably will be forced to spend a great deal of your time as well--" Here, his defiant little speech was cut off abruptly, as the assistant reached over to hastily clamp a hand over his mouth, much to his dismay. But the words were spoken, and the damage was done.

It was thus with wary, cautious eyes that the other two guests regarded their host, trying their best to ignore his 'pet' lest he found their gazes provoking.

[one xREDballoon]

"Adair"
Yamasaki Katsurou



he told me i was pretty.

and here i am like a stupid silly schoolgirl, cooped up in the corner where i always sit, under the tree and blushing all about it.

what a sight
what a sight
what. a. sight.
i wonder what people are thinking about me right now?

"Hey guys, check out that weird kid sitting there!"
"Hey look, it's him again, that shortie from the other class!"
"Hey bro, it's that Adair-kid from the other school!"

not very friendly, people nowadays. not friendly at all i guess. i wonder what happened to the other people in the past, the nice ones. the one's who give out candies and pennies and invited you over for tea? those nice uncles and aunts and their sweet little daughters and sons who were always giving away their balloons, and the sweet formality with which they would speak... what happened to that guy i knew who would always give me a shiny polished pebble every saturday?

oh wait, we're not in tiny tiny tinseltown anymore.
dear me how could i ever ever forget?

he called me pretty.
pretty!

i can't even remember the last time someone looked me in the eye and told me i looked pretty without making it sound like some disease.
i wonder when that happened, huh?
prettiness being a disease...
that sounds like something he wrote about for his philosophy essay.
I think he told me about it.

Did he?
Did he?Did he?

...For the life of me i can never seem to remember the important stuff.
like what the house i used to live, when mummy was still in england, looked like.
like what our cat used to look like, before it ran out and got hit by a car.
like what the dog was called before i renamed it Irritating Incarnate.
like what he wrote in his philosophy essay...

God, i am such a sobstory.
think of happier things, Adair!
think HAPPY!

like how he wore green today,
like how everywhere you turned,
you would see someone in green,
and how you would always pray it was him.

seriously, i would give anything to hear his voice now.

High definition, instant replay video:
High definition, instant replay video: "You're far prettier than she was."

pretty?
he looked like he meant it too, green eyes all firm and steady.
he didn't clamp down on his lips like he thought he said something wrong.
he didn't even so much look like he meant it actually.
it's like he let it slip by accident and decided it didn't matter if i heard or not.

imustbethinkingtoomuchagain
ithinktoomuchithinktoomuchithinktoomuch


why is my heart hammering my ribs?
it kinda' hurts.
cut it out.
damn it.

rain on the windowpane,
oscar wilde's children's stories,
impossibly pretty boys,
airbrushed models,
clothes that are oh so vogue,
shallowness and lots of it,
a Japanese soundtrack put on loop.

[one xREDballoon]

"Pierre Pierrot"
Pierre Blanchett



some people take four hours to write an essay.

guess what?
i'll do it in less than a quarter of that.
yup, just gimme an hour or half.
watch me and my magic fingers write out all the eloquence sitting in your muddled head.

please be AMAZED with me.
and don't forget,
we always love applause.
we could kill for it, seriously.

especially nowadays, when all i ever seem to be is crazy to people. y'know, psycho and shiz.
it's not my fault i was born this way you know.
people just can't deal with the shiz they weren't born with.
it's like... almost an inborn thing.
what do they call it again? Instinct?

