Feel free to go to http://gladstone.uoregon.edu/~matt2518/
There, you'll find episodes of this and my other fanfic series,
the well-received "Boku No Marie: Music-Box Angel".
If you give me C&C, please consider posting it publicly. I
could really use the exposure. If you need to e-mail me
directly, my address is: matt2518@gladstone.uoregon.edu.
"You need to get in touch with your muse. Do you know how
to do that?" Mr. Motojima cleaned his glasses.
"No sir."
"Here's what I do. Write something about your dream girl.
Your perfect companion. It doesn't have to be a good
paragraph, just something to get you started. Then, fold
the paper, put it under your pillow, and take a nap."
"A nap, sir?"
"Yes. A good hour or so. Really sleep it off." He smiled
kindly, the wrinkles around his eyes nearly pinching them
shut. "When you wake up, you'll be inspired again."
Kenji Terada had writer's block. When his teacher offered him a
solution, he tried it immediately. Only, his teacher never told
him what really happens when you wake up...
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* * * *
I T ' S A R A I N Y D A Y
S U N S H I N E G I R L
Episode 02
"Under The Sky... Searching"
* *
"Sunshine Girl" (c) 1999 Matthew Johnston.
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters
to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
* * * *
------------------------------------------------------------------
Kenji spent a full glass of milk and five cookies deep in
thought. "It's possible, I suppose," he mused between chocolate-
chipped bites. "She appeared from out of nowhere. She could
leave just like that, too." He dipped his last cookie in
Caravan's untouched glass, and let it soak.
Stray thoughts and bits of forgotten conversations entered
his mind through a thousand psychic pinpricks, and he followed
them as best he could. It was only after he felt his cookie rip
itself, saturated, from his hand to sink to the bottom of the
glass that he realized how long the thoughts had been running. He
looked at the clock on his desk; it poured an electric green 23:28
into his eyes, and then his eyelids.
Kenji was asleep before he realized it.
"That's what I'm here for." Kenji opened his eyes. The
words were familiar, but the voice wasn't. Or rather, it was, but
unexpectedly so. He lay in bed, facing the stark whiteness of his
ceiling, and waited.
"You were right, Kenji," the voice continued, sourceless,
from somewhere to his left. "That pitch was way outside. If it
had been a little bit more in, you coulda had it." Or was it his
right?
Kenji listened intently. There was something about it that
eluded his senses. He felt as if he knew he should remember the
voice. He waited for another chance to place it.
"You coulda had it, I tell ya."
But he hadn't heard it in years.
"You woulda been the hero. And then Tanako woulda seen."
Kenji inhaled sharply. "But I wasn't," he whispered to the
disembodied voice.
"That's okay, buddy. I believe in ya."
Tears welled up slowly. "Mo... Mokie?"
Kenji awoke at his desk, to the resonating click of his
mother closing the door behind her. The tray of cookies and milk
were gone; the clock read 1:12.
"I gotta get some sleep," he commented as he tossed a couple
of drool-covered pages into the garbage. He smiled; luckily, they
were blank. "I'm starting to go crazy. Isn't that right, Mokie?"
The room gave no reply.
"So much for imaginary friends." Kenji undressed and climbed
into bed.
The boy's next dream came in a wash of pastel blues that
melted into a water-painted green. He stood in a field, alone
except for the waving tallgrasses and the occasional cricket
chirp. He looked around, scanning three-hundred sixty degrees,
but Caravan wasn't around. Neither was Mokie; to be sure, Kenji
wasn't sure whom to expect. He only expected.
"Are you looking for somebody?" The voice was pleasant
enough to keep Kenji from jumping. He turned, half-expecting the
voice to have an invisible host.
This time, there was a source. A beautiful one. She looked
more like a muse should. The pink-lipped smile offset pale cheeks
that disappeared around her eyes. Kenji felt thirsty looking at
them; he imagined he could drink deep at their edges if he had the
confidence to ask.
"You look like you're searching," the muse continued as if
his gaze had taken only a glance's time. Kenji swallowed, trying
to remember why he had come here. "Can I help you find?"
She stepped towards him, her gown rustling in the grass, but
never tangling. It glowed as it touched the field, and the
delicate light remained on the newly revealed blades as she glided
past.
"Yeah," Kenji managed. "I guess I'm looking for..." He
couldn't decide. The muse was almost upon him, arms at her sides,
legs parting the sea of grass without resistance. "I'm looking
for a couple of people."
