Realism Fan Fiction ❯ Children of Death ❯ Awakening ( Chapter 1 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

My friend Tony and I are writing this together. It's about us in a sense, the stituations that Mori and Alex are going through are a lot similar to what we are. Reviews on how we started are appreciated. =]

Miscellaneous: Realism Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 03.06.2008 | Updated On: 03.12.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 444 | Status: Work In Progress

Moriko, more commonly known as Mori, sat in front of the computer, her eyes fixed on the screen. Her fingers tapped irritatingly on the keys every so often, unsure of what to write.

'There's probably a parallel world where someone like me is doing the exact same thing.' she thought. An idea dawned on her and typed up a quick message. She clicked 'Send', logged off and picked up her bags, ready to leave. She had already wasted enough time.

Alex woke up to the buzzing of his alarm clock.

6:30, as usual, he flipped the switch off and began his all too mediocre day.

He trudges along to his restroom and cleans his face.

Then he trudges along to his kitchen to prepare his breakfast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he exits his house, he is welcomed by the cold sting of winter. Alex starts his car and begins to go on his way.

Mori stood by the watcher's edge looking at her distorted reflection on the surface. If only she could become one with it, never having to look back, never having to feel the joys and pains of the world. She wonders why she was brought her, but she knows. She's fulfilled the purpose she was kept for; she's no longer needed by the one that brought her here. Awhile ago, lying awake late into the night, she let her tears flow freely and realized that she was truly needed by one, truly loved by two--one leaving her shortly.

Now here she stands, next to the memory of the place she once loved, the place that brought her joy, the place that is dying too. She remembers her last memory of this place, the secrets laid bare warmed by sunlight and caressed by the ever playful breeze. Here she felt at home, here she left like she belonged when all alone. The only other home she knew was when she was with them, and when they smiled genuinely. So few those times and she knows it'll never be the same again. There will always be something missing, and she lost the last joys of her life all because of one she couldn't let go of no matter how hard she tried. He was the magnet, her the steel. The farther she got away, the less time she spent with him, she was alright. The closer she gets, the further she sticks and the faster she burns. He seems to like toying with her, moving and out like a salted knife in a painfully cut wound. She wants to get away but finds that she lacks the will too, what power is this? She is ashamed.

So she dips one foot in that freezing water, wondering what the pH level of it is now and if the cicadas will ever come back.

She's blurring her eyes with her own reflection, wondering about so many things, she wonders where she finds the space for it. She finds herself a very hypocritical person though she hates it when others are that way, such irony. The inevitable will dawn upon them soon enough, yet she wonders why he keeps on going, why she keeps on going and if she'll ever return to this place afterwards, return to it after the years that will come to pass, though by then this place will probably cease to exist. Memories are beautiful, like shards of broken glass in a large, painted ceramic bowl. When she remembers and reaches for them, they cut her, sweet and bitter all at once. And she's reminded that she's still human, that she still bleeds.

He takes a drive down through memory lame, mentally. Or, at least, that would be the literal sense of it. He couldn't tell the difference.

What he once found comfort in was now crumbling before his eyes. What and who he once found comfort in, has now alienated him. He wants it that way, it cushions the blow.

"Have we met before?” he asked the blurred vision.

"I am what you've once found comfort in, I have forgotten you", it replied, "Forgive me."

Then the vision shattered before him and he awoken in his sweat soaked bed, to the sound of the alarm.

If memories are so harmful, why must we continue to hold onto them? In a sense we must because hurtful as they may be, they are a part of who we are, they shape what we will become, all paths lined with uncertainty. Self reassurance can only work for so long, can only do so much. The higher the port is built, the higher the waves become, and in time the water--the pain--will skim the surfaces that we have built to stabilize ourselves. The elapse of time, the warmth of the sun takes too long to reach those already wet with grief.

We cannot toy with fate, for we are hers.