My bad, it would seem as though the words have deserted me.
As had Caliope,
As had Caliope, Erato,
As had Caliope, Erato, Erato, Melpomene,
As had Caliope, Erato, Erato, Erato, MelpomenThalia...

i don't write as much as i used to any more.
no inspiration, no stories, no voices in my head.
it's so empty in there now.
i always did wonder if it would rattle if i shook it hard enough,
like a P O P P Y flower,
after all the petals were gone and it was all dark, dry and ugly.

rattlerattlerattle rattlerattlerattle
ah, the sound of the uninspired once-writer.
hear that?
yeah, that's the sound of a life once well-lived.

you don't want to sit here like me.
really darling, you don't.

i might be able to write four hundred words in less than seventeen minutes,
i might be able to tell you a tale and spin out characters that would make you cry,
i might be able to amaze you with my silly antics, my affability and my wise wise words,
but at the end of the day,
i would give anything to be you.

right now all i want is to sit down at the edge of my bed
(hear the clock going tick tick tick tick)
and be able to look up to that once immaculately painted ceiling
(tick tick tick)
and be able to tell myself,
(even if i lie)

"It is all going to be okay."


writers and their words,
muses and their instruments,
all the inspiration run dry,
Tic-Tac in orange flavour,
burnt out and broken lives,
burnt out and broken people.

[one xREDballoon]

wнατ cαn you cнαnge x » x lιττle sunflower ?

________________________________________ Limits don't mean anything in words,
________________________________________ I declare, let us start a revolution!
______________________________________________________________ Like a shooting star,
______________________________________________________________ Beyond the flow of time,
______________________________________________________________ No one can stop us,
______________________________________________________________ So, let us venture beyond the door,
______________________________________________________________ Let us jump upon the bridge of hope.

•••xxx Setting; Time

"Nnggh," came the half-hearted complaint as his words were once again abruptly cut off, courtesy of the head slave's glare, and his trusty assistance's quick movements. With a swipe, he managed to cover the mouth of the kid, and made sure that he wouldn't talk at all, pinning him tight in a deadlock against his chest. It wasn't too bad, considering the fact that they could simply have slapped him hard across the face as they usually would, but it wasn't something Hinata could stand either.

He struggled a little, pulling uselessly at the restraining arm, trying in vain to step on his foot. The assistant found all these little antics easy to ignore, and did just that, fixing his eyes straight ahead and intent on the young master and his rather... unusual pet. He had heard, the assistant had, about the rumours of this strange household, how the father was weird and how the son was weird and how despite them all being weird they didn't get along. The assistant was still relatively new to the household altogether, and he certainly wondered that perhaps there was something about the idea of "weird" that made it unable to encompass what the young master was. See him there, on his lofty perch, with those relentlessly cold eyes, and that shimmering curtain of pale hair: this was not a weird person no matter which way one sought to look.

But then, the eyes venture further down, to the creature resting by his legs, and the realization sparks like the ding! of an oven. The young master owns a pet, a blind human pet, cruelly decorated with piercings, and possessing the behaviour of an animal. How quickly then perceptions changed, from suspicion of weirdness, to suspicion of unreliable rumours, to suspicion now of the sanity of this entire household. What did they do to him? And more pressingly, what would they do to little Hinata, now clamped to his chest with his mouth safely muffled? Quite nervously, the assistant looked down at the said individual he was restraining. Hinata had both his green eyes giving him an intensely fierce gaze. It was laughable, all of this. The Therons, giving away their least passive, least obedient slave to a household who obviously had no patience nor time to tolerate such shows of utter misbehaviour. This did not forebode anything but disaster, and the assistant could not have been the only one to realize this.

There was a furious snarl however, at that very moment. The assistant was interrupted in his thoughts. At the very last minute, he found himself wrenched away with enough force to send him stumbling. In the scuffle, he had let go of Hinata.

Just as well he had, as the boy knocked to the floor in the blink of an eye.

Nobody moved then. The assistant was frozen with shock, the head slave had an expression that clearly said "he had it coming", and the maids looked like they knew better than to help. The assistant glanced nervously at the young master, only to notice the same expression on his face, the same uncaring face. He thought that the pale-haired noble maybe even looked a little pleased.

Hinata on the other hand merely looked little more than irritated, as he opened his eyes, grimacing at the pain at the back of his head.

