Figments of Imagination
(Chapter 3)
* * *
~As fear grows,
please hold me in your arms.
Won’t you help
me, if you can, to shake this anger?
I need your
gentle hands to keep me calm.~
Elton John “I don’t not remember the name of the song-_-0”
- - -
“Let’s see...where to start.” Umi sipped
her tea before turning back her papers. After hanging around with her
girlfriends all afternoon, she was too tired to clean the house. However, that
didn’t mean she was going to spend the rest of the day without writing
something. According to a lot of the
magazines she read, good authors made a habit of writing everyday. If Umi wanted to be
as good as them, she had to do the same.
But it would be easier if she had something to write about. All
her storylines seemed cliché and silly. She had hoped that opening the brand
pen would have sparked some inspiration but, to her disappointment, nothing
happened. Sora, Ai, and Kiku
had seen her open it. They also thought she was odd for thinking something
would happen with the pen. It wrote like any ordinary pen. However, it didn’t
produce anything worthwhile. She wrote so many paragraphs and they all came out
horrible. Over and over again, she scratched through them.
What’s wrong
with me? She asked herself. I’m
doing what I love. No one has bothered me. So why don’t I have anything written
on this page?
Then Umi’s mind went back to a couple of
nights ago when she went home. Tatsuha had asked her
to revise something he was going to turn in and Umi
agreed to it. However, as she corrected his grammar errors, she decided to
change the story a little bit. Tatsuha was following
another author’s style but Umi didn’t want him to do
that. So she added some elements to make the story better. However, Tatsuha wasn’t too pleased with it. As she dug deeper into
her memory, she got was pelted with the words that would wound her. It was the
first time someone had told her to give up her dreams and that she was
worthless. It was the first time anyone chose to wound, not her mind or body,
but her soul. Those words alone damaged her and left her in doubt for a long
time.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, they came from her brother.
* * *
“UMI! You ruined my paper!” Tatsuha whined as
he read Umi’s revisions. He scanned through the whole
thing, a look of horror frozen on his face, and then threw it across the room.
He glared at his sister who was now wishing there was a hole below her. Tatsuha was getting ready to incite mayhem.
“What do you
mean?” She squeaked. Tatsuha may have been younger
than her but he was the smarter of the two. Umi knew
he wouldn’t like it if she screwed up the paper. That’s why she worked hard to
fix his errors and strengthen that paper. She added more details, comparisons,
irony, and foreshadowing to the story.
She knew these types of things would not only make Tatsuha’s
story enjoyable but it would impress his teacher.
Tatsuha, however, was anything but pleased with the revision. He pressed
his hands against his hips before raining hell down on his poor sister.
“It was crap, Umi!” He complained. “My friends were making fun of it! You
made it too...too...too much like you!”
“And what’s
wrong with that?” Umi asked. “You wanted my help. I
helped. I added stuff in it...”
“I *didn’t*
want more stuff in it!” Tatsuha exploded. He crossed
the room and picked the paper up. He flipped through the pages. “You suck at
this! You can’t write to save your life!”
“That’s not
true!” Umi shot back. “I can write better than you in
my sleep, Tatsuha. You’re just jealous because you
didn’t think of doing this first.”
“Jealous? Jealous of your shitty writing?” Tatsuha
used the wrong choice of words when he said that. He smirked as he read on.
“You obviously have no idea what you were doing. I was trying to imitate
another author’s style.”
“Well, that’s
your first mistake!” Umi snapped. “Instead of
imitating another person’s style, use your own!”
“You’re one to
talk.” Tatsuha refused to slow down. The fury in his
dark eyes burned a hole into Umi‘s soul as he went on
with his rude remarks. “My friends even think you’re a crappy writer. I don’t
want ‘like’ or ‘as’ comparisons in this story! They laughed at me! You’re glad
I didn’t turn this in.”
“Your friends
are assholes!” Umi wanted a better comeback but this
was the best she had come up with.
“Hey, watch
it!” Tatsuha warned. “At least, I *have* friends. I
can’t say the same about you...”
“Leave them out
of this!”
“Oh yeah, you
have that band of freaks you call ‘friends’.
They have to be crazy if they want to spend time with a loser like you.”
Umi clenched her teeth. “My friends like me for me, Tatsuha. At least they know a little something called
‘respect’. You could learn from them, baby brother.”
“Forget it.” Tatsuha sneered and threw the paper on the bed. “The point
is you’re not a good writer. You never were and you’ll never be. When was the
last book you read, huh? Nothing! And good writers read books by other people, Umi. No one’s going to want your crap. I know I won’t. This
is the last time I ask you for help on anything.” He smoothed the paper up. “I
won’t let anyone insult my work.”
