I'm in sort of a rut, so I thought I'd post these parts I've finished as
a sort of spur to keep me writing.



As always, C&C would be greatly appreciated.



=====



Second Prologue



      Light shone soft rays down into the piano room as I played, a
synesthesia of sound upon the eye and light upon the ear. Clear notes
sang across the empty hall as the piano spoke for me, spoke notes of
memory, notes of nostalgia.

      Something must change, then; something must pass away if memory is
to take its place. Nostalgia fills a void, a vacuum left by something
that has been emptied.

      What happens, then, when only nostalgia can be felt, but memory is
long forgotten? What is the use of revolution, when the reasons for it
can no longer be remembered? What happens when we cannot even recognize
its shadow?





In the Shadow of Revolution



Act I

Part 2







- One -



      "Beautiful, Kozue," I heard Wakaba say as she began to applaud.

      I flinched. Applause always grated on my ears, especially then,
echoing throughout the empty piano room. "Thanks," I replied,
tentatively. I bowed my head slightly and looked up at her as she stood
next to me, by the piano.

      She smiled at me.

      We'd been friends since the spring, but it almost seems as if
we've known each other forever. We'd each lunch together, or study
together, sometimes even do nothing together. Mamiya would often join
us, when he was strong enough to; lately he'd accompany us more and
more, as his health began to slowly improve.

      Wakaba enjoyed listening while I played. Most people professed to
like my music, actually, but it seemed no one really stopped to listen.
People like to talk about feeling in music, or emotion, as if they could
really tell, as if they really heard it.

      They're lying. That's what I've always thought to myself; no one
can hear the emotion but me.

      "You wrote that song, right? What's its name?" Wakaba asked me, as
she'd asked me countless times before, as if it mattered.

      And I answered, as if that mattered as well. "It has no name. I
can't think of one. It doesn't seem right to name it yet, since it isn't
finished." That was no lie. I could never think of a name for it; it
would be like naming a memory that I had no recollection of. What did it
matter what name it would be? You can't hear a song's name while it's
played on the piano. A symphony doesn't whisper a title in your ear in
the space between the sounds of the strings and the reeds.

      "Maybe if you named it," she continued, "you could finally finish
it."

      "Maybe I don't want to finish it," I replied.

      She chuckled softly. "Don't be that way, Kozue. It's just a
suggestion."

      "What would you know, Onion-girl?" I said, only half-seriously.
"Do you know how to play the piano, anyway?"

      "I used to take lessons, so I do... a little, anyway," she
replied, "but I'm getting the feeling that I'm not supposed to." She
laughed at this, and I stared at her. Another Wakaba non-sequitur, I
thought to myself. She was full of those, full of ideas that made no
sense. What was with her and her quest? What was it? To awaken the
world? Why awaken a blissfully dreaming world?

      "Do you mind if I name it?" she asked.

      "Yes, I do."

      "Well, I'm naming it anyway."

      I rolled my eyes and smirked. "Whatever."

      She leaned in, her face earnest. "I'm serious. I have a pretty
good name for it."

      "I doubt that."

      "I'm going to name it now."

      "And I'm going to ignore you now," I said, trying to suppress a
smile.

      "'Diverting Nostalgia'."

      I gave a start. "What?"

      She smiled at me again. "It's the emotion I feel when I hear your
song. So that's what I thought I'd call it." She shrugged and began to
walk out of the music room. "Feel free to ignore it if you like."

      I stared after her, wondering. "'Diverting Nostalgia'..."





- Two -



      There is little meaning in anything, I suppose, until we give it
meaning.

      Memories are nothing but a collection of thoughts that we assign
importance to. We take them to represent the past, when in reality they
are merely slanted interpretations of events no one quite remembers
correctly. Letters draw this sort of thinking to them, but pictures
doubly so, and mere memories double even that. The less anchor to
reality something has, the more likely it is to have exaggerated meaning
attached to it.

      I have nothing of that day from my childhood but a song, a
posthumous composition of a faulty, hazy memory -- more of a feeling,
actually, than an actual collection of events. Nostalgia. Yes, that's
the word. Nostalgia.

      How Wakaba found the meaning I had hidden in that song I may never
know. There is no meaning to be read into anything unless the meaning is
shared, and I never told her its meaning, never named the song, never
recounted the memory that inspired it. How can meaning be shared without
it having been spoken aloud?

      I stood there, standing in front of the greenhouse, watching
Mamiya water the roses, and I wondered what that meant.

