Fan Fiction ❯ chase after the wind ❯ 8 ( Chapter 8 )

"Awake, arise, or be forever fallen"
-John Milton, book I, paradise lost

It was dark. A living darkness that rose out of nothing and consumed her being. Far from being painful, it was pleasant, a descent into a world without hurt or happiness. It was not the blackness that came upon her while she tried to sleep, the vacuum that claimed she was nothing. This somehow had a different nature, and yet it was all too familiar. The amount of solace she found in it scared her and yet made her so sublime. Then the wonderful void came crashing down and was replaced with a pain.

The pain began at what she would assume was her forehead and then radiated down. It was as if every portion of her body screamed out at once. It felt as though her very being threatened insurrection against her mind. The world, meanwhile, slowly emerged back into existence. She felt the cool ground, stubborn and inflexible, cradle her body. She felt the texture of the surface underneath her. And then she felt a soft breeze blow gently across her body and heard poetry in the wind. It was sublime.

Her eyes opened, as if for the first time, and revealed a crystal blue sky. It was the most clear blue she had ever seen. Her eyes slowly tore away from it's beauty, revealing other things that existed. She noticed the shadows move as the wind blew the trees and cause waves on the ground. In constant and flux and changing perpetually, they seemed to dance with one another under this pure sky. The smell of the fresh cut grass and the seaward breeze contained within them an ecstasy that she was incapable of understanding, she could simply experience it. The truth of her own existence pulsed through her veins and restored to her the innocence of her youth. Then, at last, her eyes fell on him.

He too seemed to dance, his silvery hair swaying gently in the breeze. The bottle he clung to perpetually found it's way to his lips as he attempted to stand where he was. His movements were sporadic and patternless because of his drunkenness. And yet there was something more profound then mere alcohol that made him move in harmony with the wind and trees, it was a choice. His yellow eyes and hers locked and, for an instant, they knew eachother as lovers knew one another. In that moment each expressed all hope and fear, all love and hate, the entirety of themselves to the other. His eyes then turned away.

Slowly she began to hear something other then the voice of god on the wind, she began to hear "Is she down and out? This could be it for our contender, 7..........8" The space between seven and eight stretched on into infinity somehow spreading itself to encompass her whole life and then some. Within that second she felt everything, heard everything and was at one with everything. She then felt her body swiftly and gracefully restore itself to its feat with a flip. She heard the air rush by her ears and felt her legs touch the ground.... "9.... Wait, she's up... after all that she is...." The sound fell off again into nothingness.

Everything else followed the sound, fading into black until all that was left was him and her. They again locked eyes and again the strange love- like feeling was felt. She felt her muscles tense up. She knew they were her's and yet she felt distant from them, like there was some separation between her and her body. She noticed the feeling of her cloths rubbing against her skin, took note of the way that the sounds of voices became one slow murmur that was in unison. She took note, above all else, of how the shadows and light seemed to create eachother. Then bam.

What happened next can't be described as Ayane doing something, for that is wrong. The line between Ayane and action had become blurred to the point where the action was her, or rather, it was a expression of her essence. It was as if everything she had, everything she was, could be called forth and harnessed into this one act. Self and world, right and wrong, good and evil all gave way to this poetically pure act. There was no longer an if or then a time or place a person or verb, there was simple the doing and it was this doing that consumed all the world.

In truth this was why she loved to fight. She would loose herself completely in her dance with God and all her small problems gave way to this. It was as if, when she fought, she was a child again, with neither tormented soul or questioning mind. She was at peace and she loved ever moment of it. Here, in this action and at this moment, there were no pretenses or politics, no faith or despair, there simply was her. She stood in the garden, naked, and yet felt no shame, as the books would say.

Her body twirled around in such a way as to defy physics. Not the law of gravity, but the concept of time. She spun onto infinity, in a primal bliss and prayed with her whole heart that she would never stop. Then she felt her leg raise slowly and before it made contact, she looked into his eyes. He knew it was unavoidable now, much as a storm on the horizon can't be stopped, and yet within his eyes was the same look of peace and happiness.

Then she felt her foot hit his face and all at once the primal ecstasy and true serenity left her. Rushing in to fill this void was pain. Her whole body returned to aching and, at the same time, the world forced its way back in. She watched as his body flew towards a wall and a part of her envied him, for he was still in that fabled garden. She, on the other hand, had retuned and found nothing to greet her but her pain. And yet she would suffer all this and more to regain the few seconds of true peace she had captured. It was like a lighting bolt, filling the world for one brief instant with light and the causing a catastrophic clash of thunder ( a friend of mine always says this...).