It was a human he saw, or at least, he appeared human. All Hinata did was take in the sight with pure irritation, as well as a growing sense of horrified disgust. First the blindfolded eyes, the glinting silver rings down the other's torso, then the light hair, and finally, the snarling mouth and the raw sound that came from his throat. Hinata knew that sound, that low rumbling sound, that pathetic show of aggression. With a look of pure distaste, he glared. This wasn't a human, this was a dog. If there was anything Hinata disliked the most, it was dogs.

“If this is what you call a treaty then expect war.”

And who was he to talk, setting his darling pooch on him. By the minute, Hinata felt a growing sense of dislike for the man. Who was the one who wanted him to impress that new master of his, the assistant or the head slave? He was going to disappoint him terribly, whoever it was. To hell with first impressions.

“I wonder what my father would say to this. I have little time to be bothered by your stupidity so say what you must then leave.”

Leave? Hinata glanced at the head slave, then at his youthful assistant with something akin to nervousness. He watched as they shook their heads, first at him, then at each other in a manner that could only mean dejection, taking a few steps back and bowing politely. Hinata suddenly felt it was not below himself to scream. Then, pride kicked in, and he managed to sit up, planting his hand firmly on the body of the "dog", and shoving it backwards with off himself forcefully. "Damned canines. What is it with these spoilt mutts people keep nowadays," the words spilled out on their own, a petulant complaint. As the said being took a few swipes of his face however, Hinata couldn't stop himself from leaning back to put more distance between he and the long-nailed fingers of the human pet. Now it scratched? Like a cat? This was certainly an annoyingly versatile pet.

As though he hadn't spoken, the young master had opened his mouth as the hateful creature trotted back to his side. “It takes forever to get blood out of your hair Kau. Come, you’ll have your moment.” His moment? The bloody dog? Hinata scowled as he pushed back the hair that had been displaced into his face, big words from the mouth of one man, those were. When he was nothing more than the son of a noble, living off the glory, wealth and fame of his father.

“If it was my father you were dealing with you wouldn’t have dared being him here and we all know that. As he will not tolerate insolence without the lost of something dear neither will I. What good is a slave that speaks back when it is not wanted to be heard? What good is something that only gets on my nerves? A useless worker would only be good for the pleasure of torturing.”

The dog smiled at him.

Hinata wondered where in the world all his patience was coming from, and how long it was going to last him, as the man continued on, on his little tirades. About him as a problem, about his father, and about all the things the head slave and the assistant should consult his father about. Hinata was faintly insulted at the fact that he was wasting so much time here talking when he had so openly admitted the one they wanted to speak to was the man's father.

The insolence of nobility never ceased to amaze.

And as the door opened to admit some new character to the room, Hinata was quite on the edge of exasperation. But when the new personality turned out to be the father of the man he was steadily disliking, he was quite relieved.

Now, to see how long relief could last.


[ ••• ]

•••xxx Setting; Time

There was a moment of intense... discussion between the two men then, and Hinata found that he could scarcely be bothered at all. It was just the father berating his son, and the son insulting his father. It was altogether not a particularly endearing scene of familial ties. It was quite obvious that they didn't actually like each other.

Really, Hinata thought, if he had his way, he would throw the son out of the house. To hell with any talk, discussions or rumours. Right now, was the father not the head of the house? With what right did the child speak so insolently to the father, the one to whom he owned so much? It was all these thoughts that kept him occupied, and when a sudden scream shook him out of his thoughts, he only caught a glimpse of the young master's lips moving in seeming silence as a splatter of blood caught him on the cheek.

They had not left then. They had not dared leave when they had not been properly dismissed. Now the assistant paid the price, as his face was torn asunder. Hinata scrambled to his feet, running to him though he scarcely knew what help he could be. As the blasted dog left the assistant bleeding however, Hinata swore he saw it smile. He knelt down then, by his side, studying the exposed flesh, biting his lip. He hadn't liked the assistant, but he hadn't exactly hated him either. When it all boiled down, they were from the same house, and that alone should have been enough excuse to help.

