To Myself I Turn [2/? | R]
Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2004 2:34 am
Disclaimer: I don?t own Vision of Escaflowne, or the main characters; it all belongs strictly to its rightful owners. The title of the story belongs to Lacuna Coil, and the title of the chapter belongs to Nobuo Uematsu; Final Fantasy VIII.
Dedication: To the reader
To Myself I Turn
By: Leia Avernose
Rating: R
Chapter Two ? Blue Fields
Lying in a thick puddle of blood, he was unconscious, his dark armor torn to shreds, slashed along the front and down the length of his broad back. He lay on his side, his cheek pressed into the rough ground, his lips parted slightly. His skin was tanned, bruised and covered in both crimson and black soot. Behind him, feathers lay scattered among the carnage that littered the battlefield, the wings protruding from his back broken and useless.
The wounded that lay clinging to their thin strands of life moaned at their pain, their bodies numb and oozing blood freely. Some lay on their backs, arms and legs flailing about absently as if reaching for something or someone, while the others lay on their sides or fronts, their wounds gruesome and nearly beyond repair.
Death was apart of life; and life was nothing but a large chessboard, the living beings those that were controlled, strung along for the amusement of the master behind the puppets.
A gust of wind unexpectedly blew along the fields, the charred bits of grass being carried away, dirt lifted and thrown carelessly this way and that. A loud moan entered the air, followed by pleading and was suddenly silenced.
They moved through the fields, thick, jagged spears in their hands, their footsteps silent. They moved with a purpose, like that of a killer stalking its unsuspecting prey. Scattering around, they stabbed the defeated that lay moaning in pain in the chest or throat, silencing them forever, putting them into an eternal rest. And as they moved to the next, the victims would make a feeble attempt to scramble away, despite their life-threatening wounds that slowly and painfully stole their very life with each passing minute.
Skipping over the discarded, torn scraps of burnt metal that lay among the fields with the wounded, one figure dressed all in black moved, spear in hand. He gave it a twirl in his hand, swinging it in a full circle in front of him and brought it above his head, as he came to a halt before the one lone corpse lying in the blood.
What had caught his attention; the wings.
Crouching, spear still held tight above his head, he balanced his weight easily on a foot, while nudging the broken wing with his other. It jerked slightly, then went flaccid. A gleeful smile stole the morbid look off his face, and he stood up, hopping over the body. Blood splashed out as he landed and, with another arc of the spear, he let out a grunt, twisting his body into the spin of the spear before bringing it down swiftly.
<center>* * *</center>
Sunlight streamed in through the open window, birdsong soft on the breeze that rode gently into the room. A ripple shuddered along the white curtains, the square room small but well organized and spotless. The smell of medicine was strong, as well as latex. Only one bed lay in the room, pushed into the wall, occupied by a petite figure with long sandy hair. Two small nightstands stood on each side, a small round clock and phone resting on the top of one, while the other held a white vase full of pale pink carnations, baby?s breath and white roses.
Gradually, the girl opened pale green eyes, and she found herself staring up at the ceiling, which was, like everything else, spotless and white.
She remembered this place, this room.
Her head turned on the pillow, and heavy eyes fell on an empty space near the one window. Her memory served her well, an image coming to mind of her being pushed out of the room as the crash-cart had been rolled in and the paddles pulled out of their holders. The doctors had shouted orders; tried everything that was in their ability, and had failed miserably.
Hitomi turned her face away, closing her eyes, pushing the scene from her mind. Then it dawned on her. Immediately, her eyes snapped open as she bolted upright. The IV jerked painfully at the top of her hand, the tape coming undone, as the thin tubes banged up against the bedrail, the fluid in the crinkled bag that hung from the pole sloshing around.
The blankets fell forward, bunching in her lap. She ripped back the hospital gown, exposing her stomach, and felt her breath catch sharply. The blood drained from her face; her body went numb. Trembling, she brought a hand forward, touching her fingers to the smooth skin on her abdomen. Feeling surprisingly grateful, she fell back into the bed, and let out a shuddering breath.
She was fine, alive, and it made no sense whatsoever.
