Chapter IVA

There was a balmy breeze floating up in the high lofts of the heavens, and it was there where it spent a few fleeting moments cosily basking on a pillow of clouds. With autumn fast approaching its momentary death in the samsara of the seasons, the morning sun waned in its ferocity of shining and instead adopted a wintry outlook for the coming months. It cast its dancing spell upon all that was under its dominion, showering beams of gentler light like summer shadows, crowning the clouds with a glow of gold.

That balmy breeze was one of four that had no name, nor mother, as were all breezes – balmy or not. Had it a purpose? Maybe, or maybe not – that is for the breeze to share. However, as were of all things under the sun, it needed neither purpose nor direction to follow where its nature took it.

So through the cover of the sky it pierced, descending downwards. Winding, descending, like a rolling stone; it whirled its way past the steel and glass of tall structures, fluid like grape jelly on a hot summer's day. Under the summer shadows in autumn, it shot out gently down the empty roads, twisting and turning with the vivacity of a spring shower.

Finally, after its short journey from the heavens, it phased past a metal fence a few meters high, and touched down on soft greener grass. Brushing past the thighs and shoes of many a person, it was greeted by the sound of fresher morning voices.

"Oi! Kyoko, kick it here!"

A rolling football cut through the balmy breeze, taking with it some of autumn's fragile essence.

Trampled, kicked by the many heels above it – but it regrouped into itself from its several fragmented parts, and emerged whole with the wind that it was. Like a rolling stone, it roughly tumbled onto a warm concrete floor, but still it crawled onwards.

"Argh!"

Dream-like, those hollow ethereal noises people called 'sound' kissed the balmy breeze before fading from definition to obscurity. Waving goodbye until the very end to its new good-friend, the balmy breeze carried on with its wave-like course, full of bumpy ups and downs on the concrete floors and stepping feet.

And, in its final burst of life, it blew its last balmy breath past a large and tall zelkova tree, where two people sat basking in its kindly shade, and whistled its way towards God.

"Do you think it's a nice day today?" Madoka asked.

When the wind blew, the leaves shook and flew up high, exposing Madoka to a great degree of sunlight. Feeling the heat wash over her body, Madoka craned her head upwards and looked towards the brilliant blue.

As she expected, the sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the sun was up like mangoes and ripe persimmons.

On a soft patch of grass, she sat straight: back resting against the meagre trunk of a zelkova tree, legs straightened and outstretched. Her hands limply slept on her lap. Looking upwards, Madoka saw the shadowy canopy of leaves moving languidly with the stroking of the wind.

Through the spaces in between the layers of leaves, Madoka could see bright patches of cloudy skies. Constantly did the leaves flutter, causing the bright lights above her to dance in serenity and silence. It looked almost as though the leaves were glittering on a magic swirling ship, and it felt very much like being in a planetarium.

Although Madoka had never been to a planetarium before, she had a feeling that planetariums were much like the lights through the leaves, or the sparkling waves of the river. Was it irrational of her to think so? Maybe so. But it was just a feeling, and feeling was no cardinal sin.

She was entranced by the kaleidoscope of blinking lights and shady leaves. The more she looked upon it, the more her eyelids grew heavy, but never the wearier. Perhaps others might dismiss Madoka's lazy action as time-wasting. But Madoka certainly didn't see it that way. She was sitting in the shade during a lazy autumn day, looking as the leaves blew about in the wind, with not a care in the world – at peace.

The drifting, meandering voices of her classmates from the football field and the running tracks and the basketball courts and the school buildings and the beaches and the mountains and the – wherever they were, they reached Madoka's ears like runaway fragments of a midsummer's night's dream. She couldn't really make sense of them. Though she could hear the words they spoke and though their stories were quite clear, there was not a word that she could relate.

Their talk and song of tongues of lilting grace but gently caressed her ears.

Slowly, maybe lazily, Madoka tilted her head to the right and cast her sleepy gaze upon Kyoko and Sayaka in the far-out football field. What were they doing? Like two horses, they raced like crazy on the grass. Repeatedly, they threw back their heads, and slid, and swerved, and jumped with such abandon that Madoka thought their feet had left the ground. If only for that one moment, it was as though nothing stole their joy. Like a rolling stone, the football rolled on the sod and soared in the air – verily, a gatherer of no moss it was.

Madoka smiled, closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath in. A rolling stone gathers no moss, or so the saying went. Then, would Madoka, carried forth on the winds of change, be like a rolling stone? Like a rolling stone that gathers no moss? Maybe it wasn't so bad to gather moss, so Madoka thought, though she herself could not make sense of it.