They had dressed him in cotton, flimsy easily torn cotton. Hinata barely registered his actions as he automatically ripped a strip off the hem of his own shirt, and tried to clean away the blood on his face. He wasn't going to die, that he knew very well, but it was some time before they would reach the household. It could get infected, and definitely, it would scar. What a waste, Hinata thought, as he struggled to dab away the blood with the increasingly bloodied strip of cotton, he had been so young, with his hair like a field mouse and skin like butterscotch. His chocolate eyes showed pain now, and a certain desperation, as he looked at Hinata.

"Sir," firmly he spoke, staring directly at the head slave,"I don't think the masters are going to say anything of consequence. Please leave now, his wounds may get infected otherwise." Cool, calm Hinata, proud though he may be, he remained ever frigidly composed. Throwing him a look, the head slave nodded firmly, hoisting his assistant up and leaving, even as the father of the young master was saying, “Well isn’t this a new turn of events…”

It was with a certain coldness he turned to glance at the young master he was given to, dropping the stained strip of fabric into the small puddles of blood on the floor. The maids did not move, seemingly too afraid to even clean the carpet, much less to help the wounded leave the residence. It would be hell to get the stains out later if the blood dried.

“... A b*****d that will only bicker with me for hours on end is not a slave but a pain to be dealt with. They just couldn’t spare a better slave to give. All this annoyance to simply give me something unwanted is retarded in the highest degree. I could have gone to the slave trade for such a thing.”

Was this really why they gave him away? That they could not spare any other slave? All of a sudden, Hinata found that he doubted that. He was above any other slave the Theron's had. He was literate, he was educated, and above all, he was once of good blood, a child from the line of aristocrats. His father had once been a man of great status, a man fallen under the brutal ambitions of other high ranks for political power. The Therons knew this when they had bought him from his poor mother, they knew it very well. But they hadn't dared put him in any position of status, and he himself had made no such request. They had put him to work like any other slave purchased in the market, and fearfully, they held him at arms' length. But it had been six or seven years ago, nobody would now know who the Marquis Ueda was, much less his son.

Perhaps, the Therons had really only given him away because they could spare no other, but his pride would never let him say something so degrading.

He regarded the father and son coldly, the duo now sparring with words, as men of equal power could only do when they did not wish for the other's death. Cuttingly they spoke, thinly veiled threats and insults all making themselves evident in their ever polite speeches. Hinata was tired of the way this was all playing out like some family drama. When finally, the father managed to end the little bicker with an open threat however, Hinata was quite ready to snap.

“... HE is your problem now boy. He is your slave, your property. Deal with it. If I see him dead at any point in time you’re going to be putting Kau ...”

..."Gentlemen do not snap," his tutor had once said to his fidgety nine-year-old self, "Gentlemen listen, and they find ways to turn the situation in their favour." But there was nothing in his favour... Was there? His dark eyes focused on the father, as he tipped his head a little in thought. Had the father not made a threat in his name? Daring the son to hurt him, in exchange for hurting "Kau", whoever it was. How long would such a threat last? How quickly would the young master lose his love for this "Kau", the sole factor keeping the threat intact? The threat had only saved him from death, and it said nothing of injury. Hinata was sure that the young master was no fool, sure that he would soon realise this loophole and put him through hell. But he couldn't be killed, and as long as he was kept alive, there was a chance that he could do something about the whole situation.

The Therons had sent him here to make a good first impression. Why? If they had really wanted peace, they certainly would not have sent him, with his pride and sarcasm. They would have sent someone docile and hard-working, someone more... typical. What purpose could they have? Did they perhaps foresee how the younger master would take an evident dislike to him, and would as a result rile his father into the threat that now kept him from dying? Then why did they not want him to die? Did they wish that Hinata find a way to bring about peace between the families? Something lasting, not based merely on gifts and presents. That sounded reasonable, though the Therons could do without such an alliance, powerful as they were. They couldn't perhaps have planted him here as a spy? No, not when they had given him zero means of ever communicating with them. A slave was an object, belonging entirely to his master. There was no reason for him to ever communicate with the previous household: it would be too suspicious.

