WIP - "Theme 15" Blue
So this is the first part of the "Blue" theme. Um...Honestly? I thought the drabble should end here, but to qualify I need to put out Kaitou KID in here. I was planning to, anyways, but it's annoying because LJ doesn't let you 'connect' multiple entries together (at least, I think it doesn't???) like in a chapter-ed story, so I'll have to squish all the drabbles together and make a story. :P Oh well.
--------> Navy Blue [drabble #1 of "Blue" miniseries]
Her name is Mizuiro. Her tiny black feet clutches onto a metal branch. Her wings become a blur of sapphire and white when they start fluttering frantically against it’s bonds, scared at the new contraption holding it down, terrified of the metal barricades that extends to all sides (-flutter, flutter, but never more).
Her body does not move.
Wet, sooty eyes gaze out of a window, at the sinking navy blue horizon, at the fervently bleeding sunset, at the dusted pink and lavender puffs of clouds.
This is what she thinks: there is freedom there but there is prison here.
The prison (cage; prison; cage) surrounds her in a circle, on all three hundred sixty sides. It is large-a radius of five hundred centimetres, a height of seven hundred fifty, and the freedom of perhaps zero-and Aoko watches as one moment, there is a blue bird perched on top of a stainless steel bar, and the next moment, there is a mini explosion of feathers, fear, adrenaline, and the bird is against the grey metal bars, fighting, screeching, trying.
She wants out.
Aoko finds it sad that she could see one barrier (gold and silver and liquid mercury) but there is still the glass in the way, and Mizuiro didn’t even know that. She can only see those oppressive, grey bars, but the window is translucent and clear, and it was one barrier that she’d never get out of.
Aoko watches the bird. And she knows she wants out.
(You can’t fight what you can’t see.)
Like many painful things, the bird’s agigtated battle against glass drags on and on: but it also ends in a second (or less-that’s how fast a heart can break). The exertion leaves her cyan-tinged wings tired and worn, and she slids down the walls of the cage, her little body twitching (her mind is still trying, but one can’t do the impossible, no matter what anybody says).
Aoko walks around the cage to help the bird-Mizuiro. When she nears, she sees Mizuiro’s eyes still focused on the scene outside the window (a sunset still; time goes slowly when your heart breaks). Some warmth blossoms in her heart at the sight.
‘That,’ she thinks fondly, ‘Will save you one day. Focusing on your goal.’
She bends down. The bird layed still on the bottom of the cage. One hand moves to open the large, brass door, and scoop up the bird’s tiny body in her palm. Just a baby. Not old enough to be ensnared yet...
-The other moves to pull open the latch. She pushed gently against the glass. The frame was usually old, rusted, and opened slowly, but today it unlocked as if pulled by a great force, and a freezing gust of wind streamed in and filled the air of her tiny apartment with a October chill...
-Mizuiro’s wings erupts in motion, waving and flapping, in such a way that the girl was sure the fresh air may have reminded the bird of the taste of freedom. Of the sky and the sea and the heart of the forest that was her name. But Mizuiro’s body is still weak, and her wings weakens to a dead stop.
Aoko sets it softly on some bedding inside the fake metal tree that extends itself from the bottom to the top of the cage. It’s metal branches extending to the far corners of the dome, almost bursting out of the neat, metal confinements, as if it was not a metal tree, but a real, wicked and green, one.
But it was comfortable, fake and metal as it was, and Mizuiro burrowed deeply into her blankets and slept.
Poor thing, Aoko thinks, snapping the lock close.
--------> Navy Blue [drabble #1 of "Blue" miniseries]
Her name is Mizuiro. Her tiny black feet clutches onto a metal branch. Her wings become a blur of sapphire and white when they start fluttering frantically against it’s bonds, scared at the new contraption holding it down, terrified of the metal barricades that extends to all sides (-flutter, flutter, but never more).
Her body does not move.
Wet, sooty eyes gaze out of a window, at the sinking navy blue horizon, at the fervently bleeding sunset, at the dusted pink and lavender puffs of clouds.
This is what she thinks: there is freedom there but there is prison here.
The prison (cage; prison; cage) surrounds her in a circle, on all three hundred sixty sides. It is large-a radius of five hundred centimetres, a height of seven hundred fifty, and the freedom of perhaps zero-and Aoko watches as one moment, there is a blue bird perched on top of a stainless steel bar, and the next moment, there is a mini explosion of feathers, fear, adrenaline, and the bird is against the grey metal bars, fighting, screeching, trying.
She wants out.
Aoko finds it sad that she could see one barrier (gold and silver and liquid mercury) but there is still the glass in the way, and Mizuiro didn’t even know that. She can only see those oppressive, grey bars, but the window is translucent and clear, and it was one barrier that she’d never get out of.
Aoko watches the bird. And she knows she wants out.
(You can’t fight what you can’t see.)
Like many painful things, the bird’s agigtated battle against glass drags on and on: but it also ends in a second (or less-that’s how fast a heart can break). The exertion leaves her cyan-tinged wings tired and worn, and she slids down the walls of the cage, her little body twitching (her mind is still trying, but one can’t do the impossible, no matter what anybody says).
Aoko walks around the cage to help the bird-Mizuiro. When she nears, she sees Mizuiro’s eyes still focused on the scene outside the window (a sunset still; time goes slowly when your heart breaks). Some warmth blossoms in her heart at the sight.
‘That,’ she thinks fondly, ‘Will save you one day. Focusing on your goal.’
She bends down. The bird layed still on the bottom of the cage. One hand moves to open the large, brass door, and scoop up the bird’s tiny body in her palm. Just a baby. Not old enough to be ensnared yet...
-The other moves to pull open the latch. She pushed gently against the glass. The frame was usually old, rusted, and opened slowly, but today it unlocked as if pulled by a great force, and a freezing gust of wind streamed in and filled the air of her tiny apartment with a October chill...
-Mizuiro’s wings erupts in motion, waving and flapping, in such a way that the girl was sure the fresh air may have reminded the bird of the taste of freedom. Of the sky and the sea and the heart of the forest that was her name. But Mizuiro’s body is still weak, and her wings weakens to a dead stop.
Aoko sets it softly on some bedding inside the fake metal tree that extends itself from the bottom to the top of the cage. It’s metal branches extending to the far corners of the dome, almost bursting out of the neat, metal confinements, as if it was not a metal tree, but a real, wicked and green, one.
But it was comfortable, fake and metal as it was, and Mizuiro burrowed deeply into her blankets and slept.
Poor thing, Aoko thinks, snapping the lock close.