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kh_drabble2008-10-11 09:04 am
fated-bliss.livejournal.com) wrote in kh_drabble2008-10-11 09:04 am
Entry tags:
162
Challenge: [162] Another Perspective
Title: Enlightenment
Word Count: 525
Rating: G
Summary: Technically, Chien Po was right.
He first saw her still in solitude, save for the white fingers clutching something that spread shouts and peals of colour over the blank page. Her fair hair convinced him more than ever that she was a spirit. He didn’t tell anyone about the sightings – the tiny tappings down the corridor, the disappearance around a pillar set with emeralds for dragon claws – where was the need? Chien Po had always been the quieter one, anyway, and he believed that if no one else appeared to see what he did, then in some sense, he was bound in an obligation of secrecy to this strange, silent being.
Still, his awareness of her presence formed itself in a short, neat length of incense sticks in the grass of the courtyard where he had first seen her. The day came when her soft, curious footwear planted itself right over the incense sticks themselves. She jumped, realizing what she had trampled upon, then caught sight of the visited staring from a distance,
“…I’m… I’m sorry. Were these yours?”
She straightened the smouldering things hastily, but, beyond repair, they plopped right over again. Chien Po’s beady eyes grew very wide and as he left he longed to say, “They’re for you,” but he didn’t dare.
Because Chien Po was all simplicity, he never spied on her to see how or when she came and left.
Because Chien Po was all simplicity, he came close enough to realize that some ghosts were warm.
And because Chien Po was all simplicity, he took It from her hands(a tiny, bright yellow thing, wrapped in a flimsy gray paper, that rubbed and reflected yellow back onto his fingers when he rolled them around).
She spoke shyly, hesitantly, about how sketching architecture was not really her style; the imperial palace was too full of straight lines and she only loved the motifs on the sliding entrances and the cherry blossom trees… She said something about wanting to prove that people who never existed in the first place could leave something behind. She talked about the children she watched from afar.
He felt her loss, knew she was troubled. He helped in the only way he could – and suddenly Chien Po, in his simple, solid, broad frame, was transmuting the insignificant into abstracts. It was such a paradox, really. There was the power in the Self, and the Self in tree, sky and flower… The Way. And, as usual, he became lost in his own words and wouldn’t stop. Yet she always listened patiently while she sketched those pictures that she could not love all that much, looking up from time to time to fix a wide blue stare upon his humble features.
One day he finally gathered up the courage to ask,
“When will you reincarnate?”
She froze. That thing she called a crayon lifted up ever so slightly from the crinkly paper. Then she smiled. And smiled.
He didn’t have to be a Confucius to know that it wasn’t a happy sort of smile.
Sometime later, the spirit stopped appearing altogether. Chien Po continued burning incense for her for another one-hundred and thirty-three days.
Title: Enlightenment
Word Count: 525
Rating: G
Summary: Technically, Chien Po was right.
He first saw her still in solitude, save for the white fingers clutching something that spread shouts and peals of colour over the blank page. Her fair hair convinced him more than ever that she was a spirit. He didn’t tell anyone about the sightings – the tiny tappings down the corridor, the disappearance around a pillar set with emeralds for dragon claws – where was the need? Chien Po had always been the quieter one, anyway, and he believed that if no one else appeared to see what he did, then in some sense, he was bound in an obligation of secrecy to this strange, silent being.
Still, his awareness of her presence formed itself in a short, neat length of incense sticks in the grass of the courtyard where he had first seen her. The day came when her soft, curious footwear planted itself right over the incense sticks themselves. She jumped, realizing what she had trampled upon, then caught sight of the visited staring from a distance,
“…I’m… I’m sorry. Were these yours?”
She straightened the smouldering things hastily, but, beyond repair, they plopped right over again. Chien Po’s beady eyes grew very wide and as he left he longed to say, “They’re for you,” but he didn’t dare.
Because Chien Po was all simplicity, he never spied on her to see how or when she came and left.
Because Chien Po was all simplicity, he came close enough to realize that some ghosts were warm.
And because Chien Po was all simplicity, he took It from her hands(a tiny, bright yellow thing, wrapped in a flimsy gray paper, that rubbed and reflected yellow back onto his fingers when he rolled them around).
She spoke shyly, hesitantly, about how sketching architecture was not really her style; the imperial palace was too full of straight lines and she only loved the motifs on the sliding entrances and the cherry blossom trees… She said something about wanting to prove that people who never existed in the first place could leave something behind. She talked about the children she watched from afar.
He felt her loss, knew she was troubled. He helped in the only way he could – and suddenly Chien Po, in his simple, solid, broad frame, was transmuting the insignificant into abstracts. It was such a paradox, really. There was the power in the Self, and the Self in tree, sky and flower… The Way. And, as usual, he became lost in his own words and wouldn’t stop. Yet she always listened patiently while she sketched those pictures that she could not love all that much, looking up from time to time to fix a wide blue stare upon his humble features.
One day he finally gathered up the courage to ask,
“When will you reincarnate?”
She froze. That thing she called a crayon lifted up ever so slightly from the crinkly paper. Then she smiled. And smiled.
He didn’t have to be a Confucius to know that it wasn’t a happy sort of smile.
Sometime later, the spirit stopped appearing altogether. Chien Po continued burning incense for her for another one-hundred and thirty-three days.
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I really loved this line: "When will you reincarnate?" She froze. that went POW right in my gut, because ouch, poor Namine.
Your ending is fantastic, too. You could have just left it at her not coming back, but that he kept burning incense.. poor Chien Po, too.
♥ ♥ ♥
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I always felt that Nobodies were the equivalent of ghosts. Also, the Land of Dragons does not get enough love. (:
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As for more relevant things, I love how it flowed. This fic felt so soft and slow, and as someone already said, melancholy. Wonderful pacing, and how Chien Po talked about Confucism! ♥ Awesome. Then, the reincarnate question, ouch.
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wish I were blondAnd thank you very much (:
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no you don't. the blond jokes get old after awhile. XDBeautiful fanfic. <33 Chein Po and Namine make a really interesting pair.*
*not pairing, mind you. Well, actually...
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