:: Attempt 07 | Liebesleid [1] ::
"I think you are a liar because you think you know what is true. You think you feel what is true. But you do not yet know what you do feel and what you do know. Your desire and do not take; you love and are too afraid to feel your love; you conceal your vanity and pettiness from yourself; you are afraid to look into your soul and see what you are. That is why I think you are a liar."
― "The Riddle" (Book Two of The Books of Pellinor series) by Alison Croggon
x + x
"Mother?"
I look up with an unfocused gaze, blearily rubbing at my eyes. Beneath the dark confines of the grand piano, I stretch out my arms, rolling onto my knees. A silhouette blocks the small ray of light filtered near the edge of my shade, and I crawl closer to the entrance.
She wears the same smile she always does: her rosy lips turn up at the corners, the dimple in her cheek made prominent by her radiant grin. "What is it, my little skylark?" She asks softly, and I tilt my head just in time to hear the melancholic music she's playing come to a brief end, the last chord coming to an abrupt conclusion.
"How come you're always smiling?" I stifle a yawn, edging closer to the light. Mother laughs, and I immediately squint as her hands slowly guide me further out of the isolation I had encased myself in. She draws me up onto her lap, and I lean my head against her collar, closing my eyes.
Here in my mother's embrace, I know that I'm safe.
"Isn't it always better to smile even if you're sad?" Her voice whispers in my ear, and I lose myself in the warm melody of her tone. "A smile hides your emotions - it conceals what you don't want others to see, what you want to keep to yourself."
I open my eyes, pulling slightly out of her arms, and I look up to meet her caring gaze with my own. Yet there is something peculiar in her stare, and I - almost as if I can't help myself - tangle my fingers into my mother's long brown hair, a mere child once again.
"Are you sad, Mother?" I question, my fingers caught in the strands of her tawny locks.
And there I notice the blood, dripping from between my fingertips, coating the ends of her tresses, spilling from her smiling lips - gruesomely etched with streaks of crimson. I stiffen, clambering out of her lap. Falling to my knees, I start to back away, my hand knocking against something made out of cold metal.
My mother continues to advance, blood painting scarlet rivers down her white dress. "Why, Aoi,", she says, and my trembling hands take hold of the gun, releasing the safety and shakily aiming at her bloodied form.
Shoot, says a part of me. You have to, you have to kill.
I shake my head, teardrops splattering against my shirt. She continues to move forward, and my index finger hovers over the trigger.
"Shoot," a voice commands, and I look up to see my father standing above me, his mouth thinning into a straight line. He stares down at me, before kneeling at my side, taking both of my hands - with the firearm in between.
An unfamiliar glint shines in his familiar azure eyes, but when I blink, it's gone.
"'It is better to be feared than loved,' [2]" he says, and with a quick jerk of his fingers, urges my hand to pull the trigger.
I scream as my mother's now lifeless form falls to the floor.
Her amber eyes looks through me, her lips in a perpetual smile as nine words fall from her tongue.
"Will you ever know, now that you've killed me?"
In a fit of rage, I slam a hand against the wall; pain shooting up my appendage as I curl my fist even tighter, fingernails digging into the hardly scabbed over wounds from two weeks ago. Blood trickles down my skin, a sudden shiver coursing through my muscles as I stare at its vivid hue.
The tiniest flicker catches my eye, and I turn to see my mother standing a yard or so away from me - her white dress billowing just below her knees, blown out by a breeze I can't feel.
"Remember?" She smiles, lips pulled up into a horrifying grin as I stiffen. The numbing cold holds tight against my limbs as she drifts forward, her hands - musician's hands, she liked to call them - winding their ghostly fingers through my hair. "Do you still remember how you killed me, my little skylark?"
"Mother," I whisper almost absentmindedly, unclenching my fist to show fresh blood coating my flesh - a noticeable contrast to my unhealthily pale skin. Her lips form frigid whispers against my ear, and I lower my head.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, closing my eyes. I barely feel anything as the apparition pulls me into an embrace. "I'm sorry, Mother." I repeat, pushing back the sob building at the back of my throat.
When I open my eyes, she's gone, the smallest wisp of the figment of my imagination disappearing as I look down at the blood streaming from in between my fingers.
Sudden, irrational anger fills me as I remember the occurrences mere minutes before, and I reach for my phone--
Only to grab at empty air, my messenger bag still inside the classroom. The same hell I try to escape - apparently, to no avail.
Without another word, I head back the way I came, sharply turning a corner, my shoulder briefly colliding with the wall. I bite the inside of my cheek, accepting the pain as I continue on, halting in front of Class 3-A's closed door just as the electronic bell rings, signalling the end of the period.
I have to get out of here, my instincts practically scream as I hesitate, my hand hovering over the notch in the doorway.
Before it's too late.
x + x
[Location: Somewhere near the coast of an island in the Philippines.]