      He smiled as he went about his business, humming something to
himself that only he and the roses could hear, and I watched,
transfixed, trying to decipher the hidden message in his actions, trying
to hear the words in the beams of sunlight, in the droplets of water, in
the lazy dance of falling rose petals.

      There is no meaning in anything unless I give it meaning, I told
myself, and I shook my head.

      Mamiya noticed me and smiled.

      That smile... it taunted me, forced me to dig up a meaning for it
when it bore no meaning of its own.  Meaning gave way to memory, and
even memory fell away, yielding to a fleeting, ephemeral feeling.
Nostalgia.

      I turned away. Perhaps that's all that nostalgia is in the end:
twice-emptied meaning.





- Three -



      "I suppose you'll be wanting to duel Wakaba for the Rose Bride,"
Mikage asked me as we sat together for lunch.

      I had taken to eating lunch together with Mikage, the 'genius
student' as he was known. True to form, he had many theories, many
opinions about everything, and I suppose he felt I was intelligent
enough company for him. And I suppose I was. I often spoke my mind as
well, though I was worried that the matters I spoke of were less
empirical, less verifiable, less cerebral and more laced with sentiment.
He didn't seem to mind this at all, though, and in fact seemed to enjoy
my company as much as I enjoyed his.

      "Why should I?" I replied, picking at my food. "You've assured us
all that the power to bring the world revolution is dead."

      He shrugged. "And Wakaba insists I was wrong, that power still
remains in the Rose Bride."

      "She's never said anything of that sort outright."

      Mikage leaned back, chuckling. "No, not outright. But the power to
bring the world awakening. Doesn't that tempt you at all?"

      "Why would I want to awaken the world?" I replied. "This 'sleeping
world' is doing fine on its own. Last I checked, people were still
walking around, going about their own business."

      "And they go about their business in their sleep, Kozue," he said.
"Everyone does. Even our daily discussion on hermeneutics and semiotics
and whatnot can be done-- and IS done-- in our sleep."

      "'...In our sleep,'" I repeated to myself, writing it down in my
log book. "But what sleep are you referring to? I feel wide awake right
now."

      "The sleep that permeates everything we do and everything we say.
The sleep so deep and so complete that most people scarcely realize that
they're dreaming." His face grew thoughtful. "Listen, put that log book
down for a moment and hear me out. There is a gnawing inside you, inside
all of the Duelists, a dissatisfaction with the world, if you will."

      "I feel no such thing."

      "But you do! You can't deny it any more than you can deny the
beating of your own heart. You cannot doubt the doubter. It is there,
driving you toward some end unknown to you, unknown to all of us. It
makes you and I more alive than them--" he said, making a sweeping
gesture at the lunchtime crowds at the cafeteria, "--and prevents your
face from fading into theirs. Do you know what this ache inside each of
us is?"

      I swallowed, hard. "What?"

      "It is the seed of an awakening. It is the beginnings of the
realization that beyond the fragile shell of this world is the world we
yearn for, the world that answers all the questions we know not how to
ask. And I have a theory-- I cannot simply say 'I know', because that
would require direct experience-- but I have a rational theory of what
this other world is."

      "And this theory?"

      "Is this: The other world is merely this world, rightly seen."

      I stared at him for a moment, then sighed and leaned back. "And
the only way to see this world rightly is to win the Rose Bride? Is that
what you're saying?"

      He shook his head, picking at his pesto with a fork. "No. I don't
know. Frankly, I'm just speculating aloud. I suppose that if one person
could bring the world awakening, or revolution, or whatever, then we
should all benefit from it, no matter what particular person brought it
about."

      "Then what is the point of the Duels now? If one person could
change the world by herself," then I paused and smiled, "or himself as
the case may be--"

      He smiled and took a sip of his iced tea.

      "--then fighting over who gets to bring this about is practically
useless. Especially now that none of us has received a single word from
the End of the World since your duel with Wakaba."

      "Well," he said, crossing his arms, "if you really believe that,
then use your vote on the Student Council. Maybe you can bring an end to
this dueling game."

      "Hmmm. You know what? I'll do just that." I gathered up my log
book and noticed my almost-untouched plate of fettuccini. "Right after
lunch, of course."

      He grinned. "Of course, my dear. Take your time."





- Third Interlude -



      "Inside, this world goes on as it always has, night and day, day
and night," Shiori began, taking her place beside us in the elevator.

      "And inside the other is the power to bring the world revolution,"
I said, my hand lightly touching the elevator walls.

      "Between transience and eternity lies the fragile shell of this
world," Wakaba intoned, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

      "Break the world's shell," Keiko finished, standing upright in the
center, "for the power to revolutionize the world."


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