[ dream 1] O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
[The dream opens in the courtyard of one familiar Shinto shrine; the place is clearly well-maintained, with freshly washed stone pathways and healthy, neatly lined trees. That said, Watanuki can clearly sense something distinctly off about the place: it's empty, devoid of life, of spiritual essence. Even though he can sense absolutely no evil or sour energy emanating from the building, there isn't anything good, either, only the hollow sound of creaking empty halls.
Watanuki stands in the courtyard, waiting. No indication as to who he is waiting for, exactly, only the lone figure of the boy standing in his school uniform. He doesn't pace, but looks around, expectant, somewhat bothered by what he sense here--or rather, what he can't. His body language is halting and nervous; he runs his hand over the back of his neck, scuffs the toe of his shoe against the stones. After a few minutes he moves to the porch, slipping off his shoes and settling down on the wooden steps.
“Haruka-san…” he breathes, leaning his chin against the palm of one hand. He waits. A wind comes and rattles the trees; the sky is pitch-black, but the boy doesn't seem bothered by any of it.
After some minutes, he gets up and moves to the entrance of the haiden. The door is closed, which in itself is unusual; when he opens it, however, it leads into Yuuko's store. Even here, the same empty, void feeling as the first place. Maru and Moro don't come to greet him; no smell of incense or smoke permeating the walls, no demands of drink from Mokona. Nothing.
Watanuki seems about as fazed by this as he was about the earlier setting, and moves down the hall into the kitchen. He opens the fridge to retrieve a very cold, stiff yukata; its simple, elegant stripes strike a pang of recognition, and he realizes it's the first one he wore, to the Hyaku-monogatari.
“It's a dream, so what does it matter if there's clothes in the fridge?” He states, shaking out the garment. “But why this one? It's winter now.”
He slides it loosely over his school uniform. It fits well, still, even though it's been--he doesn't know. Months, maybe. He tries not the think about it.
He walks to the shop entrance again, opens the door. Instead of the shop's usual verdant little lawn, the door opens directly onto a busy street, and specifically, on a pedestrian crossing. There's a woman standing there, frozen in the middle of the street; she's holding her finger like it's broken, and Watanuki knows that there is a ring on that finger, a broken ring because he's been here before. He looks around, spots Himawari on the sidewalk alone.
The light turns green; distantly, he hears the roar of an engine, the blaring of a truck's horn. He slams the door shut just in time to see the splatter of blood in the pavement and listen to Himawari's shocked scream.
He breathes. Tries to focus on it, and not on the memory of that woman, the first customer he helped Yuuko with.
He opens the door again, and this time it opens on nothing but a dead black space. Watanuki steps out, and is greeted by the smell of rot and dead earth. He can see the weeping child just up ahead, but he knows, in the back of his mind, that there will be no ribbons to help him out of here.
She's a small girl, just like he remembers; her hair is maybe a touch paler, longer, and oh wait, it's Kohane-chan crouching there, weeping, her face covered in bandages. Watanuki's yukata is still stark and cold, but he holds her gently, taking her hand.
There's a flash and all he can think of is this isn't how the memory goes when he finds himself on his back under blood-red flowers. The rain falls in his face as he turns to examine the child's skeleton hand he's holding onto. The small fingers and wrist poking out of the moist ground, clutching desperately to him.
“But they'll think I'm ugly.” He can hear her whisper.
“No,” he murmurs, smiling. “you're very brave.”
And he looks up, but all he can see is storm clouds against the dark gray evening sky.
The last sensation from the dream is the desperate desire for an umbrella, and then Watanuki wakes.]
[His eyes miiight be wet, but it sure isn't from rain. He belatedly realizes the Dreamberry is on and fumbles for it, blind without his glasses. He eventually gets his hands on it, and the screen flicks off.]
Watanuki stands in the courtyard, waiting. No indication as to who he is waiting for, exactly, only the lone figure of the boy standing in his school uniform. He doesn't pace, but looks around, expectant, somewhat bothered by what he sense here--or rather, what he can't. His body language is halting and nervous; he runs his hand over the back of his neck, scuffs the toe of his shoe against the stones. After a few minutes he moves to the porch, slipping off his shoes and settling down on the wooden steps.
“Haruka-san…” he breathes, leaning his chin against the palm of one hand. He waits. A wind comes and rattles the trees; the sky is pitch-black, but the boy doesn't seem bothered by any of it.
After some minutes, he gets up and moves to the entrance of the haiden. The door is closed, which in itself is unusual; when he opens it, however, it leads into Yuuko's store. Even here, the same empty, void feeling as the first place. Maru and Moro don't come to greet him; no smell of incense or smoke permeating the walls, no demands of drink from Mokona. Nothing.
Watanuki seems about as fazed by this as he was about the earlier setting, and moves down the hall into the kitchen. He opens the fridge to retrieve a very cold, stiff yukata; its simple, elegant stripes strike a pang of recognition, and he realizes it's the first one he wore, to the Hyaku-monogatari.
“It's a dream, so what does it matter if there's clothes in the fridge?” He states, shaking out the garment. “But why this one? It's winter now.”
He slides it loosely over his school uniform. It fits well, still, even though it's been--he doesn't know. Months, maybe. He tries not the think about it.
He walks to the shop entrance again, opens the door. Instead of the shop's usual verdant little lawn, the door opens directly onto a busy street, and specifically, on a pedestrian crossing. There's a woman standing there, frozen in the middle of the street; she's holding her finger like it's broken, and Watanuki knows that there is a ring on that finger, a broken ring because he's been here before. He looks around, spots Himawari on the sidewalk alone.
The light turns green; distantly, he hears the roar of an engine, the blaring of a truck's horn. He slams the door shut just in time to see the splatter of blood in the pavement and listen to Himawari's shocked scream.
He breathes. Tries to focus on it, and not on the memory of that woman, the first customer he helped Yuuko with.
He opens the door again, and this time it opens on nothing but a dead black space. Watanuki steps out, and is greeted by the smell of rot and dead earth. He can see the weeping child just up ahead, but he knows, in the back of his mind, that there will be no ribbons to help him out of here.
She's a small girl, just like he remembers; her hair is maybe a touch paler, longer, and oh wait, it's Kohane-chan crouching there, weeping, her face covered in bandages. Watanuki's yukata is still stark and cold, but he holds her gently, taking her hand.
There's a flash and all he can think of is this isn't how the memory goes when he finds himself on his back under blood-red flowers. The rain falls in his face as he turns to examine the child's skeleton hand he's holding onto. The small fingers and wrist poking out of the moist ground, clutching desperately to him.
“But they'll think I'm ugly.” He can hear her whisper.
“No,” he murmurs, smiling. “you're very brave.”
And he looks up, but all he can see is storm clouds against the dark gray evening sky.
The last sensation from the dream is the desperate desire for an umbrella, and then Watanuki wakes.]
[His eyes miiight be wet, but it sure isn't from rain. He belatedly realizes the Dreamberry is on and fumbles for it, blind without his glasses. He eventually gets his hands on it, and the screen flicks off.]