"Don't run away now," a mischievous grin claims his lips as he deftly leaps from the rafters of the abandoned storehouse he had snuck into, landing upon one of the stacked crates nearby. The man freezes mid-step, staring up at the silhouette with panicked eyes, and a parcel drops from his calloused fingertips.
"I'd hate ta' go through all the trouble of tracking ya' down again." He smiles, jumping off his perch and landing carefully upon the creaking floorboards, sending dust flying into the air.
"You're--!"
Amusement glints in his currently gray eyes, courtesy of one of the contact lenses he always kept in store. "So, an old man like ya' knows about lil' ol' me, then?" A silver blur slices through the still night air, whistling past the frightened man's face. A minuscule slit rips into his wrinkled skin, blood tracing its way down his flesh.
The man flinches, staggering back as he grasps at his newly acquired injury.
"Hand over the drug," the boy says calmly, eyeing another blade he throws up and into the air. It circles once, twice - a deadly dance in midair - before falling straight into his palm, hilt-first. "I'd hate ta' hafta spill someone's blood over this thing."
The man shakes his head; wiry black hair slapping at his temples. "No way in hell would I hand over my livelihood over to a snot-nosed brat from the sorta organization you're from," he spits, bending down to pick up the fallen package. He looks up, recognition flashing through his eyes as a sneer curls his lips. "Eh, so that's why I thought you're familiar. You're that kid who bust out all those brats roughly three years ago; the kid called 'Achilles'!"
'Miles' - alias 'Achilles' - purses his lips, crossing his arms over his torso. "And?"
"Where's that chick with you then, 'ey? She ain't with you? I remember she'd gotten our prized brats out - that blonde kid with gray eyes and that whiny lil' brat with mousy brown hair. Couldn't stop whinin' for her brother comin' to save 'er." A sly grin replaces his sneer. "Must be you she was tattling off about, 'ey?"
He clenches his jaw, tightening his grip over the handle of the dagger he holds. He must be talking about Abel, he realizes almost belatedly. "Less talking, more work." He mutters. "Hand over that parcel."
"No can--"
It all ends in an instant.
Scarlet threatens to overcome his vision as he sprints over to the smug older man, knocking him off balance when he kicks out his legs from beneath. The package falls into his waiting hand as he jackknifes to his feet, storing it into his jacket before he pins the struggling man onto the ground.
The latter scowls, spitting harsh obscenities in his native language, and 'Miles' slams the hilt of his knife to the back of the man's head.
"I still remember all the shit ya' put my sister through, you bastard," he hisses, a cold glimmer in his gray eyes.
"You're not gettin' away this time around."
x + x
It isn't long before Fujimoto Tsubaki notices that something has gone severely awry that morning.
Her arms are laden with stacks upon stacks of handouts her teacher had printed out, asking her to deliver them to her classmates before the start of the next period - which just so happened to be Japanese Literature, one of the subjects where she had.. Little to average knowledge of. (That, and the fact that she recently realized that she's gotten rusty in writing kanji.)
Still, she decides that doing a good deed every once in a while is a habit worth practicing. (Ironic as it may seem, what with her 'work' as a Sibylline agent and all, but she tends to digress.)
She hadn't expected them to be that large in number, though; her arms ache from the strain, evidently unused to such extremes - again, this she finds to be hilarously ironic. She is used to pulling strenuous activities, often training late into the night, but her recent negligence in training was, most likely, caused by her--
A sigh escapes her lips as she walks, struggling to keep herself upright. As she passes by Class 3-A's open door, she notices a familiar personage surrounded by irate fangirls. A hint of bloodlust mingles with the normally studious atmosphere in the room, emanating from a tense Hanazono Aoi.
Which alerts her of the situation at hand.
"Hey, are you really Asano-kun's girlfriend?" One asks, stepping slightly closer to an internally seething Aoi. The girl smirks, reaching out a hand in an all-too-obvious attempt at shoving the redhead. At the blank look she receives, she waves her appendage in a flippant gesture. "You've got a voice, haven't you? Speak up when you're talked to! Or are you just scared of the consequences?"
Derisive laughter elicits from the trio. Tsubaki, exasperated at the cliche bullying happening right before her eyes, yet worried about Aoi's sudden anger, shuffles closer to the doorway. She is about to enter when Aoi looks up, glancing briefly in her direction as a faint sneer takes hold of her lips.
"Oi, talk, why don't you?" Another of the fangirls prompts, "Could it be that you're just nothing but arrogance? Well?"
A third walks-- no, 'sashays' forward, flicking a lock of the redhead's hair away from the collar of her uniform, revealing the lime-green headphones she usually dons. "You know, I've never even seen you study or pay attention in class. You're always having these headphones of yours over your ears while you draw. What, are you just as dumb as Class E?"
Aoi smirks, crossing her arms beneath her chest. "At the very least, I'm smart enough to remember not to stoop so low as to degrade a fellow student." She cocks her head to the side, a taunting edge to her normally monotone words. "Jealousy may cause another person to commit foolish actions in what you often call 'love'. I regard it as an idiotic reenactment of idolatry in these modern times."