“If you don’t
want insults, do the world a favor... crawl up in a
corner and die!” Umi shouted, bolting out of the room
and slamming the door behind her. Tatsuha was behind
that closed door but she didn’t give a damn. She jogged out of the room as her
mother was heading towards it. Yanagisawa Miaka
realized that her two children had another argument. The tears in Umi’s blue eyes and the way she was running told her that Tatsuha was the one responsible for this argument.
“Umi?” Miaka asked as Umi took off her
slippers and put on her shoes. “Umi, what did Tatsuha do?”
“He’s alive!
That’s the problem!” Umi grabbed her purse, which had
been sitting on the kitchen counter, and put on her coat. Miaka
sighed. Once again, her daughter was going to be difficult. This wouldn’t be
the first time she had a problem talking to Umi. She
was the one who kept the emotions bottled and locked away. Umi
wasn’t Tatsuha, who spent hours talking to his mother
about the things going on his life. For Umi preferred
to express herself through written word, not spoken. But Miaka
was never thrilled of Umi’s inability and
unwillingness to communicate with anyone. She was secretly happy to see her
daughter talented in something but wished it wasn’t in writing
stories. She let Umi do her own thing and kept hoping
that her daughter would come back down the ‘right path’.
“Umi, what did Tatsuha do?” Miaka asked once again.
“It’s your
fault too!” Umi shot back, not answering the
question. “I was *happy* as an only child! You and Dad just had to get back in
bed again, didn’t you?! You wanted to give me a playmate, didn’t you? Well,
your bundle of joy turned out to be hell for me! It’s all
your fault. You and your stupid sexual desires...”
“Yanagisawa Umi!” Miaka scolded. Umi turned around
and fell quiet right away. She may be nineteen and living on her own but, like
all children, she had to obey her mother. She calmed down and leaned against
the door as her mother began to talk.
“Do not address
me in that manner again!” Miaka folded her arms across her flat chest. “I cannot
believe you would think of your brother in that way.”
“Well, tell him
to stop insulting me!”
“Insulting you?
When did Tatsuha ever insult you?”
Umi narrowed her eyes, the tears sucking back into them. “You don’t
know anything, do you? You love Tatsuha cause he’s
your baby and he’d never do anything wrong. If he was standing in my place, you
wouldn’t bother to ask ‘When did Umi ever insult
you?’ You’d go straight into the room and start yelling at me. Why? Cause I
hurt Tatsuha, that’s why!”
“Umi, I love you both equally.” Miaka
was trying to sound like she was defending her children but she appeared to be
defending herself. “Now will you tell me what Tatsuha
did?”
Umi laughed bitterly. “That’s just like you, Mom. You say you love us
both but it’s clear you care about Tatsuha more. He
was always your perfect child, wasn’t he? Good grades, friendly kid...yeah,
he‘s still perfect. But I‘m the drifter, the weird one...the
one that will never be anything. ” The last comment was the one Umi hated most. She had heard a lot other people call her
that behind her back. They probably thought she never knew. Unfortunately, she
did and those words cut through her.
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. Umi smirked,
remembering that silly cliché. Obviously, whoever wrote it either had no
emotions or didn’t know what it was like to be broken inside.
He or she may have spent too much time in hospitals, thanks to the sticks and
stones hitting him/her, that never took got the chance to have their emotions
messed with or their hearts broken. It made sense to Umi.
“Umi...” Miaka began but Umi already had her hand on the doorknob and had opened the
door.
“Forget it,
Mom. You never understood me back then and you never will understand me. Just
talk to Tatsuha if you want to know what happened.
He’ll be glad to tell you all of my bad points. And together, you both can have
a wonderful laugh afterwards.”
With that, Umi left her mother’s apartment and went back to her own
home. She stayed quiet through the whole ride because she wasn’t willing to
share her feelings. Not right then anyway. Tatsuha’s
horrible words haunted her as she reached her apartment building and got inside
the elevator. Her brother hated her. Her mother hated her. The truth was
finally out in the open. They hated her and they hated her stories.
Umi found her apartment, opened the door, and stepped inside. She
threw the purse on the counter, dropped her coat to the floor, and threw
herself on the couch. Her papers were on the table, which she picked up and
looked through. Minutes later, she ripped them apart and began to cry the tears
she carried from home.
* * *
Umi felt like crying once again. At
the rate she was going, there was no way in hell she’d have a novel published
before the year was over. She had drawn lines across her papers, through the
paragraphs she started writing but never could finish. Tatsuha’s
hateful words still hurt her ears even though the argument was far behind. She
didn’t hate her brother and he didn’t hate her. But Tatsuha,
though he was sixteen, was still too young to realize that words had the power
to hurt people. He was too young to know that Umi,
strong and silent as she was, wasn’t made of stone. He thought she could withstand anything.