Then perhaps, did they send him in as an assassin?

The thought made his body grow cold, as he glanced at the human pet and the docile, trusting way he leant against the master. How would that be possible, when the only creature the young master apparently trusted was blind and obviously no longer sane. It was as though the only way to be trusted was to present himself powerless, non-threatening, stripped of any sort of motive, weapon or intentions. But wasn't that what a slave was, a belonging, docile, unquestioning and obedient to a fault?

Mentally, Hinata cursed. He had botched it altogether then, gaining the trust of the family. Why had he not thought of all this earlier? With cautious eyes, he considered the family before him, considered the fierce way they regarded each other. But Hinata was not a killer, he was obviously incapable of slaughter, balking even, at the thought of taking a life, even if it was that of mere fowl or cattle. How could it be that they had sent him out like this, to massacre? Or was he once again thinking too much into things? And won't the family be suspicious of him, a slave as... insufferable as he was? These thoughts he held as he glanced down into the drying splatters on the floor, seeing a warped reflection in them, seeing the familiar dark hair, the dark eyes and the light skin that had prevented him from ever working out in the sun. Even his physical attributes were useless, in times like these.

Unless...?

Hinata felt himself go colder as his thoughts wandered further. He was never made for any sort of manual labour, even the head slave had shaken his head, and finally made him work in the library. "Putting your literacy and education to use" he had said to him, and so work he did, copying books and tidying them like a scribe. Perhaps as a scribe then, they hoped that he would work under the cover of a scribe? But that would be too suspicious, a literate slave was too uncommon, even for a household as rich as the Therons. Then there was no other purpose for him, except... His fingers were icy then, he realised, holding them up to his cheek, rubbing at the blood stain left there from earlier as he continued to think. There was no other purpose for him, except, of course, for pleasure. At this, Hinata could not help but frown, out of pure disbelief at his own ideas. If it were really so, he thought, it was not going to be at all an easy task. It would probably take that obnoxious young master of his another million years before he would touch him. Even then, it would probably be grudging and reluctant. And anyway, who said anything about the young master, or for the matter, he himself - though really, slaves didn't matter - preferring his own gender?

All the thoughts were doing little to help him, except to make his head spin in a really uncomfortable way. "Dear sirs," he began, as he got to his feet, grimacing at the twinging pain of his legs, having knelt for too long, and bowed slightly, "I am sorry that you would quarrel, especially over whether I should live or die, and I suppose I should thank you, Sir, for making an attempt to keep me alive." It had killed him to say those words. It would also kill him to say what he should next, and Hinata found that he abandoned the words altogether when his eyes fell on the young master and his pet. To hell with first impressions, and to hell with apologies for them. "It is a bit late, but please, my name is Hinata. And I lie, when I say I do not know with what purpose my previous employers sent me here. Allow me to be of service, if possible. I am not as entirely useless as you may perhaps think."

Brave words those were, he realised belatedly, as he straightened. He still had no idea as to what in the world the Therons meant for him to do, though he supposed he had some idea what he was to do on the surface. Hinata had no idea what sort of chances he had, gaining the trust of the heads, but there was no other choice. He had after all, just been presented and left on the doorstep of the house, and the father had gone so far as to secure him in it as well. It was set then: he was to be in the household, with his purposes somewhat hazy, yet somewhat apparent.

It would be a total disgrace if he were to fail now.


x ❧ x Hıиαtα Uedα x

[one xREDballoon]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxwe'яe αll cяαzy ιи heяe

What Rii are you mad?
Aren't you always complaining about too many search threads?
Well I guess, those just aren't enough. Obviously.

Advanced Literate. Yaoi. Once a Week or More. Private Threads.

Have the above? Then congrats, Rii wants you.

Hello, you can call me Rii. I'm searching for a roleplay, especially with a non-squeamish partner. If you can handle genres that involve lots of mind games, plotting and the ilk, then you're probably good to go. Drop me a PM if you're interested, and we can go from there. I am currently only looking for yaoi, though actually, I'm not looking for pure romance roleplays.

