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This is a collection of short prose peices. Enjoy! |
Ash as dust to dust White feathers fly in your world, Negima. Can you see them? They dance frenzily in this perfect blue darkness. Do you hurt? I know that they are torn from your broken wings, these feathers that bring so much beauty. In them I can see your shimmering form, who are so dear to me. I can hear your laughter, just as it rang before, just as you laughed when you used to turn and smile at me. Can you hear me? I am calling you, hoping that you will finally coalesce among the feathers in your dream. You are calling, too. The feathers pull me forth, rend me as if you were there, and I can see your outline captured in the empty space. You tell me there used to be sunlight here, when this place was alive, but there remains only the light of the feathers now; your light, the light I love best. After the fire, as with all fires, dust is all that is left. And the dust that is you flies everywhere, and you are all around me except here, where I stand. In your world, in this dream, I have dreamt your smile. It is enough for me, for now, until I come back here again. This place is not yet my home, but I will return one day. You’ll be here to greet me amidst the feathers, and I will fly with you. I will come home to this dark; as dust to dust. Can you hear my voice? I am calling, Negima. Do the words one utters before death tend to be truer, or can they be a lie? --Subaru, X/1999 |