"Tell me their names." Her smile didn't change physically,
but still, it grew warmer, more tranquil. More confident. And
yet it didn't move. Kenji wanted to touch her smile.
"Caravan," he absently murmured. "And Mokie."
"I know them," the muse nodded. She touched his shoulders as
she reached them. Kenji shivered, and let his head fall back. It
moved at a dream's pace, lingering below the muse as she lowered
him with her to the grass. When they were at their knees, the boy
closed his eyes on the image of her face moving towards his.
"With this kiss," she began, "you will find who you seek."
Kenji felt her lips graze his, then a moment of void. He thought
about opening his eyes, but feared for the worst.
Then she kissed him. Kenji felt a welling within him, and
with it, the need to let it release. His right arm held an
imaginary pencil, and moved it across imaginary paper, writing
instinctively. The young author wrote in nothingness for what
seemed like a week, moving his hand and wrist effortlessly as
energy poured from her lips.
And, just as it truly began, it ended. Kenji felt the week
shrink into a second, and then, as his memory lost its grasp on
the moment, he opened his eyes.
"Kenji? Kenji, wake up." The voice was Caravan's. But he
wasn't in his room. There were too many pillars.
"Where am I?" He rubbed his head. He sat up from the stone
table he had been laying on and moved his hand from his forehead
to his back. "Oww..."
"You're in my room." Caravan looked over her shoulder at the
balance of the Grecian chamber. Her voice resonated in the
vaulted ceilings and immense width and breadth of the room. He
could hear the breath that escaped after her words as if it came
from every corner.
"Your room? So I'm still dreaming?"
"Uh huh," Caravan murmured, still looking in other
directions. "In a way."
"What do you mean, 'in a way'? And what are you looking
for?"
"Not what," Caravan whispered. "Who."
"Okay, then. Who?"
"Renaissance."
Kenji found the name familiar, even though he had never heard
it used as a person's name before. "Is she a muse too?"
Caravan nodded.
"The one who..." Kenji tried to remember, but the images
danced just beyond his mind's eye. "What did she do, anyways?"
"She kissed you." The memories returned for a moment, and
Kenji's writing hand clenched into a fist. "She wasn't supposed
to do that."
Kenji blushed. "I see."
Caravan continued unheeded. "She's crazy, you know.
Absolutely nuts. She thinks she's got the right to do anything
she..." Her voice descended into a growl. Kenji felt a tug of
deja vu, but shook it off.
"So, why am I here?" Kenji felt a little existential asking,
but it was the only coherent question that came to mind.
"Shh!" Caravan shoved Kenji back down onto the table, which
he realized was actually her bed. She laid down beside him, on
her side, facing the expanse of the room.
"Caravan, dear," an older voice called, concerned, from
across the great room, "are you talking to somebody?"
"No, Sister Focus." Her feet dangled just above his head.
She was kicking them in light nervousness. Kenji let his eyes
drift along the line formed between her slight ankles, as it
curved around calves and the inside of her knees.
"I thought I heard you talking to someone." Sister Focus
sounded unsure.
"Nope. Just thinking aloud." Kenji followed the smoothly
rendered path a little farther as it approached her skirt. He
noted the similarity between the skirt's material and a gown form
memories that he knew couldn't be that distant.
"Okay, dear. Get some sleep, okay? You've got a big day
tomorrow." His reasonable half closed his eyes before the rest of
him could get a good look at how the path curved behind the scant
shadows of the skirt.
"Okay," Caravan replied. Kenji sighed instinctively, half-
disappointed, half-satisfied. He felt the girl tense up, and
immediately regretted.
Sister Focus paused with a small intake of air. "Are you--"
Caravan tried to imitate Kenji's sigh. "I just wanted to
stay up a little longer."
"Sorry, dear. You need lots of sleep if you're going to help
your little friend in Tokyo."
"Yes, ma'am." Caravan sounded honestly dejected. Kenji
wondered how much of that was embarrassment.
"Good night, Caravan."
"Good night, Sister Focus."
After Sister Focus's steps were no longer detectable, even as
echoes, Caravan sat up.
"Thanks a lot." She slapped Kenji's arm half-heartedly.
"You almost got me caught."
"You're not supposed to have boys here, right?" Kenji
grinned lecherously at the thought of lines similar to Caravan's.
The young muse frowned.
"No boys, and definitely no humans!" She let her voice raise
above a whisper, covering her mouth as she realized her volume.
"You're not supposed to be here. Not at all. Period." Caravan
lay back down, making sure her head was on the same end of the bed
as Kenji's. She still faced towards the unfathomably distant
door. "I can't believe she'd do this just to get me in trouble."