Body asleep, mind awake, Madoka simply waited for some sleepy feeling to take her away in the balmy autumn day, as a gatherer of moss.

"I do," Homura said, with a smile. Or so Madoka imagined.

Madoka had no way of telling what Homura's expression was. Still, it sounded like Homura was smiling. In a strange kind of fashion, Homura always wore her heart on her sleeve. Was it simply in her character? Maybe it was just that Homura saw no need to hide herself behind a wall, to veil herself in a farce. Perhaps that was why she was always alone, out of the crowd. She was just like a rolling stone that gathers no moss.

Homura sat on the opposite side of the tree trunk, for some reason. Was it Madoka who had chosen to sit with her back facing Homura's? Madoka couldn't really remember. It didn't matter that much anyways. All Madoka could see of Homura was a few wispy strands of jet-black hair. Like summer shadows, or the indistinct sounds Madoka could hear from faraway, they lingered in the corner of her vision, but never commanded her attention.

The shouts and noises of students during club practice; the calls of crows in the evening; the silence after the wind blows – they were all calming. Homura's hair would float into her corner of her sight for a few ethereal moments whenever the wind blew strongly.

"What about you?" Homura asked back like a summer shadow.

Madoka smiled in response. Surely Homura couldn't see Madoka smile, and surely Madoka knew that. But the happy feeling swelled so greatly from the bottom of her heart that she could not contain it inside. It was the kind of happy feeling that tasted as sweet as water.

"It feels good~" Madoka replied, letting that last word drag on lazily like a lion's quasi-yawning when it stretches its back and licks its balls.

Speaking to Homura like that made it seem like Homura's voice was ubiquitous, coming from here, there, and everywhere. In a way, Madoka felt as though they were sitting together in the early morning like two old men drinking tea and eating toast at a coffeehouse as dawn ascended on a stairway of crimson-golden light. In a way, Madoka felt as though she was talking to God. Or did it feel like was talking to herself? Silly Madoka found it hard to tell the difference between God and herself.

Madoka wondered: who was Madoka? Was she her Papa's and her Mama's daughter? Was she Tatsuya's favourite big sister? Was she a student of Mitakihara Middle School?

No matter, no matter. God, Madoka, or Homura – whoever it was, Madoka was happy to sit on her patch of grass and watch the world go by, silent as the autumn river's flood.

A meticulously toned cacophony of bird-songs then pierced the atmosphere. Again, another flock of birds zoomed past. Madoka watched them fly away. The peach petals, of the few peach trees on school grounds, had all but been blown away. In their place, the peach tree's leaves.

How many times had she seen such a sight? Madoka didn't keep count, but she knew she had done this ever since she had become the class's health officer.

After transferring back into Mitakihara, Madoka was automatically granted that vacant role. And as the class's health officer, she was responsible over the welfare of a certain 'Akemi Homura' during weekly P.E. lessons and had to keep her company. Apparently, 'Akemi Homura' had a debilitating heart condition that prevented her from being able to partake in physically-strenuous activities. As a result, while her classmates heartily enjoyed (or suffered at the hands of) their sports and exercise, 'Akemi Homura' could only watch from afar and observe the goings-on.

The first time Madoka had to look after Akemi Homura during P.E., it was a hot summer day where the sun scorched down in clear blue skies, and it had been barely a month since their awkward first meeting. She found Akemi sitting right underneath a zelkova tree – the very same one the two were sitting underneath at present – and looking upwards. Madoka, after much hesitation, asked her what she was doing.

And Akemi Homura told her with a joking smile, "I'm looking at the stars."

That was the first time Akemi Homura joked with Madoka. It was the first joke they shared though at the time, Madoka confused it for a serious declaration, if not merely a poetic sentence.

In the blowing wind that raised the goose bumps on Madoka's skin, shy Madoka quizzically asked her, "The stars?"

"Yes," she told her, before returning to looking upwards.

Curious, though somewhat intimidated as well, Madoka walked over to the opposite side of the tree trunk and sat herself down. In the beginning, owing to the tension in her heart that arose from being with Akemi Homura, she sat in a position that was rather uncomfortable – tightly hugging her knees to her chest. But when she looked upwards, and saw what Akemi Homura saw, she was ensnared in the lulls of drowsiness. her arms went lax and her mind took her into some distant past.

