A Spark in the Snow

Note: The beginning is stylistically intended to narrate the events as Aiyumi saw them. Also, many details will be explained later in the story. Don't stress too much if you don't quite get it. Please tell me if it I give enough away to be intriguing, or if it just gets tedious and confusing. This is what I am hoping for feedback on the most.

Also, I prefer to work on the mechanics of the piece myself, if I could just hear your impressions of the ideas of the story, and how they are presented.

Just so you know: (parantheses) indicate something to be changed or added.

And now...




---A SPARK IN THE SNOW---


Kaishi

"You must rise," said Hikaru.

Aiyumi's head dragged down, but was pulled up. Her eyes held tight. A new, miserable morning after no sleep at night. A groan, and she turned over. Water, she reached, and found in Hikaru's hand. He knew.

The room was shining gray, and the blinds slit with morning light. Again, late, but no matter. They would wait. Sunshine rising was better. Why not for everyone? They would wait.

Her airy morning robe, was pulled on, soft, and dripped from bed to floor to follow her into the bathroom. Hikaru watched her in and left to breakfast. Always, the floor, too cold in here. The red knob for the water would not turn further. So good, to feel it creeping through her, warm skin to warm inside, almost painful. But she had gotten burnt, once.

She climbed in, sunshine eyes, opened the window, to watch the golden on the white and black walls, and a bird came on the brightness and the blossom smell. A scared bird, that fluttered too fast, everywhere. A beautiful morning bird.

Aiyumi jumped out of the water, falling water on the black tiles now. She ran corners to catch it, then it found the window first. Back in the tub again, until the soap was out, then dripping in her towel, walking to her oils and funny face in the wall. It grimaced at her. It was ()

"Quickly, eat and dress," said Hikaru. She did.
She put her stiff and gray clothes on, and tight and black shoes. Her hair was brushed. She walked out of her door, out of the white and black into grass and her blossoms and blue sky, into her liftbox, and down, heart thumping, to the others at the bottom.

Two left and one right. 'Hospikal', the sign said. Step, she watched her shoes, step, with heel clicks, click, left right. Two left and one right. She scuffed one foot on two steps. Click, clickety-click, click, click, clickety-splash!

More water and the yellow tape, the doors sprayed from full houses. They all had to think. Across, left, right...right, left. The people waited for a different light.

Then a swish like wind was in her ear, was in her head. She saw the boy--man--there across the street.

...

He was coming over to play today, (mama) had said. They ran in the new night after baby stars, which he called fireflies, and he was going to bring her a snake from the woods. Aiyumi told (mama) that she loved him, and (mama) laughed at (papa's) frown.

"You can't love yet. You're too young to love anyone yet." And he tickled her, but still he frowned, and Aiyumi began to whimper.

"I can't love anyone?" she cried. She ran away, and hid next to the garden (well) behind the house. But (papa) heard her crying, and picked her up.

"I'm not too young! I'm not too young!" she screamed, and kicked at him. He waited for her to stop.

"You're right; you're not. I'm sorry I said so. Just be careful not to love anyone too much." She stayed on his lap until her tears grew softer, and her eyes hurt less. (Papa) sighed and kept her close. Someone came singing down the road. It was him. He was singing to the snake on his arm. Aiyumi stood up.

"Now come and play," (papa) said. But she wouldn't. She couldn't love him, and that made her angry. (Papa) finally picked her up again, and carried her back to her mother, who was looking at the snake.

The boy smiled at it, and then at Aiyumi, and then he didn't smile.

"Why are you crying?" he asked. She didn't answer. The snake was a sweet green, and long, like grass. Could she not love it, either? And--And...

Paling...

The right light shone. Aiyumi was sick, and drained, and stiff. It was a sleeping for years or old tree feeling in her. Her heart fluttered for corners as the morning bird, with fire in her eyes. She was sick...but still walking, no sign showing, across the street, toward the boy grown up... the wind was fiercer, singing high, but didn't touch her.

Ten feet, two feet, inches, nobody moving. Heads bent, with clicking heels. A breath, and then, nothing. They looked into each other...