"You mean Renaissance?"
"Yeah. She's been trying to get me in trouble ever since I
was promoted to Muse-In-Training."
"Wow," Kenji murmured. "That's a long time, huh?"
"Not really," she mumbled in admission. "But you can't
believe how long she made last month seem."
"Oh." Kenji let the statement ruminate for a few minutes.
"Last month?!"
"Shh!"
"Caravan?" It was Sister Focus. "Who are you talking to?"
Her sandled footsteps crashed into the pair's ears like a death
knell.
"Uh oh," she muttered. "We're in for it now."
"I can wake up, though, right?"
"I don't know. Were you asleep when you came here?"
"Of course I was."
"Then try it!"
Kenji closed his eyes, and tried to push himself from the
dreamscape. He could hear the steps of Sister Focus grow more
distant the harder he pushed. Walls crumbled around him, one at a
time, until he could almost sense the relative softness of his own
bed.
"Caravan?"
"Wake up, Kenji!" Caravan screamed in his mind. Kenji
pressed his mind against the final wall of dream. He could feel
it, thick, stony against his cheek. His head ached, but he
continued.
Finally, reluctantly, the fourth wall crumbled.
* * * *
Tuesday, April 20th
7:22 AM
Kenji gasped for air. Fear coursed through him; the steps
continued, echoing closer and louder in his ears. But, as sleep
drained from his mind, and reality pressed itself upon him, he
heard the steps turn to knocks.
"Kenji?" It was his mother. "Kenji, you'll be late for
school."
"I'm awake, I'm awake!"
The knocking halted abruptly, followed by a short response
from his mother, which he couldn't make out with his still-
sleeping ears.
"Paper." Before he dressed, Kenji threw himself at his desk,
ripping a piece of paper from its brothers in his desk drawer.
Using the first pencil he found, a dull number two, he wrote.
It was a poem, and a love poem at that. He hadn't written a
poem in weeks, and certainly nothing this natural. As he wrote,
he saw a face, and as he continued, the face took shape. With the
final word, he realized who he had written it for.
"Tanako will go nuts over this." He read it over once,
checking for obvious mistakes. It was perfect. Even his best
work seemed clumsy compared with the score of lines written on the
exhausted, unlined page. He folded the poem with trembling hands
and stuffed it into his pocket.
Kenji's mother was barely able to get a quick "good-bye" in
before Kenji was out the door. She moved the curtain, and took a
long look out the kitchen window. He was half-sprinting, half-
skipping, barely touching the ground.
Mrs. Terada smiled with simple motherly satisfaction.
"She's a lucky girl to get Kenji," she murmured, letting the
curtain fall in front of the window again.
Kenji staggered to the classroom door, struggling for each
lung-full of air. Somehow, despite his late departure, he had
arrived a minute early. Most of the students were already at
their desk, chatting amongst themselves. When he entered the
room, it was without notice. The path to his desk invariably took
him past Tanako's, and, since she had piano practice right before
school, she never showed up until the bell. Kenji smiled
inwardly; the drop-off would be easier than he thought.
"Whatcha doing with that piece of paper?" Or, it would have
been. He looked up, his hand half inside Tanako's desk. His very
being froze.
"Nothing!" Kenji whipped his hand, sans poem, back into his
coat pocket. "I mean, what paper?"
Ichiro grinned lopsidedly. "Oops." He elbowed Kenji as he
walked past. "My mistake."
Kenji wanted nothing more than to drag Ichiro out into the
street and...
"Excuse me, Kenji." Tanako barely whispered, but the words
felt like summer on the back of his neck. Kenji wanted to profess
his love once and for all, to recite his masterpiece to her, to
give her exactly what she had always wanted.
"S-sorry." Kenji managed as he shuffled out of the girl's
way. She smiled and nodded as he looked back. She was wearing
her hair differently; in days past, it was cut long, in a classic
straight wave, giving her a proper sea of shadow against her pale
skin. Her new style was a few centimeters shorter, barely
covering her neck, and her hair seemed to wave a little more than
normal. The shortened bangs made her eyes seem larger, more
vivid. Kenji wanted to ask her about the change, but Yumiko and
Naoko were already taking care of that.
"Wow!"
"That's such a change!"
"But you pull it off so well!"
"And it's so stylish!"
"Where'd you get it done?"