"Are you still awake, Akemi-san?" Madoka called out after some time had passed; her voice, placid and devoid of nervousness.
"Call me Homura," came the reply.
"Ah, gomen ne, Ake – Homura-chan."

It was some time before the reply came again.

"… It's okay."

And that was the first casual conversation they had. Perhaps that was the beginning of their friendship. Madoka recalled it with fondness. And she was reminded that it was her who had chosen to sit on the opposite side of the tree trunlk.

For some reason, even after months of such a routine, neither of them thought to sidle up closer to the other, and they remained sitting opposite to each other every P.E. lesson.

How many times had it been? Twelve? 13? Fourteen? Maybe many more times. Madoka had long since lost count of how many times they shared these good morning pseudo-siestas under the summer shadows and the smiling zelkova tree. And after all that time together, they still sat with their backs to one another. Madoka giggled openly at that thought. Surely, they were strange girls: strange girls in a strange land.

It was a very personal, a very private time that was shared between the two. No one ever came to interrupt the two sitting under the smiling zelkova tree. After all, the smiling zelkova tree was planted at a site far removed from any bustling points of activity. One could even call it a foothill where the tree stood. It overlooked the river that flowed beside the school, and it seemed to merge with the trees that lined the perimeter of the school fences. Thus, despite being a part of the school, it certainly had no trace of the school where it was. No mark of accomplished architecture, no glass panels nor glass walls, no teachers, no students, no persons – just a quiet little tree, lost in a haze of trees in the back ground. Just two girls, one no more and no less strange than the other, sitting under the shade of a smiling zelkova tree, whose leaves, many browned, blow away with the whispering of the wind. And those myriad unstrung gems are scattered everywhere around.

"What are you reading now, Homura-chan?" one strange girl asked the other.

Homura's hair of floating sky glimmered in the sun. Some strands of her hair floated up on wings of wind and landed on Madoka's shoulders, before slipping and sliding down onto the grass and some lone windflowers.

"I'm not reading today."
"Then what are you doing?"

Perhaps Madoka had heard the flipping of pages deeply embedded in the sound of rustling leaves. Maybe not, but she wouldn't have been able to accurately tell what Homura was doing.

"Just thinking."

Madoka's left hand left to fiddle with a stalk of grass. With her right hand still resting on her lap, Madoka turned her gaze from the stars above her to the bright schoolyard scenery. She could see those two horses, Kyoko and Sayaka, running about the grass turf with great gusto. Were they sleek in their actions or were they brutal? Madoka couldn't really tell. She was so far away. Small details like that seemed so inconsequential. Just their vague figures and bright hair colour could be easily distinguished.

"Thinking about?"

And not long after Madoka had asked that, Homura windily sighed and drooped her eyelids kindly. Madoka could hear Homura put her hand – right hand – on the grass. Was Homura leaning on her shoulder? Maybe she was.

"Old times."

All Madoka had to do was turn her head around. Then she could see. She could see if Homura was leaning on her shoulder or lying on the grass. She could see what Homura was seeing, and hopefully see the same things.

"Old times?"

All she had to do was reach her hand out. And hopefully Homura would reach hers out too. The tree trunk wasn't all too thick. If they only reached their hands out, they would probably be able to reach each other.

"Good times."

But Homura probably wouldn't do that. And if they did face each other, and look at each other in the face, they would probably not know what to do or say.

And their conversations often went no further than they ought to. That was for the better, wasn't it? Madoka, in her keen interest for the girl, would sometimes try to get Homura to share some things about her past. Trying to build a bridge of correspondence, Madoka would sometimes share some things about herself as well. On some days, only under the smiling zelkova tree, Madoka would launch into mundane everyday topics – the ones that defined her little habits and idiosyncrasies. Just last week, Madoka went on and on about her failures and successes in cooking. Unlike her father, she did not have a flair for cooking. And lately, Homura had also been opening up to Madoka in her own little ways, little as they may be. Where Homura once used to nod and grunt or not deign to acknowledge at all, she now offered one or two short lines of dialogue or advice. She would even show her interest and engagement by saying, 'Really?', 'And then?', and 'I see.'