WIND FLARE! Half a moment, just, in fire, wind, and water. () No one else felt. The boy and Aiyumi hardly paused. At the end of the crosswalk she stopped. The faces pounded in her eyes, and the fire burnt all over. Here it was. The hospikal. They were waiting, would think she never brushed her hair. And her head held fire.

...

Why for her so many tests? Always, more than anyone. The boxes on the walls today spit funny numbers. She was looked at with a curious near anger. Aiyumi sat still, and hot, in ice walls and white boxes, about to die perhaps from burning. But no one saw. A leg swung, until she jumped and stopped it. Another man came in. More boxes, more numbers. Then they stared at her, not speaking. She was glad her leg stopped. To breathe was now hard, and harder. Too thick, beat her chest. You're dying, too thick. Too thick.

In deep mumbles, they went. It was done. It was too hot to think. Her coat and shoes went on, and she flew out, quick paces, down the hall and stairs, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, because they came first. So much air to get in her thick chest. The breathing rhythm filled her ears. Twenty two, a corner, thirty-six steps. This wonderful quiet carpet! But she must go slower. One or two looked up from the lobby. She walked slow as growing, while the morning bird pecked. They let her pass. The ice white doors opened when she dared to touch. Could they not see her burning? No moving, not at all. Then out to the gray sidewalk.

It choked now, and she pushed it back. She would not cough. The shapes dimmed in the water building on her lashes. Aiyumi stayed still, and choked without sound, stared. From the blur, two ashy forms came out.

Blink. One smiled at her. An ugly smile, on a dark face. Knives in their hands, and their eyes and teeth. () Pieces of stories made her shake, and the water overflowed. Aiyumi's throat went. (more) She ran without eyes, into people, over things. Burning in her throat, burning in her legs, far, but never far enough away.

Strange noises came from her, through the breaths, as at the well, and again, the faces. What had she thought..."to cry"? It was all flames and cold water and a running wind.

A sudden door, gaping, caught her. An empty room. No way for going! The freezing, heavy steps behind her sent her mind away. Aiyumi turned and turned and tried...a chair, a shelf, a bed, a corner, and boxes...These she pressed behind.

Please, please, hold me here, please you, hold me, hide me, oh--A cough escaped, more strange sounds...wouldn't stop, STOP! They wouldn't, just stretching skin in her heavy chest. The steps, please, hide me...poured light flowed in the window.

"She's watching over us," it had been painted.

The Mother looked down, on her wall, sweet, smooth, watery. And another looming face, but (papa's), at the (well). The fire jumped as high as sight, except The Mother, and the wind swirled. And her ears burst. They were at the door. One word, Aiyumi shrieked, fell to the sky, and through it, as pouring water. Out went the light...

"What's going on?" someone shouted. When three men entered, it was to chalk skin and a hairless head with seven small holes in it, on a body lying empty by the wall.

...

Meikai

"What? You're not!..."

There was no sensation of opening at all when Aiyumi's eyes saw clear again. The fire had burnt down to almost nothing, and her feet especially were cool and easy. She stood, immobile, before a woman floating in a twilight sky of gray. Indeed, she seemed partly immersed in it. The woman was pale to translucency, even radiance, her skin sweet, and smooth, and watery. Then she was real! She shone orange in a glow that was not her own. And she seemed almost afraid.

A man's voice spoke, "I'm here!" The Mother gasped. Aiyumi suddenly felt far too light, and weak, as the figure she watched turned disfigured, and more silvery than ever. But she was too tired to understand. The Mother laughed.

"It's the girl!" she said slowly, in the very voice of delight. "So you saved each other. I've been waiting." She waved her arms, and returned to herself. Everything was paling...the words were leaving. "You've grown so handsome," Aiyumi heard. She tipped, and then the sky came up at her.

Somewhere, The Mother cried out. Aiyumi was half submerged in water, which beat faintly orange around her. And then it was only trees, and running.

-*-*-

Once again awaking, it was to bitter cold and something rough against the skin at Aiyumi's back. The world was dim and steely, with a touch of orange. She caught a sharply foreign smell.

The boy now grown sat up nearby her, as she listened. Even the air had a sound to it.