Kenji tried to listen for Tanako's tuneful response, but,
each time she'd begin, another friend would interject another
compliment. By the time they had stopped, Mr. Motojima was
already standing in front of the chalkboard, ready to begin.
Kenji didn't pay a single moment of attention to class; there
were enough small activities going on around him to sufficiently
distract him. Tanako's new hairstyle was a little risky for high
school, but she made it look perfectly natural.
As he took his furtive glances at her, the view began to
change. Her uniform seemed for a moment to glow, and the
classroom darkened. It was very subtle, around the edges of his
eyesight. But it made everything seem more familiar.
"Renaissance?" He murmured.
"Mr. Terada?"
"Renaissance?" The last word in his mind was the first from
his mouth. Mr. Motojima frowned.
"I'm sorry, Kenji. The Renaissance is about 400 years too
early for our hero De Bergerac. Katsu, do you have the proper
answer?"
Kenji would have listened to Katsu's surely haughty answer,
even through the scattered chuckles, but he noticed Tanako lifting
open her desk. He held his breath.
She saw it, laying atop her math homework, her name written
in another's hand. Glancing around her, she snatched the folded
poem and a pencil.
Tanako opened it quietly. Kenji felt proud that he folded it
so well; it practically fell open, and silently so. She wouldn't
mention it, but he knew it was a convenience to the reader to not
have to work on opening a letter, especially during class.
He could see her neck warming as she read the words. She
glimpsed across the classroom, and met Masao's gaze. From the
other end of the classroom, the boy grinned, but not at anything
in particular. And then Kenji realized his fatal mistake. In his
rush to get to school, he had forgotten to sign the note.
The boy looked again at Tanako. Her head tilted in Masao's
direction, her expressive eyes telling her crush something, though
he was looking elsewhere. However, it was obvious that she didn't
care much about that.
Kenji hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed when she found
out it was from him instead of Masao. He shook his head grimly.
Ichiro was going to have a field day with this one.
* * * *
"Bwaaaahahahaha!"
"Thanks, Ichiro."
"Nonono, thank you." Ichiro wiped a tear from his left eye
with a flourish. "I was having a boring day until now."
Kenji munched bitterly on his lunch. The cherry tree they
were sitting under rustled with a light breeze. It brushed past
Kenji's neck like Tanako: warm, and gentle. Sudden flashes of
earlier in the morning let Kenji drift away from Ichiro's mirthful
taunts. For a moment, anyway.
"Hey, hey, Kenji." Ichiro wasn't laughing anymore.
"What?"
"Look." He pointed surreptitiously to his right. Kenji
leaned forward to see, and became instantly transfixed.
Tanako and Masao stood, no more than a meter or two away, and
less than half that from each other. It seemed as if neither knew
that they were being observed; though they spoke quietly, Kenji
could hear them without much trouble.
As if to oblige Kenji's ears, the tree's soft rustling fell
calm. Kenji listened, ignoring the voice in his own head that
preached about morality and such.
"I got your..." Tanako paused to blush and look back at the
school walls
Masao looked at her blankly as she prepared the remainder of
her statement.
"Your poem."
Masao's face remained blank for the briefest of moments, then
lit up with recognition. He smiled with a confidence only an
acting student could have. "I wrote it for you."
Kenji seethed at what he heard, but continued to listen,
silently counting the ways he was superior than his competition.
Masao went on. "I thought of you, and the words came
naturally. Like you. Natural." He was on a roll now. Kenji
wanted desperately to stop him, but to do so would only force a
confession. And, despite his written confidence, he wasn't yet
ready to vocalize his intentions.
"Th-thank you." Tanako's cheeks, softened in the middle-
distance, blushed a shade deeper. "I..." Again, she paused,
attempting to collect herself.
"...I have something to ask..." She was on the verge of
confession, and Kenji could do nothing about it; his arms fell to
his sides, and his legs became lead under him.
Tanako's voice rang like wind-chimes. "Why did you..."
Emotions boiled in him, but his body denied him the dramatic
interjection he knew he'd have to make.
"This can't go on," Ichiro muttered under his breath. He
looked at Kenji, weeping, sitting like a gargoyle, prepared to
pounce, but never doing so. Shaking his head in disappointment,
Ichiro turned toward the pair, and started walking.
Three steps past the tree, he tripped, landing with purpose
exactly between the couple.
"Oops!" Even as he fell, Ichiro could see Masao's face flash
with momentary rage. By the time Tanako had kneeled down to
assist the grinning boy, Masao's face looked decently concerned.
