The eye of the storm.
My turn. *Rolls eyes*
She *did* give you five days off.
*Pretends to be blissfully unaware of the drama in her hand* Onto the story!
There are storms, and there are storms.
No matter what we do, there will be storms in our lives. Humans being humans, storms occur more frequently and often with more intent than coincidental. Some say that these storms are sent by the Gods, to test the resolve of the faithful. Others said that humans were just predisposed to yelling at each other, or being negative. Then there are those who side with neither, living the day as it came and to hell with the storms.
Most can’t handle the kind of people who choose the last as their path. For them, these kinds of people are irresponsible, too cynical, happy-go-lucky; for humans, simply living in the here and now is considered almost immoral and a sin. It’s not hard to understand why; the more ‘progressive’ the human race gets, the more things they have to worry about, and the more they think. The more they think, the more they have to plan ahead, the more they plan, the less implusive they can be. And so forth.
Therefore, to see someone living so freely brings up emotions of jealousy and anger. Jealousy for their own wings have been cut by their own selves, and anger because they seem to disregard the things that they care the most about. Sometimes, it is envy.
For one particular woman, her own attempt at freedom had a rather disastrous ending. The person who bore the consequences was not herself, but her daughter. Though mother and daughter had never talked to each other, there was a strong air of hostility between them.
“Of course,” the daughter of the woman muttered, “It’s easy to be hostile when the person’s dead,” she glared at the laptop as though daring it to answer, and leant back in satisfaction when it didn’t. She struck off the last paragraph though. The opening could stand well enough alone.
She knew that she was being irrational, but this essay would not write itself otherwise. With a sigh, she rested her head against the tree, watching the rest of campus empty itself. Sitting on the hill overlooking the valley, she could see the whole of the campus. It was a majestic sight; not the kind that inspired you to do something, but the kind that captures you in serenity. It was one of the reasons why the girl loved this spot; it calmed her, especially with all the turmoil in her life.
Like most things, it soon came to an end.
A ghostly form sprung up next to her from the long shadow of the tree. The setting sun gave him color, making him seem more substantial than he really was. She ignored him as he took form. Thinking it was amusing, he took the form of a Fox Spirit; no legs, only the upper torso was visible. He bowed to her mockingly, and then delivered the summons.
“The Shikigami Council requires you to appear tomorrow at dawn, Mistress Naoko,” he said it in a silky manner.
The emphasis was not lost on the young woman. She did not even look up at him, but muttered an incoherent sound of acceptance. The form looked annoyed at her, but when she did not pay him any more attention, he turned away and faded. After five minutes, the girl looked up and sighed in relief. The sky was slowly giving way from bright, pastel hues to an indigo sky. The sky would soon be lit up with scattered stars, but she would not be here to greet them, not like the previous nights.
“Mama? Where are you going?” the two-year old girl walked into her mother’s room at about dawn, carrying a teddy bear her mother had given her.
Her mother turned from where she was lacing her knee-high boots, looking over her knee at her daughter. The girl was rubbing her eyes wearily, walking uninvited into her mother’s room. Her voice was very gentle with the child.
“What are you doing up, sweetling?” she finished lacing and opened her arms wide for the child to sit in.
“I heard a noise,” the little girl sat in her mother’s arms and snuggled close to her. Her mother kissed her forehead.
“I’m sorry for waking you up, baby,” she hugged the child.
“Mama… will you come back?” the girl asked. The mother did not need to ask how she knew.
“I will darling. I still have that conference with your teacher next week,” she kissed her daughter tenderly and got to her feet carefully, still holding her daughter.
It did not take the woman much effort to take her daughter back to her bed. She put her daughter down carefully in the warm bed, kissing the child and watching her sleep. Her daughter looked peaceful, the tanned face now in sweet repose. She carefully pushed a long lock of brown hair away from her daughter’s face. It was not the meeting that she was afraid of, but disappointing her daughter. They had spent little enough time together as it is, and this was the first time in a while that she had had her daughter for more than a few hours. Now she had to leave the girl again, and it tore at her heart.
She pulled the sheets up to her daughter’s chin carefully and left the child sleeping. There was no need to wake her up the second time. As she left, she didn’t know that her daughter was watching her, and she would see the image of her mother clad in knee-length leather boots, a short brown skirt, a thin-strapped red sleeveless tee, a gold ornament on her left forearm engraved with the Ankh Symbol and the runic symbol of Life closing the door behind her.
Some things begged to be repeated.
The young woman was dressed exactly like her mother, with one crucial difference. She had tied a scarf around her waist. It was a small difference, but it helped her differed herself from her mother. She looked at herself in the mirror, and then at the picture of her mother on the wardrobe next to the mirror. Looking at the sky, she turned and ran towards the door. An observer watching her would be surprised by what happened next; she disappeared as she ran.
There were times when history repeated themselves.
1061 words here. That means 2264, which means I have to write another