A leaf had fallen and caressed her cheek in the pull of a cold breeze, and it itched. She must scratch it or die. But her arm rose only as far as her hip, her body (pressed) under a weight as great as mountains.

She was trapped inside her body. She felt very calm. The boy kept gazing at his hands.

"Stars!" he laughed, "I'm as old as ()!" He jumped at the sound of his own voice, and laughed again. He touched shoulders, hips and legs, and then let out a heavy sigh, and stared again, quietly, at his hands. He flipped them over, once, twice, and stared with a rather sad expression.

“These are my father’s hands,” the boy whispered.

The sound of the air (pressed) in on them. The earth clawed at Aiyumi’s back, about to eat her. Tall shapes—what were they?—threatened, hung above her. Silence raged. It was so cold in this unnatural dim. And she wanted with all her heart to take the boy’s hand. Down her cheek crept one frustrated tear. Even yet, she felt nothing. This freed her mind.

Some, in the village, heard that moment a scream ring out, wild on the morning hills. Many awakened to it, and lay, as Naoko, wrenched with the sorrow of the goodness of life. A few of them cried, and never knew it. All remembered after, the day the change began.

Aiyumi heard herself, her (cry) dragging on until her lungs ached, draining her of all that she had held so tight to...in the hours past. Finally it collapsed into one mournful, ragged gasp. The boy had scrambled over, hastily putting the very small robe he wore over her threadbare clothing. He hovered very close, but seemed afraid to touch her.

"Are you well?" he asked. "You're not hurt? Hello!?" He called, and glanced around, deciding, she thought, if he ought to find help. She had begun to cry again. He brushed the hair from off her face, gently, and then with disbelief.

"My stars!" again he whispered, and he laughed once more. "Aiyumi? Aiyumi? What are you doing here?"

The next moment she had been taken up in his arms and deeply kissed. If he noticed her cringe and call in alarm, he didn't understand. A searing pain speared through her chest and heart.

"I suppose I'm old enough to do that now, aren't I?" And he laughed entirely. Her eyes slipped away.

"Or perhaps not. I always thought I would do that someday, but I thought by now you would have gotten mad at me." He paused when he saw how wide they'd grown in her colorless face.

"Aiyumi?"

The boy followed her gaze to his shirt. His chest and arm were soaked with blood, but it was the matching stain on her left side that continued to swell.

"Oh my--Aiyu...I can't--what ha...Oh, my stars--HELLO!?" He set her down and called once more, running round and again. They were in a clearing of a wood, in the middle of an overgrown shrine and six (large) columns, who knew how far away from anyone.

"Aiyumi, how long have you be--" He looked sick, and they both were shivering violently. She gave a sound that was only half voice.

"No one's coming," he moaned, his hands at his hair, and turned to wrap the coat about more tightly.

Once more around the clearing, and abruptly he came back and, kneeling again, picked her up, staggering to his feet. The pain stabbed through again. He was hardly strong enough to keep her up, she felt instantly. Nevertheless, they left the circle of the shrine, and began to follow a track beaten through the trees. (Surprisingly), they were soon out of the wood entirely.

"What have you been eating lately?" He tried to laugh, already out of breath.

"I don't remember," she whispered. "Why?"

A low chuckle was all he managed. "Nevermind." Then she understood.

"Will you be all right?" She looked up at his face. It was very strained.

He was doing his best not to shake her as he walked, but his muscles pinched and shuddered. He would drop her soon. Aiyumi tensed against an impact, and she gasped again. (more)

She was gazing at him quizzically. "Do you remember me, then?" he asked.

"A face, on the street--" something fluttered in her mind's eye, "and the bird..." She wished...It was only gray. Her heart and head tickled warmly. Am I going to die? She almost asked. It didn't come. She was too much frightened.

He saw it. He cleared his throat, nodded at her wound. "Do you remember what happened?"

She could recall him, standing, blank. They passed, and there was wind, and sky...the water...

the water……!