"Are you okay?" Tanako gasped as she helped Ichiro to his
feet. Masao offered a hand, which Ichiro made a point of not
taking.
"I'm so sorry, I just tripped. I guess they need to check
the lawn for rocks or something. Totally unexpected. And that's
weird, 'cause we've been here over a year, and you'd think we'd be
familiar with the grounds by now and did I disturb you two?"
Ichiro attempted a care-free grin, and generally succeeded.
Tanako's blush returned. "No. We were just talking." She
turned and started walking. "I'll talk to you later, okay Masao?"
Masao's confident smile fell into confusion. "Later." After
Tanako was at a distance, Masao turned his gaze to Ichiro.
His face contorted, twisting his lips into a strange grin
with no teeth, only thin, pursed lips. His fists clenched,
convulsing in time with his accelerating pulse. His eyes flared,
and a growl of malicious intent issued from his throat.
Masao Sugimoto was not happy.
Ichiro gulped, and took three steps back. "Gee whiz, Masao,
I didn't think you'd be this mad." He hopped backwards once more
for security. "After all, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have
had the opportunity."
Masao's fire instantly subsided, doused by confusion. "You?"
He pointed with a weak finger. "I thought Kenji--"
"--You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" Ichiro's permanent
grin grew sinister. "It's all part of my master plan, don't you
see?" He crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. "I've
been influencing Kenji. An experiment, if you will. I can turn
his will to my own with the snap of a finger."
"You can?"
Ichiro glanced to his left without moving his head. "Yep.
Watch." He snapped his fingers simply, and Kenji rushed to his
side.
"Yes, master?"
"Fetch Daddy some water, will you, Mokie?"
"Yessir," Kenji growled as he departed obsequiously in
Tanako's direction.
"That's a good boy," Ichiro praised, as much to Masao as to
Kenji. "Now, if you don't mind..."
Masao shook his head. "So, if you can control Kenji, why
haven't you--"
"--All in good time, my middlemost intellectual. All in good
time." With that, Ichiro strode towards the school building,
following Kenji at a comfortable pace.
"Middlemost intellectual?" Masao pondered the words. As
realization dawned, bitter anger welled up from defeat. He wanted
to yell at the retreating pair, but felt that would be playing too
much of their little game. He did eventually smile, one of
competitive respect.
"I guess my efforts will have to be redoubled," he spoke to
nobody in particular.
* * * *
"Never, ever, ever call me Mokie again." Kenji hit Ichiro on
the shoulder half-seriously. The walk home had started innocently
enough, until Kenji was reminded of his temporary servitude.
"And you're welcome," Ichiro chuckled. "I never thought
gratitude would feel quite like this."
"Oh ha ha ha." Kenji muttered.
"I figured you'd get madder at the 'Daddy' thing than me
calling you--"
"--Don't go there." Ichiro let the words travel alone,
though he wanted to give them companions. When they reached
Kenji's house, Ichiro had apologized, and Kenji had forgiven, and
everything was okay again, as things often are with friends. But
one question nagged Kenji, and he asked it before Ichiro was out
of earshot.
"Say, where did you get the name Mokie?"
Ichiro shrugged. "I just made it up, I guess." Kenji was
satisfied with the answer, but Ichiro stood where he was, still
thinking. "No, wait a second. I got it from somewhere." He
thought some more, and Kenji waited. "Oh, man! I'll have to go
digging around at home, but I got it from something I have at
home. It sounds too familiar."
"I know the feeling," Kenji smirked.
"This is gonna take all night."
"Sorry 'bout that."
"No problem. I live for the hunt." He took a few steps,
then turned around and, still walking, yelled, "I'll call you
tonight about the homework!" With that, Ichiro continued his two-
block journey home, and Kenji entered his own. The house was
empty, which wasn't a surprise; his mother worked until five.
"Finally," he exhaled. "Peace and quiet." He had chalked up
class today for a lost cause. Not one word had successfully
remained with him past the walls of the classroom. It wasn't the
first time he had lost a day daydreaming, so Kenji didn't feel as
bad as he could have.
"At least I wrote a good poem today." He smiled as he
slipped on his house shoes. "And tonight's homework is a cinch.
At least it sounded like a cinch." He sighed and lugged his
bookbag up the stairs towards his room.
"And if I don't finish it," he chuckled, "I can blame it on
good old Mokie." He tossed the bookbag into his room through the
already open door, and, upon hearing land safely on the bed,
walked back downstairs into the kitchen.
