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He hadn't dreamed in so long.
Kiku frowned at his barefootedness; even in dreams, he would not be in such wet terrain without something over his feet. He was smart enough to know about the creatures that lurked, waited for an adventure, and by the looks of the heavy vegitation around he was the first human to pass through in years. Wasn't he a disturbance enough?
A dream, Kiku. You're dreaming.
Even so, the darkness around him was unsettling, it felt like the trees were just waiting to come and steal his breath, the darkening sky no help at all. The only comfort he had was the ever-familiar sound of the ocean... But no birds, no boats, no nothing, aside from the relentless motion of the surf. As it was back when he was a baby.
And... His ears strained to hear. A voice? Singing. Somebody was singing. That wasn't a good sign.
His steps quickened, and at a near-maniacs pace, he broke free of the forest (or whatever it was) and onto the sand; he half-sank in almost immediatly but regained his footing. Even dreaming, even in oblivion, Kiku kept his dignity.
A boy, standing in the water, clad in the simplest of white garments. He was small, so frail looking that Kiku wanted to call out to him, drag him from the water that lapped up to his thighs; he could be drug out to sea, he would drown, the ocean did not know mercy, didn't the child realize?
But yet; his voice, heavily accented though it was, was mezmorizing, haunting, so simplistic yet it had the quality of a nation's, of a thousand years gone and a hundred deaths witnessed. It knew war, it knew terror and pain and fear and love and blood and it knew the future, too. It didn't like what it saw.
Kiku drew closer, and saw that the child was a boy, dark - haired and, in the dim light everything was cast in, he was tanned. But he did not turn, did not show his eyes, his face. Perhaps he was scarred, too visibly broken to be seen, even in a dream. Kiku stared, beside himself (you're dreaming, it's okay).
An arm stuck out, so completely normal and unartistic. Squinting, Kiku could see-- a flower? It too was white, crystalline, as if the boy had pulled the color from his robe.
"Sotto ikidzuita tsubomi no you ni .. Hodokete yuku .."
It was a chyrisanthemum. The boy stepped forward, let it drop into the ocean.
Blood, blood, blood, like Moses and Ramses, the ocean was blood, innocent, pure, child's blood, that of millions, that have come, will come. Kiku felt sick, his stomach turned angrily, he didn't want to see, couldn't handle that in his palm, in his palm;
the boy's pure white chrysanthemum, a tiny drop of red in the middle;
he turned, the ghost, the broken child, he turned, and his ocean eyes too were red.
( drabble inspired by so.
the lyric reads; ' the form of a (flower) bud softly sighed, shriveled up, and died. '
this is supposed to be deep .. .. so .. think about it?
I will be doing a 10 Song Challenge later. c: )
 men getting pregnant · Fri Jan 01, 2010 @ 09:23pm · 1 Comments |
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