Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Angel of Dance ❯ Angel of Dance ( One-Shot )

Angel of Dance

By, Jamie1317kast

 

While my drums beat out the message,

And the rhythms never change.~Maya Angelou

 

Disclaimer: Fruits Basket is copyrighted to Natsuki Takaya (or however you spell her name.), not me. And the poem Equality is by Maya Angelou, it appears in all Italics.

 

AN~ my inspiration? The dancer in all of us, the dancer in me. But most of all, the drums I see my little sister-sprite dancing to; when I don't hear a sound.

 

Angel of Dance:

 

It had been growing for some time now, like poison swelling deep within her veins. Ever since, in one swift movement, God had struck her down. All throughout her stay in the hospital, and then afterwards, while she was recovering; she ached. The ache had started in her heart, and had only grown since.

Like a savage sickness, intent on burrowing into her soul, the ache intensified and bit, and drew blood, red like Cat eyes. Bejeweled or plain, in grief or in happiness, in silence or in laughter, the ache kept on. Enduring, hounding, pounding, it seemed the ache would not cease until it was either sated, or had consumed her.

 

Squirming in her seat, Kisa Sohma desperately wished for classes to be over for the day. The sensei had already reprimanded her for fidgeting, but Kisa could hardly keep still. Her mechanical pencil was tapping out a steady rhythm on the hardwood of her school desk. Noticing, Kisa stopped the tapping. But soon enough, and sure enough, her foot was clipping the tiled floor.

It had gone on like this all day, and Kisa could easily tell that sensei was getting annoyed with her inability to keep still. The problem was, that Kisa couldn't still the wild, pulsing beat that flitted through her. Squirming, fidgeting, tapping, clipping, or nodding, it didn't matter which, Kisa just needed to get the beat out. She was afraid that if she didn't, the wild, savage thing that was the unsatable rhythm within her would eat her alive.

 

Once home, Kisa tossed her bag on the floor without precision or decision. She flopped down onto her fluffy bed, surrounded by lace, pink, and her many stuffed animals. Kisa rolled over, burying her face into the depths of her feather-down pillow. Kisa wished that the ache in her body would go away.

Springing to her agile feet, Kisa stared at herself in her room's full-length mirror. Small, but growing. Flat, but developing. Blegh.

Kisa thought of her God, peering at her like a librarian, as if she wasn't worth the air she breathed. She thought of Hiro, who had left her alone and lonely, and who had never even bothered to come see her after witnessing Akito's damage. She knew that Hiro didn't want her anymore because she was ugly and gross, the same way everybody thought of Kyo.

Kisa slumped down, dejected, knowing that she had been rejected. Hugging her knees up, Kisa wanted to cry. But the ache in her small body wouldn't let her cry. The ache urged her to move, to sway, and to dance.

She shook her head, sad, angry, hurt, a million feelings all at once. After battling the ache for weeks on end, Kisa was finally losing her patience. Just go away! Kisa wanted to yell, but Kisa had stopped speaking last week and she wasn't going to start again any time soon.

Then, she brought to her mind pictures, memories of Hiro. The ache throbbed painfully and urged her on. Kisa's normally passive, pensive face was anything but. If the ache wanted her to dance, then fine! She'd dance.

 

You declare you see me dimly

Through a glass which will not shine,

Though I stand before you boldly,

Trim in rank and marking time.

 

Alone in her room, Kisa had pushed everything to the walls. The large floor was bare and naked, the girl standing upon it only slightly more modest. The evening's setting Sun glowed through the windows, painting the opposite walls in the glory of a fiery, brilliant sunset.

 

You do own to hear me faintly

As a whisper out of range,

While my drums beat out the message

And the rhythms never change.

 

Taking position, Kisa let her pale white slip fall like powder around her slim frame. If she relaxed, and really, truly listened, she could hear it. The sound of drums.

 

Equality, and I will be free.

Equality, and I will be free.

 

Like the sound of rolling thunder, the first drumbeat fell. Then more, clattering, pounding, pulsing along to some savage, wild beat. Kisa flung her body into motion, a nightingale of Dance.

 

You announce my ways are wanton,

That I fly from man to man,

But if I'm just a shadow to you,

Could you ever understand?

 

A performance of the most excellent Taiko drumming, the vibrations shivering up through the floor. Twisting, turning, moving to a beat that had been building, gathering within her small body.

 

We have lived a painful history,

We know the shameful past,

But I keep on marching forward,

And you keep on coming last.

 

From the deepest places in her heart, her soul, Kisa sent forth her dance. Spinning, leaping, gracing the air with a flash of gold an white. Then she was off again, the rhythms constantly changing, scattering her footfalls across the hardwood floor.

 

Equality, and I will be free.

Equality, and I will be free.

 

A fairy sprite, or a tree nymph, it didn't matter which, Kisa embodied them all. A flitting vision to a half-weary traveler, a bounding elf-light somewhere far off the path.

 

Take the blinders from your vision,

Take the padding from your ears,

And confess you've heard me crying,

And admit you've seen my tears.

 

The wild beat surged up, rolling over Kisa like a wave. It compelled her to dance, to fling herself into her soul-music, to live the natural Tiger beat that had, till now, lay dormant inside her heart.

 

Hear the tempo so compelling,

Hear the blood throb in my veins.

Y-es, my drums are beating nightly,

And the rhythms never change.

 

Equality, and I will be free.

Equality, and I will be free.

 

So simple, pure and sweet, that any heavenly Angel would have mistaken her for one of their own. And, with no second thought, would have swooped down, plucked her up, and whisked her away to Heaven to dance to her soul-music in front of Buddha himself.

And though the Angels did not take her, they whispered softly, lyrically, and melodiously to one another. The one that got away, they said, the Angel of Dance.