The stash of cookies was easy to find, and there was just
enough milk left for a full glass. Kenji frowned at the dearth of
chocolate chip, but reasoned that the oatmeal cinnamon would be
sufficient if he was studying. He hiked up the stairs, feeling
confident in his ability to cruise through any assignment now that
he had a midday snack to help him.
He didn't even bother looking at his bookbag until he was
well into the third cookie. Swiveling his chair around to face
his bed, he reached for the small leather strap and the books it
held captive. It had landed at the farthest possible from Kenji's
position, near the far wall, behind a lump of covers.
"Forgot to make my bed this morning," he grunted as he heaved
the bag over the lump. It seemed to be a more solid obstacle than
he first thought.
"Oww..."
And noisier.
"Oh no." Kenji wondered who it would be this time. "Who
goes there?" The words seemed as good as any.
"You need to work those cliches out of your system before you
get published," the lump chided. "Or you'll be roasted by the
critics."
"Oh. Hi, Caravan."
The young muse popped her head from the bottom of the bed.
"You rang?" Before Kenji could respond, she frowned. "I almost
forgot how mad I am at you!" She pushed herself, clothed again in
random elements of Kenji's wardrobe, out of bed, sliding to the
floor. She crouched there, and growled, "Do you have any idea how
much trouble you got me into?"
"Umm..." Kenji was about acquiesce with a simple "No," but
Caravan cut him off.
"Sister Focus found out you were in my room, and now I'm
stuck here forever!"
"For.. Forever?" Kenji reeled. Fantasies of finished
homework shattered on the floor, and dark thoughts involving
'forever' and 'here' and 'my mother' reared monstrous heads over
the horizon of his brain.
"What are you... going... to... Caravan?" Kenji studied the
girl, who seemed to no longer be listening. She remained crouched
on the floor, but her eyes were focused on the desk. More
accurately, they were focused on the plate.
"Ooh, are those the oatmeal kind?"
Kenji grabbed the plate in a fit of inspiration. "Yeah.
Want one?"
"Sure!" Caravan hopped to her feet and yanked a cookie from
the plate. Flopping on the bed, she munched happily.
"Now," she mumbled through a full mouth. "What were we
talking about?"
"Umm..." Kenji looked around for another distraction.
"Oh yeah. I'm really mad at you right now." The words
seemed less intimidating through a bite oatmeal cookie.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." She finished the cookie. "It's not really
forever. Only until you write your masterpiece."
Kenji took pause at her matter-of-factness. "I think you
were right the first time." He finally sighed, slumping into his
chair.
"What's the matter? The poem was wonderful! There was no
way Tanako wouldn't like it. That's who you wrote it for, right?"
Kenji grinned darkly. "She liked it all right. But she
thinks somebody else wrote it."
"You mean you didn't sign it?"
"I was in a rush..."
"You wrote a masterpiece and didn't sign it?! What kind of
writer are you? Man, it really *is* gonna be forever at this
rate!"
"Look, it was a mistake, okay? I didn't plan on making it,
you know."
"I know. I'm..." Caravan gazed down at the wrinkled
bedspread. "...Kenji?" She had barely whispered his name, but he
could hear it perfectly, just inside his ears.
"Yeah?"
Caravan looked up slowly. She was pouting slightly, head
tilted coyly. Her eyes, moist, trembling, expressed to Kenji more
than he could put to words in a lifetime. Kenji felt something in
his stomach quiver. He prepared himself for an apologetic
confession, ready to return in kind, maybe with a hug, or a soft
look into her doe-wide eyes. Between blinks, she changed, just a
little; she seemed so soft, so vulnerable. Kenji wanted to
protect her as much as she must have wanted to inspire him. He
felt suddenly sympathetic, and held back a sigh.
She opened her mouth, but didn't speak. Kenji waited
patiently as she chose her words.
Kenji?"
"Yes?"
She looked at the bed. "Can I have another cookie?"
Kenji blinked. The quivering in his stomach became a burning
in his chest. He coughed weakly and frowned.
"Sure."
"You have any chocolate chip?"
"One, but--"
"--Thank you!"
Kenji wondered how eternity could be much longer than the
last 24 hours.
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:
I hope you enjoyed the episode -- if you did, please e-mail me!
Even if you didn't, e-mail me; I love the contact, and really I
live for the feedback.
On to the references:
Mokie: The name has a non-musical (mostly) allusion attached.
Points for figuring it out.
Renaissance, Focus: Both are names of progressive rock bands from
the 70's. Muses have a tendency to be names after prog bands
these days.