"Brad is down... I don't think he'll be getting up from that blow, let's watch again..." Somewhere a screen flickered on with her image still spinning in infinity. The people screamed mindlessly, some cheered and some booed and yet none could deny the fact that she had won. She, through heaven and hell, had proven to a cold and uncaring universe that she still existed. She had made her presence felt and she took cold satisfaction in watching this belief being confirmed in the faces of the audience.

After the ten count the medics rushed onto the arena. The man with whom she had shared such a sacred dance, was carried out on a stretched. A doctor came over to her, had her look at light and asked inane questions like " who are you." He seemed to be under the impression that the question could be answered and that he had a right to know. If there was one fate she feared worse then failure, it was the idea that, the most holy of questions, could be summed up in one word. Somewhere a demon whispered, gently, `bastered'. She shook her head slightly "Ayane" was her answer.

He did some other things, touching her here and there and listing to her breath. He hummed while he worked, a tune she didn't know but would learn was ode to joy. Their eyes met only for an instinct, but whatever truth was fearlessly conveyed by herself and her dance partner, was kept from this man. He could not understand and so the glance held nothing from either person. He looked at the ground and said, "Your injuries are not too serous, maybe a mild concussion and a few bruises is all. Go to the first aid tent and get your wounds cleaned, then you should be fine." She felt herself nod though was unsure why.

She then began to move away from this hallowed ground and towards the hall that permitted her entrance. Then she noticed her brother. He was leaning against the wall of the entrance, eyes glued on her. She walked by him briskly, not wanting to stop. She was in enough pain. Then she heard him say "Three down... It looks like all four of us will make it to the finals and it looks as though you will have the first shot at the runaway." At the mention of her name Ayane turned to regard her brother for the first time. Everything about him seemed as it should be and yet there was a feeling she sensed from him. There was something more, something he was struggling to say and yet something he needed to say. She waited.

Finally several seconds past and she turned began to resume her course to the tent. Hayate said, at last, and seldom louder then a whisper, "You did well today."

She was thankful that her back was to him. She felt a familiar redness rush to her cheeks and she both embraced and cursed herself for it. A part of her said, ` you are more then his dog, how dare he say that... As if I am nothing but a puppy to be praised when doing its masters will.' And yet another part sang a song with lyrics to beautiful to be put into words. It was this divine song that won out of her base nature and she allowed herself to rejoice in her brothers words. She nodded and then continued on her walk.

She had almost reached the end of the hallway and the field in which the tent was when a reporter came up to her. The woman introduced herself and before anything else could be done, the mic was under Anaye's noise.

"Any words for your fans?" the woman asked

"Awake, arise, or be forever fallen" was Ayane's reply, after several seconds. She began to walk away yet again and heard over her shoulder

"There you have, three victories and three quotes from paradise lost. The woman who many are calling the fallen fighter is victorious again"

Ayane allowed a smile to fall onto her face. Fallen fighter, she liked the ring it had. She would, of course, always consider herself a Tengu, but the name still carried some sway. The tournament had began and she had dispensed with three fighter's in three days, each yielding to her superior skill. And yet the more she trained and the harder she fought, the more she felt a growing gap between her skill and Kasumi's. Even as youths, she had never defeated Kasumi, had never won. It was only be sheer luck that she had won against her last tournament and even then she was far to weak to take the fallen beauties life. She had killed her father after that and yet the prospect of killing both sister and father didn't appel to her then. One life was enough for that day. But now she would have to finish what she had began and her track record of one win against one thousand losses bore heavy on her mind.

She reached the tent and was made to lay down on a cot. They bandaged her wounds, mumbling under their breaths about how barbaric the sport was and how it had no place in the modern world. After what seemed like an eternity, another doctor gave her a clean bill of health and then sent her on her way. Little did he know, she really had no where to go. Hayate had a fight that day and so she could either go sit in the hotel, which was separate from everyone elses, or go walk around people who either hated or felt indifferent to her.

And then Ayane saw her, the bane and curse of Ayane's existence. She walked slowly, clearly from a fight of her own. She was in worse shape then Ayane had been when she arrived at the tent and as Ayane regarded her, a voice said ` strike now.' She shook the thought off, for if she couldn't beat Kasumi at her best, there was even less of a point in their fighting. Their eyes locked and Kasumi nodded at her, slightly, before looking away. Ayane, in spite of herself, returned the nod and then turned around. She had the sudden urge to read more of her book and so she was going to go pick it up, find a quite spot, and continue to read the tome that was quickly becoming her bible.

End notes; seemed short but oh well...