"Takahiko!" She flailed unexpectedly, until he had to stop and cling to her tightly. But the arms she saw were no longer friendly, and the men would kill (Takahiko) next. Takaro! Takahiko! Takaro's son, HER son! But he was just a child! She heard him whimper, the scene all dark and misted. Another called his name, and "Go!" It sank away, and still, mute, light streaks coursed down the muddy face. "Taka…hi…" The vision left, and it was the new familiar face that Aiyumi saw petrified. "My so—" she faltered. "no...I..." He stood, puzzled, his countenance at once very grim. “It’s all right,” he said—was it sadly?—continued on, much faster now, and didn't say another word.

-*-*-

Fushichou

Her little house was glowing in the morning light. Today, as Naoko swept and washed and straightened, it didn't speak of emptiness to her. Also, she felt...driven. Already the day began to warm, and she moved only faster, almost singing. Yet, she was not free of all the years before, the despair she had known, this perception of life as something (sparse), brutal. Still, it was...healing, yes. All was in order. And now she would...

How could she not be screaming? I cannot do it, the words she had imagined every time she'd thought of this. She stood in front of his door. Pulled it wide and quickly, confidently. To do it almost was too easy, too fast; it scared her.

Today, she thought, I can only love him.

She whisked the window screen aside, mercilessly. Dusted, touched, all of the things, as if they were part of the everyday. She took all his clothes at once, and piled them in a chest in the corner. How can I, she wondered; what is it that still pushes me?

She began a soup, not knowing why, and stood over it with distracted care. Perhaps for herself. She felt ill enough. I have so little time, some instinct shrieked. I should have been ready for this years ago. I could have been healthy, I could have--...but my beloved little boy. I would have suffered this forever for my little boy.

But still, it tasted bitter. Naoko nearly cried again for joy.

She had not been working for more than half an hour when something fell against the door. One hand held just above (), she stood there, shaking, trying to think who it might be. And the next moment, she was running to the door, amazed at herself. When she saw what was there, she screamed.

"Ryota!" she cried. He shook his head. He was dressed in what must be a child's clothing, and he was covered in blood. A small, pale beauty of a woman lay unconscious in his arms.

"(mother)!" came a whisper, in a deep, hoarse voice. Two white lines were running down his dirty face. "(mother), help me."

"Ryota?" Her vision spun around that face. I'm going to faint, Noako thought. It wasn't Ryota. But--...his eyes, those eyes, those eyes...

The stranger's mouth quirked in a way she knew, and she thought her heart would break. What is this madness? She stood with her hands at her head. Some evil spirit? He looked so like!

"Take her, (mother), take her, please," he shifted slightly. He was so thin. Naoko looked at the woman.

"(mother), don't let her die! I had to carry her; she was bleeding--there wasn't anybody, and I called and called..." His words were almost lost in his hysteric sobs. And she stood there, looking down at him, frozen. In her mind she sat and held him, young again. He held a little (animal), then, and cried for it, too.

But this wasn't him. And though she felt that something pushing from behind, she didn't move.

---

Eventually, her son, Ryota came running, having heard her (). The injured girl was lifted from the stranger's helpless arms, who, with the distant Naoko, was ushered into the house. Naoko turned to caring for the girl. It had been his house they passed, and his wife, frightened, had seen them go by. Coming to inquire if his parents knew anything, he had found the scene upon the doorstep.

The stranger had collapsed at the table, still () and trying to see where they had carried the girl into Shiromori's unused bedroom. It was a disturbing sight. The two of them, ragged, gray, distressed, streaked with a violent red, like ().

"What's going on?" Ryota asked his mother. Startled, she turned to him, her mouth hanging open, speechless. He waited; nothing. He left her, went and filled a bowl with soup. The stranger lay over the table, one arm flung out and the other over his head, staring, it seemed, at the wood beneath him, too weary for emotion. He trembled, deeply. Ryota sat the bowl before him.

"Eat," he said. The stranger tried to. His head resting on his outstretched arm, he tipped his mouth into the bowl and drank. And choked. Some ran down his cheek and onto the table. He pushed the bowl away.

"Where are you from?" Perhaps it was useless to question him in this state, Ryota thought. The man looked up as if he didn't understand, or couldn't answer. Once more he tried.