It didn't make for a very normal or a very smooth conversation, since it was almost always very one-sided if a conversation was at all initiated and ventured into, but Madoka simply wanted to connect with the strange girl who stayed on her mind for longer than was normal. The first few times this happened, Madoka felt rather surprised at her own ability to make conversation and the fluidity at which the words came out – not from her tongue, but from her heart where her feelings resonated with her words. Madoka was never one for talking, not as a child and not as a teenager. Her diffidence and her sense of inferiority led her to shy away from talking too much to distant acquaintances and strangers. So, when the words came out one after another, and the dialogue flowed like a calm river, it seemed so foreign to her like she was a possessed with a fervent desire to express some stowed-away part of herself.

On some days, Madoka talked like there was no tomorrow, while Homura sometimes read books, did her homework, or painted on canvas. Madoka knew that because Homura usually arrived before Madoka did. Perhaps it didn't really matter to her whether Homura was listening to her or not. Perhaps she just wanted to talk. Perhaps she just wanted to find some excuse to try and get to know Homura a little better. If that were the case, then Madoka was definitely making progress. With each trifling piece of small talk they shared, Madoka felt as though she was really beginning to break the ice and getting to know more about Akemi Homura. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just going round in circles, trying to chase a summer shadow. After all, Akemi Homura was a very intriguing person. The essence of her personality, harder to see through than a misty fog or Mami's overly-lush and romanticised poems.

On other days, when they were both feeling a little lazy and sleepy, they'd just sit down and watch the lights dazzle downwards. And in the silence they shared, Madoka would feel a soul-stirring warmness she had never felt before: a magic in the air that would send shivers down her spine and cause her to her eyes to go moist. Then, warmly suspiring, they would spend their time in the serenity of a good morning's coming, watching the world go by.

This, was one such a day: when Madoka peacefully looked up at the sky underneath the smiling zelkova tree, and did nothing together with Homura.

"Why do you think Kyoko and Sayaka are playing football with the boys?"

Being with Homura was something Madoka always looked forward too. Their unplanned, unspoken meetings under the tree always got under her skin every time she thought about it. Something about it – yes, it felt like she was reliving a part of her childhood she had never experienced.

"Because they act like boys?"

Sometimes, Madoka wondered Homura spent her time during P.E. lessons before she transferred in. Did she spend it all alone? It sounded very Homura-ish, no doubt. Sitting on soft grass, leaning on a tree, looking at the sky, counting the clouds – they all seemed like things that Homura would naturally do.

Or maybe Madoka was just confusing Homura for herself.

Drinking tea on a Tuesday morning, seated underneath a smiling zelkova tree, buffeted by the balmy breezes, observing all that moved and flowed – Madoka could vividly imagine Homura doing all that. Or maybe sitting on a rocking chair with a cat sleeping on her lap – wearing a kimono, with a book in hand.

"Especially Kyoko, isn't she?" Madoka smilingly said after chuckling.

"She is," Homura smiled back.

They said nothing more beyond that, and silence followed thereafter. They sought no further conversation. Unusually for Madoka, she did not find the lack of interaction to be awkward or strained. Perhaps that was because it felt so very peaceful. It felt almost as though she were alone, at rest and at peace. To Madoka, it seemed more like she was in the company of herself than someone else, if that were somehow possible.

"Homura-chan," she called out.
"Yes?"

Once more, Madoka looked off into the distance. She heard the laughter and the noise, as the wind blew against her hair and her tresses waved in the air. Slowly, or quickly, Madoka lost track of time. She had no need for it either ways.

"It's nothing. I just wanted call out your name."

Madoka chuckled a little after telling that to Homura. How silly, she thought, it was for her to have done that.

"…Call it as many times as you like," Homura murmured out.

Was Homura blushing as she said that? Her hair slightly aflutter, her radiant face illuminated by the orange glow of a sun about to leave its sunrise – Madoka could imagine that. Madoka could imagine Homura looking down at her hands in bashfulness, a red blush slowly spreading from ear to ear like the sun crawling out from underneath the earth to lighten the world's burdens.

Was Madoka blushing as she said that? Her tied-up hair was slightly aflutter in the warm wind, and her half-lidded eyes were sparkling like gems of ruby as she watched the smiles on everyone's faces – Madoka was just like that. Madoka watched the people moving about in the sun-painted world. And when the light rained down on them all, Madoka could see the smiles on their cheery faces.

But was Madoka blushing as she said that? Madoka didn't know. She couldn't tell. She could feel a joyous feeling surge forth from the bottom of her heart; her chest lightened of its oft heavy load upon seeing the smiles on everyone's faces. The warmth that over flowed from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes.

With every piece of dialogue they exchanged, Madoka felt as though she wanted, and had been kept long in wanting, to speak to her and tell her – something. What was it? It was as though something within her was aching to escape through the glass ceiling of her heart from the confinement of undiluted, uncommunicated thought and ideals.

