Disclaimer, thanks, and other fun stuff: Tenchi Muyo! Ryo-Ohki and it's characters belong to Pioneer LDC. Please don't sue me.... ^.^* I'd like to thank Evil-chan, Happosai and Neo-Rick, for reading my little story here, and not telling me it sucked or somethin'... Also, thanks ta my friends for all the encouragement! =) This is my first real fanfic (the other one was kinda tiny, and doesn't really count, i think.. o.o;), so please bear w/ me. ------------------------------------------------------------------ A Moment of Weakness by Magda Castillo You gaze at the crowd before you, a crowd of strange, yet familiar looking people. The sky overhead is gray, dark clouds floating lazily along. A somber background, to match the somber atmosphere that seems to be present. You turn slowly in a circle, trying to discern your exact location. A shrine is located behind the group of people, a rather small, but attractive building. You notice you are in a courtyard of some sort, and as you look to your sides, tall cherry trees send their blossoms on their final journey, making the air dance with rose colored petals. Behind you, there is a long staircase leading down, and as you stretch your neck to see further, you notice a bright red torii standing tall. A lush forest snakes down the path behind it, trees and plants in every direction. The place is undeniable beautiful, and you know you've been here before, many times. But you cannot recall the name, nor how long ago you visited. A nagging thought pervades your mind, and you feel cold with fear. Fear? It feels a bit unfamiliar, but not entirely alien. You've felt this way before, just not recently. Today, it is brought upon you, as you realize you cannot recall your name. You touch your arms, run your fingers through your hair, look at your hands in wonder. You may not be sure of who you are, but the body feels right, and as you fight down panic, you decide it is enough. Hearing a quiet cry, your attention is turned once again to the crowd of people gathered in front of the shrine. Your spirit rises as you realize they may know who you are. Even if they don't, they may still be able to help you. Turning slightly, you begin to walk slowly towards them. As you near the group, the tension in the air grows thicker, tenser. You hear faint sobs, and a low murmuring voice speaking from within the crowd. Your mind starts slightly, trying to recognize the voice, but it is useless. Deciding to puzzle it over later, you continue on your way, towards the crowd. Passing by a pair of young women, you slow to a stop. There is something familiar about them, as familiar as the scenery, but even more so. Something about the way the blonde woman wails, the manner in which her blue eyes weep as she clutches to her slightly taller, dark-haired companion make your mental wheels attempt to turn. Turning your gaze on the other woman, you expect to see a look of annoyed frustration, and are disappointed when you see silent sadness instead. Perhaps, you don't know them after all. Even so, you walk up to the two and open your mouth to ask. When no sound is emitted, you're initially horrified, but quickly push the fear down. You realize a part of you expected this, and you wonder why you didn't see it coming. Therefore, you are better prepared when you lean towards the blonde, placing yourself right in front of her face, and she ignores your presence. You repeat this with the dark haired woman, just in case, and obtain the same results. They can't see you. You fight down the fear, and accept it. It is remarkably easy to do so, almost as if you have accepted many difficult predicaments your entire life. You may not know your name, but you feel certain you're strong, and refuse to crumple. And so, you continue on your way. Once again, your mind jolts, as your eyes catch sight of a young girl, crying pitifully. Her long blue pigtails bounce slightly as her little form trembles, and you feel deep compassion stir from within. You would have, in fact, reached out to comfort her, had your eyes not lifted to the elder girl she was clinging to. As you scan her soft violet tresses, and formal black kimono, hatred and resentment overwhelm you, threatening to consume you. For a moment you stand staring, trying to control your anger, when you suddenly see more. The tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. The soft stifled weeping against her sleeve. She is obviously struggling to restrain her unhappiness, and failing miserably. Rage cools down to confusion, and then to a vague, undefined sympathy. You stand before her for a moment longer, puzzling over her identity. Your eyes focus once more on her dark robe, then shift towards the child, noting she's wearing a similar outfit. You don't need to turn your head, to know that the young women you previously encountered were sporting the same colors. Feeling a chill course up your spine, you continue slowly on your way, ignoring the feeling of dread steadily growing in the pit of your stomach. There are only a few people remaining, gathered nearest to the shrine. One figure is standing, and the other two are kneeling over something. Instinctively, you somehow know you will not like what you see, but the gnawing need to know eclipses the apprehension, and you continue to move onward. You are almost upon the trio, when a flash of red catches your eye. Slowly turning your face to see what it is, you discover a thin child sitting on the floor. Were it not for her long, fiery locks of hair, you would have easily passed by without seeing her. She sits isolated and almost perfectly still, small hands folded neatly in her lap, facing straight ahead. As your eyes rise to examine her expressionless visage, you feel your mind jolt again, striving to attempt