Please be reminded though that I am terrible at staying on topic. When I get an idea, I tend to go on and on and on about it until it takes shape properly. If you can handle that, even better. Don't feel intimidated by me, or by my apparent ego. I don't meet to be rude, I really don't. I just always seem that way because I have terrible social skills on the web - w-;;

And cause it will take up less space in paragraph, here are the basic introductions. I am female for those who care about gender, I live where it is GMT +8 for those who care about time zones, I am active for long hours, but only once or twice a week for those concerned about activity. I don't know why you would be interested in my age, and I don't feel obliged to tell you my address. There, short and sweet.

Adv. Literate means writing well. Adv. Literate also means being able to write enough. Adv. Literate is overrated nowadays, but I prefer the term. At risk of sounding like I prefer quantity over quality (it's often found lumped together, from what I've seen) may I ask of a minimum of three meaty paragraphs? More would be nice, since reading novels are technically a favourite hobby of mine.

Moving on.

[one xREDballoon]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxwe'яe αll cяαzy ιи heяe

Limits?
Why yes, of course.
I do have preferences too you know.

Of course, I do have my limits and rules too, but they aren't actually that many, most of them I've stated in the previous post under the list. They have covered just about everything I wanted to say, like preferably

Ⅰ) Long-term
Ⅱ) Adv. literate
Ⅲ) Yaoi only

So what rules do I have?
Well, the basic. No god-modding, no perfect characters, no tapping the fourth wall... Well, you get the point. If you have roleplayed before, you should know what to do and what not to do. I shouldn't have to remind you, either. If you don't know what tapping the fourth wall is, well, it just means something like giving your characters ooc knowledge. I don't know how in the world to make it any simpler than that.

Anyway, limits.

There are many things that I don't do, because I am fussy and reserved,
they include canons, anthro/furries, cybering/smut and incest.
But those are the major no-nos. Everything else should be okay.
Though that means violence and language is okay to me, please put a lid on excess.

I don't believe in having a romantic theme in roleplays for the sake of romance.
That said, our characters don't have to actually like each other if their personalities repel.
They also don't have to hate each other or fall in love either, we'll just see how it goes.
I won't hate you forever if your character can't get along with mine.
I'm more mature than that. Really, I am.

As to m-preg, I don't know shiz.
Convince me, explain to me, teach me... well, you get the point.

What else is there to know about limits?
Well, nothing much, except that I will not be giving out my IM information.

Remember to hand over a roleplay sample before we start on anything! It's not that I'm suspicious by nature, rather, I just prefer to be sure.

Okay, enough, moving on again.

[one xREDballoon]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxwe'яe αll cяαzy ιи heяe

and here we come, to the lists of doom.
where people find it irresistible to put down immense lists of pairings.
well, I'll try my best to spare you the headache.

First off, we have a mini-legend. I really don't like displacing stuff, so I'll keep it easy.

These circles ( ● ) are your friends.
Rated on a scale of one to three, take a good look at the number of coloured circles to determine how much I prefer the said pairing.
Note that the genre list will not be graded, because genre-based stuff can go either way.
Remember, no canons, but canon universes are alright.




●●● x teacher/student
●●● x fashion world
●●● x master/slave
●●● x students


` I don't remember the last time I did a decent master/slave roleplay any more. It's not a must, but a plot twist added into a roleplay, especially one with political inclinations. Otherwise, it gets boring fast. Have a plot before you knock on the door for this one.

` Fashion world refers to any pairing within the circle. That includes models and designers, make-up artistes, photographers, tailors and whoever else you may think of. If you plan to base it on real brands and the like, make sure you know what the hell you are talking about. I will know.

` Students is one of the really overdone ones, but anyway, won't hurt to ask. Not to be picky or anything, but it takes a great deal to keep something like this running, so be prepared for something less... ordinary. It covers anything from clique roleplays to dormitory room mates.