"Where did you come from?"

The words were dry and labored. "The shrine." And what was there to be made of that? Was he trying to be difficult?

"And before that?" asked Ryota

"I don't know."

"Who are you?"

The man gave no reply.

"Why are you here?"

"Do you need help?"

He twitched, slightly. Both were growing agitated.

"What happenned to the woman?"

"Are you in danger?"

"Is she your wife?"

The stranger sprang up, straight, clenched fists and bloodshot eyes.

"I don't know, Ryota!" He screamed. "Stop it!" He dropped back onto the table, hiding his face in his arms.

Ryota was quiet. He was unsure of what to say. How did this man know his name?

He felt his mother's hand on his shoulder.

"Let him alone," she whispered, hardly daring to look at the pitiful form. "He needs to rest. Come, I've laid a bed for him in here." She took the bowl away, and they carried him to another room, set him, only partly conscious, on the bed she had made for him on the floor.

"(mother)," The stranger reached for her. As if she didn't notice, Naoko took his wrist and tucked it underneath the blanket.

There was not a sound, now. He slept, and the other two were left to a confused and tortured silence, to mull over a thousand questions they felt their lives depended on, and yet were too close to be asked.

---

Genmetsu I

The elevator rose so slowly. Takahiko Echimoto kicked and pounded on its every surface, making no attempt to control his grief. He pulled the handrail from the wall, and drew it, delighting the painful screech of the metal. If only he could make that kind of sound. A () gash ran over the polished silver sheen. He would see the entire city thus. What purpose was there to it, now that she was gone?
Eventually, he reached the highest floor. It was one spacious room, shining white and filled with all of his greatest mechanical creations.
Underneath an overhanging glassy cube, which swayed lifelessly and dull, the ugly little doll lay white and utterly inhuman on the table. He wanted to tear it into pieces. How had it happened? He had nearly had her true again! He broke down once more, on the floor beside the woman who had never known him. The woman he had loved so many years.

The "doctor" came in, or so he was made to be, as in the city he was the most able to understand information and act upon it. Idiots, all of them. Perhaps if Takahiko had had better help, this would not be so now.

"What happened?" He was suddenly calm.

"Somehow, the spirit left. We cannot tell why."

"Is there nothing left?"

"I don't think so."

Takahiko stared at the blank cube suspended above him, searched it intently for some sign of light. He brushed her skin. It was disgusting to him.

"Keep searching. Just a tiny piece, that's all I need," he said. He stood up then, stiff, still trembling, dignified.

He looked one more time at the thing that should have held her face, and from his jacket took a pale pink lily. The petals ripped in his clenching fist, and he left them, broken, at her feet.

---

Koukishin

Half of this Aiyumi heard, not understanding, as she slept. Eventually the familiar voices and clinical little beeps became the sounds of birds and wind and leaves. These she had known in...her garden, somewhere...she could see a bird...

She had slept too long. It clung to her and smeared her thoughts. But eventually she was on her feet, tripping slowly around the room. Her legs seemed not entirely her own; they bent for her reluctantly. Her chest burned fiercely. It made her dizzy...

The distant hum of gentle voices came in through the door. Aiyumi leaned against it and tried to listen. It wouldn't focus.

When the people heard her door slide open they all stopped talking and turned to her. There was the boy, and another man, and an older woman, and they all looked very much alike. No one was sure of what they might say. There was a painful tingling in her stomach. She tried to step toward the table and she nearly fell again. As the woman gave a shout, the other man caught her and held her up. They brought her to the table and sat her by the boy, who wouldn't look at her.

She had been there four days, they said. It was a wonder to her. Another painful while, and the man, called Ryota, and his mother went their way, he to his home, and she to the laundry. Aiyumi ate, painstakingly but starving, ().

"I'm sorry about earlier..." the boy said quietly.

"What?"

"What happened, Aiyumi?" At the sound of the name, her skin turned strangely hot. And yet, she felt peace with him.

"I'm not-- I don't--" She tried to sort the swirling pictures, years of thoughts again, but it was too much.

The boy put one hand up over his heart. "Who did--?" But she had returned to her food.