recognition. You feel other things as well, a myriad of emotions you cannot readily identify and explain. Affection? Relief? A part of you wants to run and bury yourself in her arms, clutch to her with all your strength and wait for her to make everything better. Although in your current state, that act would have been physically impossible, other stronger, deeper feelings are what keep you inert. Bitterness. Resentment. This woman has committed some form of crime against you, or at least, it is what you feel. Woman? Yes. Looking into her green eyes, you are certain the knowledge and depth present could not belong to such a young girl. Yet her gaze is missing something, and you stand still, trying to decipher what is. A wry look of confidence? A mischievous gleam? You can't decide, but you are disturbed by the bleak hopelessness that has replaced it. Her expression is that of complete and utter defeat. It looks so terribly wrong on her, and you are forced to turn away, your initial hostility for the most part forgotten. The entrance to the shrine is just in front of you now. Taking a breath, you cover the last few steps, coming slowly to a halt before the three remaining people. There is the faint smell of incense in the air. The pressure turning your stomach sharpens, as you hear the quiet chanting. A sutra. If any doubt had remained, it is now eradicated as you recognize the soft-spoken words. You are in a funeral. Resisting a sudden urge to flee, you unglue your gaze from the scroll the priest is reading from and inspect him a bit more closely. The insistent sensation of d‚j… vu fills you once more, as you scan his gentle, gray mane and solemn, lowered face. Just as you begin to turn away, the old priest suddenly stops, and lifts his head. Frozen in place, you stare intensely into those violet orbs, noticing the wisdom and knowledge within them. Can he see you? For a moment, certainty fills you. The old man not only sees you; he actually seems to be looking through your soul. You anxiously wait for an expression to break on his face. Surprise, recognition, anything at all. Aside from a faint look of pensiveness in his eyes, his countenance remains the same and after a few seconds, he resumes his gentle chanting. But he saw you! You're sure of it, and for a moment, there's nothing more you desire, than to scream this undeniable fact in his face. Taking a few deep breaths, you force yourself to calm down. You have the feeling that it won't be long now. It is then, that you notice the old man's pause did not go completely unnoticed. A slightly younger mustached man kneeled on the floor gives the priest a confused glance. He adjusts his glasses nervously, and begins to question the older man, when a muffled sob interrupts him. Sighing, he allows his query to drop and gently places a hand on a shaking shoulder. The shoulder belongs to a young man, also kneeled beside him. Your heart begins to race, as your eyes drink in the sight of him. The short, dark hair. The lean, slightly muscular frame. His head is buried in his arms, and his body shudders as he weeps bitterly against something. Someone. Your mind teeters on the border of realization, as you take a few steps towards him. Stopping a couple of feet from him, you continue to stare for a long moment, as if hypnotized. Your whole being tingles with diverse sensations, feelings you can't quite place. More than anything, you're filled with the need to console him, to vanquish his pain. Every tear he sheds sends a dull ache through your heart. You wonder why and how this man can have such a powerful effect on you, as you stand still, helpless. Again. The whole scene is utterly familiar, and you desperately attempt to remember where you saw this incident before. Wasn't he much younger? The setting was different. You're about delve deeper into your thoughts, when the young man slowly raises his head. You feel awareness crash down, the second you catch sight of his brown eyes. The warm, compassionate brown eyes that made you dream and long for another glance, another touch, another reason to hope. A torrent of memories and emotions rush through your mind, threatening to overwhelm your senses, as your lips form the word that described the single, greatest treasure you encountered in your life. The excitement of remembrance comes to an abrupt halt, when you notice the anguish on his face. The tears still flowing down his cheeks. The acute misery in his eyes. His gaze lowers, his hand raising slowly, and moving forward. Your eyes remain glued to his visage. A few fragmented recollections are beginning to surface in your mind. It's all becoming painfully clear. A part of you urges your limbs to move, to flee the scene as fast as inhumanly possible. Instead, your force yourself to follow the path of his hand, as it caresses an ashen cheek. As it gently brushes aside a few loose strands of cyan hair. He leans a bit more, to peck at cold lips, his tears dropping onto closed eyelids. Eyelids that hide once vibrant, gold colored eyes. Numbly, you stare at the body's surroundings. The futon beneath it, the dark violet flowers on one side of the head, the tall bottle of sake on the other. It's a wake, not a funeral, as you had previously assumed. You stagger back, your head shaking wildly, but even as you vainly try to tear your eyes from your pale corpse, you know the unavoidable truth. You chose this path. You must now accept its consequence. All you can do now is remember, and as a single tear courses down your face, the events of the last two days begin to replay in your mind. Coming someday in Part 2.. ^.^*: The reasons for this decision. Please, please, please send any comments, questions, and certainly, criticism (no death threats please) to: RyokoMR@aol.com Thanks! Magda Castillo