●●● x supernatural/human
●●● x royal/commoner
●●● x vampires
●●● x celebrity/non-fan
●●● x people of different cultures
●●● x people of different eras (time-travelling)


` I think supernatural/human just about covers everything. Sirens, angels, demons, elves, pixies, changelings, fairies, ghosts and all that oh-la-la sparkly stuff.

` Vampires takes up its own little paragraph because it's highly important. I am uninterested in playing the Twilight-verse. That's all.




●●● x hospital based
●●● x scandalous affairs
●●● x law-related


` Hospital-based can be taken to be patient, doctors, nurses and not forgetting psychiatrists. Basically medical personnel will be involved, and also patients.

` Scandalous affairs refers to any sort of relationship that will shake up social norms, even for a straight pairing. They include celebrity scandals, angel/demon, boss/secretary and whatever else you can make up. Includes adulterous affairs, too. The exceptions would have already been singled out for mentions.

`Law can be anything from the usual detectives to escaped inmates, police officers, spies, issued guard and their protectees, bounty hunters and the mafia. No, you don't need to have read the Harvard Law Review or anything like that.



That's about all, because anything below that is either not for consideration, or infringes on the limits.
But still, don't be afraid to ask if you want to.

Here are the genres now, please take note the list is not actually exhaustive.

xxxxxxxFantasy xxxxxPost-apocalyptic xxxHistorical xxxxxRomance xxxxxAdventure
xxxxxxxComedy xxxxxxxxAction xxxxxxxxxxSci-fi xxxxxxxxHorror xxxxxxxxThriller


Embarrasingly, that's all I can think of right now.


Let's move on already.

[one xREDballoon]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxwe'яe αll cяαzy ιи heяe

And remember, look here first,
and make sure you bloody well look closely.
This is the one we label with red paint: "Must Have".

I feel really in the mood to try something that involves a totally different way of writing.

Recently I wrote a really short excerpt, (you can read it here if you want) and then I had a mini epiphany.
I want something that is written in recount style.

Elaborate? That means, writing something that's already happened. Of course, it would need a plot too, but that's the main idea: a flashback. It's going to be a bit tricky, of course, but that's where most of the fun is going to come from. Say right now, character A and character B are apart. Let's say, we've decided that they were lovers, and the main focus of the story is to shed light as to how they ended up together and why they ended up apart. Since it's all going to be flashbacks, they can add in extra information, in retrospect. Take an example, say when character A first met character B. Maybe they started talking because A noticed the sticker of a particular book club he was in. Maybe now, B regrets having ever replied. Well, B can state that in his narration, because he knows what happens afterwards.

The entire idea, is to reverse engineer, write a story that we know the ending to.

Complicated? A little.
Fun? I sure hope so.

[one xREDballoon]

#E8DDCB#CDB380#036564#033649#031634

нow cαn YOU possιbly cнαnge anyτнιng x » x

___________________________________αnd peαce ιs noт тнe нeroιne тнαт sнouтs αbove тнe cαuse
___________________________________ιт's noт тнe sтuff тнαт kιlls you тнαт keeps your lιfe αт bαy
__________________________________________________ Illusions in our pockets make our feathers float us high
__________________________________________________ See These are just placebos to make us feel all right
__________________________________________________ Cause love won't ever cure the chaos,
__________________________________________________ And hope always feels so short in sight.

•••xxx Setting; Time




[ ••• ]

•••xxx Setting; Time

more text here!


x ❧ x Hıиαtα Uedα x








[align=center][img]http://i179.photobucket.com/albums/w318/Epsilyon/Wind_by_myu_san-2.jpg[/img][/align]