No matter, no matter.

Madoka's eyes strayed away from the stalks of grass she was twirling, and watched as the folds in her skirt tentatively flapped about with the wind. Then, a fruity burst of shouting came from the soccer fields. Madoka turned her head to the left – not too slowly, not too quickly. Just right, just about right. Everything was just about right.

She saw Sayaka rolling around on the grass, huddled up into her body like a pill-bug when prodded. Sayaka seemed to be saying something. Probably something seething with teen spirit and bubbly outrageous, as Sayaka usually did. Beside her, Kyoko was standing, arms folded.

Would Kyoko help Sayaka up? Madoka thought of the odds.

Sayaka was saying something to Kyoko, or it seemed. Sayaka's lips were moving. Still, she rolled on the grass field like it was her own house's tatami mat. She looked like she was having fun. Though the breeze was not strong enough to have carried Sayaka's voice over to the smiling zelkova tree, Madoka could tell she was having fun.

After that, Kyoko spoke as well, but she soon moved such that her back was facing Madoka. With Kyoko's face and expressions obscured from Madoka's visions, Madoka could only imagine how she was feeling. Well, she still had several clues to follow by. She was assiduous in pointing out every one of Kyoko's little movements, those that she could see.

Kyoko's lips were probably moving. Then again, maybe Kyoko was just condescendingly staring down at Sayaka's curled-up profile, as if to say Sayaka's concerns were veritably no bigger than a mote of dust on the Buddha's finger, no more significant than the caterwauling of stray cats enraptured in a night of passion, and not at all worthy of Kyoko's deigning.

Madoka imagined what had gone on between them.

ACT I SCENE I

Sayaka (anguish, on floor) STAGE LEFT

Kyoko! Why did you have to step on that snail?

Kyoko (annoyance, shame) STAGE RIGHT

I said I'm sorry, already!
WALKS BRISKLY TO STAGE LEFT

Sayaka (grief)

Sorry cures nothing!
Look, it's dead!

Kyoko (shame)

Sayaka! Stop crying over spilt milk, god damn it! 5

Sayaka (intermittent sobbing)

Imagine… it could have had a wife, some kids.
It had a life!

Kyoko (exasperation)

A fucking snail!
All this for a fucking snail?!

Sayaka (in an outburst)

You killed it! 10
Because you were chasing a ball,
To kick it, and to put it into the net,
And all for that stupid game, you took a life!

Kyoko (intimidated)

Eh – uh, he's not dead.

Choir

He is not?

Kyoko (to Sayaka)

His shell's just broken… 15
Yeah, that's it!
He can just find another shell!

Sayaka

Another shell? *sob*
Look at it, Kyoko!
It's lookin' like a man who fell off a skyscraper: 20
A bag of splattered miso soup!
Its home, wrecked worse
than any ever were in the Tōhoku earthquake!

Kyoko

I – I can make it better, Sayaka!

Choir

Can she? 25

Kyoko (to choir)

Verily, I can!

Sayaka

Have you gone blind from reading all those damnable books, Kyoko?!
Prithee, look! (focus on snail)
Once perky, dainty, unassuming a snail
Has now been reduced to a lump of snot! 30

Kyoko

Believe in me, don't you?

Choir

Believe in her!

Sayaka (to choir)

Nay! (focus on snail)
Tis gone, deceased, demised, perished,
Swimming in the lakes of Hades, ten feet under, 35
Irrevivable and irresurrectable but by the grace of God! (turn to Kyoko)
Your actions, irremediable!
It has gone to meet the mystical choir!

Kyoko (sarcastically remorseful)

Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of my balls!
Forgive me, Sayaka! I am truly sorry! 40
Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?

Sayaka (gullibly falls for it)

Well… you can give me a kiss?

Kyoko

Oh Sayaka~ (gentle caress)

Sayaka

Oh Kyoko~ (deep embrace)

Just about right, with a dash of Shakespearian to boot. A maiden's mind was truly a thing of power. It was probably due to Hitomi's influence; with her shouting the phrases 'forbidden love' and 'girls can't love girls' like they were campaign slogans, the imagery of Hitomi's saucy implications seeped into her thoughts very naturally.

But Madoka thought that Hitomi wasn't wide of the mark. The red and blue duo did have some special sort of connection which Madoka could hardly fathom. Sayaka was never the most unsuspecting of people, if her initial wariness of Homura was anything to count by.