Hitomi pulled back the gown again, holding it to her breasts, and ran her fingers along the smooth, flat plains of her stomach. She applied pressure, and fought back a grimace, tears swimming in her eyes as the searing stab of pain stole the breath from her lungs. Her stomach grumbled in hunger, and it only heightened the pain plaguing her, waves of nausea making her groan loudly.
She laid her hand flat on her stomach, feeling the warm tears slide out from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair, and she kept her eyes to the ceiling, waiting for the pain to gradually fade away.
What?s wrong with me, she questioned her body. Why does it hurt? What happened to me?
With the blankets lying just over her thighs, her underwear white and cotton in sight, she led her fingers along the dip in her stomach. No bandages, no scar. It made no sense.
A childhood friend, Yukari Uchida, had been in to see her earlier, and she had continued to lie there, eyes closed. Of course, she had been awake, but she just lay there pretending to be asleep. And she had heard the whispering, the tremble in her voice, a voice she had grown to know quite well during her years.
?The doctors didn?t know what it was, what happened to you. What happened, Hitomi? You were just writing a test; how did this happen? They said you were better left for dead by the time you arrived at the emergency ward; loss of blood, it killed you, Hitomi??
Hitomi furrowed her brow, letting her hand rest at her side, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to piece it all together. Her back was fine, as was her stomach. No scars, no blemishes, nothing; it were almost as if it had never happened at all. She remembered the cooling sensation of being tickled, and then squirming in her seat, her grip tightening on her pencil. The wound along her back had hit her spin, digging in deeper along the delicate layers of pale skin.
A lot had been lost; spilling down her back and the edges of the chair, bone chipped clear away.
The cut had gone from her right shoulder blade, all the way down to her left side, nearly colliding with the three unexpected slashes running along the front of her stomach. Hitomi felt her stomach turn as she remembered the excruciating pain of her insides straining against the three thick strings of flesh barely holding together. They had bulged through the gaps, clearing wanting to be freed.
Hitomi gave a whimper, her hands flying back to her stomach. She felt around and let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing but a smooth, flat level of skin. Her hands relaxed, and she turned her head, staring out the window. A small blue bird sat perched on a branch, staring in at her, then tilted its head, chirping softly as if in question.
She turned her face away, looking around at the room she had been held in for the past week, and unconsciously wondered about the man in her visions, and the sudden empty feeling she had, lying alone in the single bed.
To be continued
Dedication: To the reader
To Myself I Turn
By: Leia Avernose
Rating: R
Chapter Two ? Blue Fields
Lying in a thick puddle of blood, he was unconscious, his dark armor torn to shreds, slashed along the front and down the length of his broad back. He lay on his side, his cheek pressed into the rough ground, his lips parted slightly. His skin was tanned, bruised and covered in both crimson and black soot. Behind him, feathers lay scattered among the carnage that littered the battlefield, the wings protruding from his back broken and useless.
The wounded that lay clinging to their thin strands of life moaned at their pain, their bodies numb and oozing blood freely. Some lay on their backs, arms and legs flailing about absently as if reaching for something or someone, while the others lay on their sides or fronts, their wounds gruesome and nearly beyond repair.
Death was apart of life; and life was nothing but a large chessboard, the living beings those that were controlled, strung along for the amusement of the master behind the puppets.
A gust of wind unexpectedly blew along the fields, the charred bits of grass being carried away, dirt lifted and thrown carelessly this way and that. A loud moan entered the air, followed by pleading and was suddenly silenced.
They moved through the fields, thick, jagged spears in their hands, their footsteps silent. They moved with a purpose, like that of a killer stalking its unsuspecting prey. Scattering around, they stabbed the defeated that lay moaning in pain in the chest or throat, silencing them forever, putting them into an eternal rest. And as they moved to the next, the victims would make a feeble attempt to scramble away, despite their life-threatening wounds that slowly and painfully stole their very life with each passing minute.
Skipping over the discarded, torn scraps of burnt metal that lay among the fields with the wounded, one figure dressed all in black moved, spear in hand. He gave it a twirl in his hand, swinging it in a full circle in front of him and brought it above his head, as he came to a halt before the one lone corpse lying in the blood.
What had caught his attention; the wings.