[align=center][color=white][/color][size=23][b] [color=#3D9140]нow cαn [size=17][color=cornflowerblue]YOU[/color][/size] possιbly cнαnge anyτнιng[/color] [color=white]x[/color] [color=tomato][b]»[/b][/color] [color=white]x[/color][/b] [/size][/color] [/size][/align][size=12][color=white]___________________________________[/color][b][color=#708090]αnd peαce ιs noт тнe нeroιne тнαт sнouтs αbove тнe cαuse[/color][/b]
[color=white]___________________________________[/color][b][color=#708090]ιт's noт тнe sтuff тнαт kιlls you тнαт keeps your lιfe αт bαy[/color][/b][/size] [size=9]
[color=white]__________________________________________________[/color] Illusions in our pockets make our feathers float us high
[color=white]__________________________________________________[/color] See These are just placebos to make us feel all right
[color=white]__________________________________________________[/color] Cause love won't ever cure the chaos,
[color=white]__________________________________________________[/color] And hope always feels so short in sight.




[list][list][list][list][size=10][color=#779eab]•[/color][color=cornflowerblue]•[/color][color=tomato]•[/color][color=white]xxx[/color] [color=slategray]Setting; Time[/color][list][list][list]
text here!

[align=center][size=32][b][color=slategray][ [color=#779eab]•[/color][color=cornflowerblue]•[/color][color=tomato]•[/color] ][/color][/b][/align][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list][/list]

[list][list][list][list][size=10][color=#779eab]•[/color][color=cornflowerblue]•[/color][color=tomato]•[/color][color=white]xxx[/color] [color=slategray]Setting; Time[/color][list][list][list]
more text here!

[/list][/list][/list][/list][align=right][size=200][color=white]x[/color] [color=cornflowerblue]❧[/color] [color=white]x[/color] [color=tomato][b]Hıиαtα Uedα[/b][/color] [color=white]x[/color] [/size][/align]

[one xREDballoon]

The last time we saw her, there were flowers just blooming on the trees.

There birds were just returning, and there was a nippy wind like there always was.
Everybody was dressing up in our best, going out and about to visit their kin.
Everybody was just getting out their lighter cardigans and sweaters.
Everybody else was keeping away their heavy coats and scarves.

The last time I saw her, it was spring.

I heard from her mother, what happened.
I myself went into her room, and saw what happened.

It was surprisingly quiet, unlike how she usually was.

Everybody knows her.
Everybody knows who she was.
Everybody knows who she used to be.
Nobody bothered to find out how she is.

I remember how she was though.
I think everybody remembers.
How could one forget?
The black hair, always windswept and messy;
the lips, glossed and plump, always pulled into a smile;
the tanned face and the many freckles, like stars on her face;
the eyes, sparkling and bluer than the sky, charming and laughing.

Everybody loved her.
Apparently, not anymore.

I talked to her mother,
(accompanied by one cup of tea that went cold)
and she seemed surprisingly eager to talk,
(as though she kept something inside for too long and it burst)
she just talked and talked and talked.
(and I thought that she would never ever stop)

I listened and nodded.
I left when she started to cry.

(I hate it when people cry)

She told me that she never saw it coming.
I don't think anybody did.

It was just another chilly night,
on the fifteenth of January.
She had dressed in her pajamas,
(blue eyes, brown hair, brown skin)
and the last words anyone heard her say was

"I'm going to sleep for a while now. Don't try to wake me."

Nobody's heard from her since.

She's not dead.
I sat by her bedside, in that white wicker armchair she liked so much.
I sat there, on the green cushion that padded the hard seat.
I sat there, and watched her, as she whiled the hours.

She was indisputably asleep.
Just like she said she was.

It's so quiet in the room.
When I sit there, I feel like an intruder.
The creak of the wicker sounds like thunder.
Everything seems so pristine and calm, undisturbed.
When I sit down in that wicker chair she used to occupy,
I feel like I have somehow spoilt something, disturbed the peace.

When I sit by her and watch her still, unmoving self
(well, she breathes, so she does move a little)
I feel like I'm looking at something private,
something she doesn't want me to see.

The last time I saw her, she was awake and smiling and chattering.

The last time I saw her, it was spring.

Spring is over.


after dark by Haruki Murakami,
insomnia at 1:13 in the morning.