And in comparison to Homura, Kyoko introduced herself as a far shadier individual. Yet, almost in the blink of an eye, the two strangers got to living under the same roof, sleeping on the same bed, and breathing in the same air. Their lives and their characters were now so closely interwoven, Madoka could hardly recall who Sayaka was before Kyoko came into her life.

The letters Sayaka had written to Madoka, while she was still in America, detailed her mundane adventures in school and her encounters with the tomboy who went by the name of Sakura Kyoko. They met each other at a convenience store, where Sayaka helped Kyoko pay for a meat bun when Kyoko had forgotten her purse. Perhaps, Madoka thought, that was what was called 'a blessing in disguise'. If Kyoko hadn't left her money at home, she probably wouldn't have gotten to know Sayaka. Then, her life would probably have been much different.

Peering out with the calmness of a drawn bow, she observed Kyoko and Sayaka. Kyoko bent down and stretched her hand out to Sayaka.

"You know, Homura-chan…"
"Yes?"
"Isn't autumn beautiful?"

Hitori

Sayaka grabbed it, and got up onto her feet unsteadily. Madoka could see her staggering and leaning her weight onto her left leg. From she was, she couldn't make out Sayaka's expression, but she just imagined her to be growling at Kyoko. Kyoko was probably half-grinning, making a small mockery of Sayaka.

"Leaves change colour…"

Madoka looked towards the school gardens. The autumn leaves, arranged in two or three scarlet terraces among the pine trees grown in the gardens, had fallen like ancient dreams. But there were still stubborn little sun-coloured flowers blooming proudly in the treetops. And morning after morning, the flowers keep on falling.

"Flowers bloom…"

Far out in the distance, flocks of birds sang their meticulously toned cacophony and flew off westwards, chasing the high sun. What were they chirping about? Madoka always wanted to know if they had their own bird matters to discuss. Maybe they were gossiping like housewives? Madoka just imagined that they did anyways.

"Birds sing…"

There were so many things Madoka wanted to share with Homura.

"And eating sweet potatoes..."

Having a barbeque, and roasting sweet potatoes with everyone - thinking that made Madoka a little hungry.

"Isn't it wonderful how things change?"

While waiting for a response, Madoka twirled the stalk of a small windflower between her fingers, and smiled. Her sleepy eyes, on the dancing white petals of the flower she twirled.

"It really is," Homura replied.

Her voice trailed off towards the end, ending as a hushed sigh, like the sound of the wind. Was Homura smiling as she said that? Was she wistfully looking out into the distance, reflecting on the changing times? Madoka didn't know. Madoka couldn't tell. But even then, Madoka simply imagined Homura smiling away and looking far out.

"Sunrise doesn't last all morning…"

Madoka closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the wind. The earth has music for those who listen.

What was Homura looking at? Maybe that shining castle in the sky. Madoka could only imagine herself to it.

"Nothing lasts forever…"

So she tried imagining a shining castle in the sky.

They really were quite silly. If Madoka so wished to, she could have just turned her head to see the same things Homura saw. But she didn't. She wanted to imagine. She wanted to imagine for herself what Homura's world was like.

"In the blink of an eye, we bid goodbye…"

A shining castle in the sky atop a flowering peak: so fresh, so bright, the daylight blazing, all adazzle.

"Happy times with you seldom last…"

Sunlight in the emptiness, beyond the corners and inside the walls – images of broken light which danced before her like a million suns.

"All things must pass…"

And white clouds, or white cranes, flying, somewhere round that shining castle in the sky.

"All things must pass away."

In the morning, the golden morning, listening to the sound of the wind, Madoka lay soundly in her sleep, eyes firmly shut. From afar, someone was shouting for the class's health officer. Apparently, someone needed tending to.

No matter. No matter.

"That is the law of cycles, isn't it, Madoka?"

She rested her upper body on the tree with her head supported by her right shoulder, with a stalk of windflower slackly projecting from her left-hand fingers. And that was all she was doing: sleeping in a quiet place with the refracted light of the warm fine day soaking into her skin, watching the autumn pass sequestered, for sure, but pure, and quiet as the autumn river, flowing, as she listened to the words flow out like endless rain into a paper cup.

And Madoka - she imagined Homura, smiling until the end.

"Like a rolling stone, it gathers no moss."

NEXT CHAPTER

CHAPTER IVB
orfn

"Happiness is to have a little string onto which things will attach themselves."