All around her swirling snow, cold ice brushing past her. The ice crystals would have cut somebody else, but not her. The ice and snow
(were tears)
Did not worry her. Ice and snow were
(her tears)
Long time friends of hers. They
(were Okaasan's tears)
Would not hurt her. They were
(their tears)
Hiding her. The wind
(raging)
Whipped the
(tears for Papa)
Snow up into a near solid wall. A wall that parted before her. Pushed at her.
Urging.
Urging her away.
She should be almost invisible in the swirl. It was a shield. A shield from
(akuma)
Something gold that stained the white with
(Papa!)
Red. She almost thought that the storm wished to see her escape from the
(diable)
Gold. Then, all at once
(Okaasan!!!)
The storm died. She could see clearly ahead of her. She stopped
(Baka!Baka!Fille stupide!)
And looked about the suddenly still forest. She lighted hesitantly upon the ground watching the snow and debris settle. She
(Run!Vite!Maintenant!Sassato!)
waited for
(Okaasan est mort)
Someone. Then she felt the
(void)
Empty-cold. The nothing-cold. The aura of the
(devil)
Gold. And she turned around, seeing the gleaming blade as it struck downward and...
****
The silver-haired girl, almost a woman, snapped awake clutching her head grumbling.
"Je detest that yume," she muttered angrily. It wasn't the dream giving her the headache of course. It was the alcohol the night before. "Qu'est que c'est supposed to fucking mean?"
She stretched out, shaking off the last of her sleep. No sense in wasting the early wake-up...it'd just give her more time to get good and ready for another exciting day of working at the library.
She floated down from her customary sleeping spot, in the middle of the room, and lightly touched the floor. She continued grumbling in her pidgin mishmash of Japanese, English and French as she washed and dressed.
Soon she was stepping down out of her apartment into the snowy streets outside. People had long since ceased to wonder at how she bore the cold with nothing but those light dresses, or wonder at how she managed to float effortlessly on the air. They still stared, however.
After all, there had been a time of her life where she had been highly exposed on the media. It wasn't every community that had a twenty-year old ex-con that was more than strong enough to tear a tank into pieces. And very few people believed that she was happy avoiding anymore prison by living quietly and working at the local library.
People tended to forget that Lucretia, as she had named herself, had never killed anyone.
See other episodes by Thrythlind
(Posted Mon, 10 Jan 2005 18:34)
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らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
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