Crouching, spear still held tight above his head, he balanced his weight easily on a foot, while nudging the broken wing with his other. It jerked slightly, then went flaccid. A gleeful smile stole the morbid look off his face, and he stood up, hopping over the body. Blood splashed out as he landed and, with another arc of the spear, he let out a grunt, twisting his body into the spin of the spear before bringing it down swiftly.
<center>* * *</center>
Sunlight streamed in through the open window, birdsong soft on the breeze that rode gently into the room. A ripple shuddered along the white curtains, the square room small but well organized and spotless. The smell of medicine was strong, as well as latex. Only one bed lay in the room, pushed into the wall, occupied by a petite figure with long sandy hair. Two small nightstands stood on each side, a small round clock and phone resting on the top of one, while the other held a white vase full of pale pink carnations, baby?s breath and white roses.
Gradually, the girl opened pale green eyes, and she found herself staring up at the ceiling, which was, like everything else, spotless and white.
She remembered this place, this room.
Her head turned on the pillow, and heavy eyes fell on an empty space near the one window. Her memory served her well, an image coming to mind of her being pushed out of the room as the crash-cart had been rolled in and the paddles pulled out of their holders. The doctors had shouted orders; tried everything that was in their ability, and had failed miserably.
Hitomi turned her face away, closing her eyes, pushing the scene from her mind. Then it dawned on her. Immediately, her eyes snapped open as she bolted upright. The IV jerked painfully at the top of her hand, the tape coming undone, as the thin tubes banged up against the bedrail, the fluid in the crinkled bag that hung from the pole sloshing around.
The blankets fell forward, bunching in her lap. She ripped back the hospital gown, exposing her stomach, and felt her breath catch sharply. The blood drained from her face; her body went numb. Trembling, she brought a hand forward, touching her fingers to the smooth skin on her abdomen. Feeling surprisingly grateful, she fell back into the bed, and let out a shuddering breath.
She was fine, alive, and it made no sense whatsoever.
Hitomi pulled back the gown again, holding it to her breasts, and ran her fingers along the smooth, flat plains of her stomach. She applied pressure, and fought back a grimace, tears swimming in her eyes as the searing stab of pain stole the breath from her lungs. Her stomach grumbled in hunger, and it only heightened the pain plaguing her, waves of nausea making her groan loudly.
She laid her hand flat on her stomach, feeling the warm tears slide out from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair, and she kept her eyes to the ceiling, waiting for the pain to gradually fade away.
What?s wrong with me, she questioned her body. Why does it hurt? What happened to me?
With the blankets lying just over her thighs, her underwear white and cotton in sight, she led her fingers along the dip in her stomach. No bandages, no scar. It made no sense.
A childhood friend, Yukari Uchida, had been in to see her earlier, and she had continued to lie there, eyes closed. Of course, she had been awake, but she just lay there pretending to be asleep. And she had heard the whispering, the tremble in her voice, a voice she had grown to know quite well during her years.
?The doctors didn?t know what it was, what happened to you. What happened, Hitomi? You were just writing a test; how did this happen? They said you were better left for dead by the time you arrived at the emergency ward; loss of blood, it killed you, Hitomi??
Hitomi furrowed her brow, letting her hand rest at her side, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to piece it all together. Her back was fine, as was her stomach. No scars, no blemishes, nothing; it were almost as if it had never happened at all. She remembered the cooling sensation of being tickled, and then squirming in her seat, her grip tightening on her pencil. The wound along her back had hit her spin, digging in deeper along the delicate layers of pale skin.
A lot had been lost; spilling down her back and the edges of the chair, bone chipped clear away.
The cut had gone from her right shoulder blade, all the way down to her left side, nearly colliding with the three unexpected slashes running along the front of her stomach. Hitomi felt her stomach turn as she remembered the excruciating pain of her insides straining against the three thick strings of flesh barely holding together. They had bulged through the gaps, clearing wanting to be freed.
Hitomi gave a whimper, her hands flying back to her stomach. She felt around and let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing but a smooth, flat level of skin. Her hands relaxed, and she turned her head, staring out the window. A small blue bird sat perched on a branch, staring in at her, then tilted its head, chirping softly as if in question.
She turned her face away, looking around at the room she had been held in for the past week, and unconsciously wondered about the man in her visions, and the sudden empty feeling she had, lying alone in the single bed.
To be continued