An angry flush spreads across the latter's cheeks. "You bitch--"
Unimpressed, Aoi shifts her weight to her other foot, assessing the irate girl. Tsubaki notices her azure eyes scanning the three from head to toe, as though ascerning which vital area she can possibly hit, dealing the maximum amount of damage. The brunette tenses, about to enter when a rude student shoulders past at that moment. She stumbles, the handouts almost spilling to the floor, if not for her saving grace - her balance.
Muttering a foul curse beneath her breath, she adjusts her grip, turning as if to go. As she looks back, heat creeps up her cheeks as she realizes that nearly every single student is staring at her frazzled form. Tsubaki stammers an excuse, dashing out of sight.
Meanwhile, Aoi is internally glad for the distraction. "If that's all, why not come at me this instant?" Her lips tug into a smirk. "Or are you scared?"
"I'll kill you!" The fangirl snarls, clenching her hand into a fist. Aoi looks at her in contempt, bloodlust seeping from her form.
"Kill me?" She muses placidly, advancing a step. The other two girls cower beneath her livid stare. "With what weapon? These puny hands?" She gestures to the female's trembling fists, white-knuckled and sweaty as she futilely tries to avoid the girl's gaze. "What a joke. You're just wasting my time."
With that, she brushes past the terrified girls without a word, gathering up her things from her desk. Silence reigns supreme over the classroom, as though an unseen entity takes hold of their tongues, rendering them unable to utter a single word. It's when the irascible redhead is finally out of sight that a semblance of normality returns.
What just happened?
x + x
"Say, Shu, you'll always be by my side, right?" A red-haired child asked her companion; bright, azure eyes glinting with hope. A small, reassuring smile wormed its way to his pale lips, as the young, strawberry-blond male laced his fingers with hers.
"Of course. I promise, Aoi."
I remain silent, walking down the halls with increasing speed as seconds tick by. Never have I ever thought that I will stoop so low as to forge a slight disagreement with such foolish females. I suppose the fault is mostly upon their side; yet, I myself have provoked them to such an extent.
I'm a fool, I think irritably. Of course. Only fools would be--
"Aoi." His voice. I spin around, instinctively taking a step back as I clench my free hand into a fist. Gakushu remains silent for half a second, advancing towards where I stand.
"Let me explain--"
A harsh, grating sound escapes my lips, cutting off his normally suave voice. A derisive laugh, I realize, mocking him for his disbelieving words - then and now.
"Have you come to futilely attempt to coerce me to reconsider?" I remark casually, as though our earlier squabble had never come into existence in the first place. "Don't be foolish, Shu."
An ambiguous emotion lurks within his gaze as he holds up his hands in a vague gesture of surrender, dropping them to his sides soon enough. "I'm not. I'm here to say this," he takes a few steps forward, his chin nearly level with my nose as I look at him.
"I still remember the promise we made."
Something within me snaps at his words, ire fueling my actions as I grab his necktie, drawing him down to my level. "Then why did you lie?" Do you even know how much I trusted you? To have admitted my secret to you--
You treated me like a monster. I trusted you.
He looks me in the eye, and - with a motion resembling one sweeping another into an embrace - tugs me closer to his torso. I flush, tenaciously refusing to bow down to his will. His other hand sweeps back my forelocks, his fingertips resting against my cheek.
"I never did say I would keep the promise," Gakushu remarks calmly, as though he is a mere bystander to this series of events. "You were the one who assumed I would." A wry smile touches his lips, not quite reaching to his eyes.
A burning sensation begins to sting my eyes as I push him away, sprinting down the hall regardless of pain in my heart. Liar. Liar. Liar. I chant repeatedly within my mind as I slam my feet upon the cracked pavement, sunlight doing nothing but blind my tear-filled eyes as I run.
Promises are meant to be broken.
And lies are told to cover up the mistakes one has made in the past.
Yet somehow, a part of me wanted to prove even this stupid fallacy of mine to be right.
-To be continued.
[Word Count: 2,942. Originally written: January 13th, 2016. Edited: August 25th-27th, 2016. Changes: Aoi's flashback; the 'apparition' of her mother, Mina; minor edits (past tense to present). Dedication is to Loki-Roki .
[1] Liebesleid - this is one of three short pieces for both violin and piano composed by Fritz Kreisler: Liebesfreud (Love's Joy), Liebesleid (Love's Sorrow), and Schön Rosmarin (Lovely Rosemary), known collectively as Alt-Wiener Tanzweisen ("Old Viennese Melodies" in German). There are also transcriptions by Kreisler's friend Sergei Rachmaninoff, for solo piano. The music I selected for this chapter is the solo piano rendition (as seen in the flashback where Mina played the piece upon the grand piano.)
[2] 'It is better to be feared than loved,' - an excerpt from a quote by the Italian Renaissance historian, Niccolò Machiavelli: 'It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both.' This same quote is actually the Sibyl's motto.]