Left With Flowers

part two

by ukyou

Before I start on this chapter, I would like to thank the user "K a w a i i - S y a o r a n" who reviewed on my story recently. Reading your review made me think "Well, hey, people are reading this story. Maybe I should update it finally."

So thank you very much, and to all those readers, whoever you may be, a review is much appreciated!

Chapter Two - Falling From the Sky

He grew wings and flew away, that is what his dream was of. It was the dream that he looked forward to, because for once, it felt as if every whisper of a past nightmare was burning away with every gust he passed. Burning away until the very breath of air he had seemed icy cold, the blanket around him disappearing. Then, it was all about the wind, the speed, and the stars to guide him.

Until he would wake up at least, to a brilliant beam of light from the sun. Its warmth would tickle his eyes, making them twitch until he finally opened them. The sun seemed so much further away from here. In his dreams, it was all the warmth he needed.

And when he awoke from such a dream, he was filled with such inspiration that made him get up and dabble with a song dancing in his head. Maybe he had heard it while he was dreaming, but it would be stuck in his brain for the remainder of the day. He would walk outside whistling, humming, and even tapping out the tempo, until the dream was all but forgotten and all that was left was a song.

"Well, isn't that an imperfect scenario." Jacob then said, his eyes peering over a newspaper. "So, you're telling me that you've had this song stuck in your head all day, and now you think that you should come to my apartment to borrow my piano so you can start becoming some great composer or something?"

"I asked you the question, I'm just waiting for an answer." Syaoran replied, sipping his tea softly as people walked past. He had a photographer's eye on at that moment, and his visage was easily distracted by some new interesting thing appearing in the street.

"Well, you know me. I won't even bother answering, just come by in an hour and I'll have the keyboard packaged up for you." Jacob finally said after a moment of pause. He gave a small laugh and taking out the cigarette from his mouth. "C'est bien pour toi?"

"Yea, it is, thank you - I'll pick it up later" Syaoran answered, putting the money he owed the man for his cup of tea on the table. Taking his coat from the chair, he walked away. He had his camera on him, luckily, for as he walked home, he saw the most peculiar thing. A boy standing at the curb with a camera pointed right at him. Syaoran smiled and returned the gesture, taking the photo there and then. The little boy then put down his camera and smiled back, quickly disappearing within the cloud of people surrounding him.

And then two hours later, Syaoran found himself sitting in an old metal folding chair staring downwards at what seemed to be thousands of keys of black and white. He had taken lessons so long ago, and had neglected them. Now, he would constantly borrow keyboards in order to try to make up for his lost touch for the instrument.

When he placed his hands on a piano keyboard, however, he would usually feel awkward. His fingers were not created for a piano it seemed, they acted as if they were the very foundation of its possible destruction. Yet, today, he placed his fingers down as if he had done so thousands of times in the week alone.

And he began to play something. Something he had never played nor heard ever. It was a delicate song, his fingers barely pressing down the keys. Then just as quickly as it had come to him, it disappeared. The last note tickled its end as it flowed on into a smooth decreshendo.

Syaoran did not himself notice that he had played such a song, his eyes were frozen in place, staring straight at a green wall. His red sofa, he had once known a red. Something red. No, not yet, something brown - but red ... her name.

Sakura.

Sakura. Sakura.

Sakura. Sakura ....

Her name echoed through his mind over and over again, as if it were water from a falling stream. It would not stop falling, it would just keep coming and coming. Sakura.

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead.

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead.

And he listened as his head kept repeating it to him, finally now not behind bars. His mind was making up for lost time. He hid this pain well, but hidden shadows always jump at the chance to sneak up behind you.

And then it disappeared. Syaoran finally shook his head, his hand supporting it, his elbow on the keyboard. He missed her. He missed her so much that it still burned in his heart, the beauty, the very look she gave him.

Such beauty is made such much more beautiful when imagined. He knew that they did part ways, that she did die, that he had stayed by her side through it all. He knew she had someone else.

But she was so ....

...nevermind that. There was no reason for Syaoran to think of such things. He got up, finally taking satisfaction that he had finally played something satisfactory on the damned keyboard. Taking refuge on his beautiful red sofa, he lounged and turned on the tv, in which all his thoughts about that girl washed away. He was flying again, except this time, he was flying with a 200 channel satelite dish network.

And then he thought for a moment.

Why did he always buy everything in red?

But like all moment-long thoughts, it was washed away in a cloud of other-such-important-moment-long thoughts. Just like a blot of watery ink of paper.

to be continued

August 31st 2004, 2:27 AM