"Have you been happy?" He asked, his voice a little high.

"Here?" She had only just woken, and seen so little of this place.

"Wherever you've been," he shrugged.

"I think so."

"And where is your son? And your husband?"

"I--I don't have..."

He hesitated, surprised. "Who is Takahiko, then? You called for him, in the forest. You said he was your son." And suddenly, he faced her with some intensity. "Please, if you tell us, maybe we can help you..."

Her head had dropped as she attempted to recall the outburst. She had been scared of dying...She felt overwhelmed.

"I don't remember how it happened. I was running in the streets..."

There was just too much to see. The pressure of the air grew, burning hot, and it was all so vital. She faltered under it.

"Shiromori!"came the woman's voice.One hand set lightly on Aiyumi's head."It's all right," said the woman, to Aiyumi.. "Come and help me in here, please," to the boy.

When they were past it, she closed the door.

"Shiro, why do you think--That isn't--...Aiyumi died of the (), just after you were gone."

"The what? But no! That's--" He made an almost laughing sound. "Died?"

"It nearly killed her mother, too."

Then who...? Who could she be?

“(mother)? I don't understand. But that's...” His eyes were teary, and it was her little boy again. Even still, she couldn’t touch him yet. "I'm sorry," she whispered. He looked back in at the room.

"Has she been telling you that's who she is?" Naoko wondered.

"No, I just...assumed..." on a closer gaze, he was shaking. She had not stopped to think that though she had died so long ago, it was now he felt the loss of his childhood friend. It surprised her that he had not asked of her before. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. Was it still her place to comfort him, as she had when he was younger? When he didn’t answer, she gathered her things and left him to take in his grief.

All the words drifted through his ears again. Why had he been so sure?

("I'm not-- I don't")

("Do you remember me, then?")

("A face, on the street--")

He watched her rise, halting, and touch her wound. Her every form was so much like it had been, only more... It isn't you? He thought, as she returned to his old room. Then she glanced at him.

And it was a face on the street, her dark hair flying in the wind, against the gray cement walls. And he saw the inner fire he had known.

---

Yuurei

It was then that Kazushin flew in the door.

"Mother, I nee--" He stopped when he saw his brother.

"What is it?" asked Shiromori. But his younger brother was already gone, calling for her through the house. Before he could catch him, Kazushin was out again, running as if scared of staying longer.

Naoko came in with the laundry, trying to look at him and seem not to be. He was watching the door

"Mother," Shiromori asked, "Where are they working, today?"

"In the far north field."

"May I go and see them?"

She wanted to laugh, at the childish (tendency?).

"Are you sure you're strong enough?" She truly doubted it, but with a smile and a nod, she left him to his own decision. There was nothing wrong with him, except that he was weak.

One check, to see if Aiyumi--it must be her!--was still well. Breathing lightly, she slept. curled tightly, in his old bed.

"Aiyumi!" he whispered as loudly as he dared. Nothing.

"Aiyumi!" This time she straightened, waking.

"Are the black fish in the boxes?" she asked, and went back to sleep. Now he was certain. ()

Before he made it out the front door, things grew rather distant.. This would be a long journey.

---

More than an hour later, as Kazushin and Etsuki, his father, were ending a brief rest, Shiromori stumbled to the field's edge. They ran to him.

"What's wrong?" Etsuki demanded. Shiromori only shook his head, gasping repeatedly.

"I wa--wanted to come help--" he said.

"You're no help to me like that," replied his father, concerned. He was smiling.

"I know," said Shiromori, "that's why I had to start now."

As his father gave a gentle laugh and clapped him on the shoulder, Shiromori watched his brother turn back to his work with a stern, almost disgusted face. His movements were sharp, controlled, and very strong for a child his age.





(doto
CHCK BDRM LIKEHD
brother in, back on:
conf moth, approa all as instinct child, but older (bdlr,bt?)
dreams, both untying knots, frantic
asks her story, sit by pond near shrine, both remem
her story, or tell?
find out friend, try be
awkward, until do some gain approval
friends
finally better, must find place
see parents, recog, leave
then say too much
finally consent
rej moth, fath like for simties

grave)