I would have
fought back if it were someone else hating the way I wrote. But it’s Tatsuha. It’s my own brother. It’s ironic that my brother,
who knows me better than Mom does, thinks I’m a
horrible writer.
Every five minutes, Umi would take a sip
of her tea and then go back to the paper. Anytime she tried to write something
down, she kept hearing Tatsuha.
You ruined my
paper!
It was crap, Umi!
I didn’t want
*more* stuff in it!
“Damn you, Tatsuha!” She snapped. No,
she shouldn’t be saying such horrible things when her brother wasn’t around.
She had to get used to criticism. But Tatsuha had
taken criticizing her to an extreme. Rather than being glad for the help, he
mocked her. But what made Umi angry was what he
called her friends. Sora, Ai, Kiku,
Kouji, and Junpei were not
freaks. They cared about her and respected the people around her. To have Tatsuha talk about them like that wasn’t just wrong, it was
rude.
Her mother had been no help either. She had good feeling that the
two of them were talking about her behind her back. She also had a feeling that
her mother took Tatsuha’s side. That would be no
surprise to Umi.
Maybe they’re
right. Maybe I’m not good enough. She told herself, still staring at those
scribbles. Look at me. I haven’t gotten
far in anything. And I call myself a writer!
But she wasn’t going to give up. If she did, that would only prove
her mother and brother right. Her happiness and purpose in life would be gone.
She would be worthless. She would be nothing if she gave up writing.
To hell with
what anyone else thinks! I’ll come up with an idea and I’ll sell my first book!
Tatsuha is going to be so damn sorry he ever said
that about me! I’ll teach that little brat some respect!
So Umi began to write. She would write
paragraphs and stanzas to poems. She was moving faster than one of those bullet
trains she had taken a ride on. Every now and then, she’d stop to do something
else. The phone would ring so she had to answer that. Sometimes she had to stop
because she needed to go to the bathroom. When she came back, she always had
something different to write so she’d stop working on her current project and
begin a new one. Ultimately, she was growing tired so she put the cap on the
pen and let out a yawn.
“So far, I still have nothing good.” She said drowsily. She had
been writing for so long that she didn’t realize it was two in the morning. It
was too bad that she still didn’t have an idea to work with.
“But maybe tomorrow…” She murmured, putting her head down on the
desk and shutting her eyes. “Tomorrow…I’ll have something tomorrow…”
She drifted away into sleep with that promise.
* * *
Wake up,
Yanagisawa. Wake up.
No…
Wake up and meet
your destiny, Yanagisawa.
Destiny?
You picked this
path. Your life will never be the same.
“Destiny?” Umi opened her eyes the moment she said those words. She
expected to find herself still at her desk with her papers around her. She
expected to find herself in her messy apartment. She expected to find herself
in a place she recognized.
But when she opened her eyes, she was not in a familiar setting.
She found herself lying on soft green grass, her hair spread out
around her head like a fan. Pink cherry blossoms would blow past her and land
in her hair to contrast with her crystal blue locks. Then there were also the
blades of grass tickling her bare ankles. Everything was painted in soft pastel
colors just like tissue paper. It was a warm day, perhaps in the spring, and
sunlight bounced off her smooth white legs. There were clouds in the sky but
not one of them seemed threatening enough to bring rain. And there was no sound
whatsoever. It didn’t make sense. Winter was approaching, not spring. Why was
everything so bright and beautiful?
More
importantly, where am I? She asked herself. She had been writing only
three minutes ago. She had been sitting at her desk, finally inspired to get
something down, and now she was here. Why did she stop?
Umi rolled over on her side, a bunch of cherry blossoms still tangled in her hair,
and was surprised by what she saw. Not far from her, sitting underneath an oak tree
and looking lost in his thoughts, was a man. He was a few feet away from her
but he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Not even Watabe Kouji, whom she had the
lifelong crush on, looked half as good as this man. The stranger had physical
features that belonged on covers of fashion magazines. His blond hair was short
but wavy. Strands fell over his eyes and the wind shifted through those golden
waves. Umi didn’t know what color his eyes were but
she could bet they were soft and warm, perhaps blue or green. His face was
smooth and his skin was the same color as buttermilk. He didn’t look sickly
white like some pale people did. And his body was sturdy like a marble
sculpture, good enough to put Michelangelo’s David to shame.
My God, who is
he? He’s gorgeous! Was the first thought that entered Umi’s
mind. He didn’t look that much older than her, probably twenty-one or
twenty-two. He also looked like he could use her company. Using her arms to
support herself, Umi sat up and looked at the
stranger.
I could write a
book of poetry about him. She thought jokingly. She couldn’t help it. The man bought out a
lot of inspiration in her. Suddenly rejuvenated, Umi
decided to find out more about him. Perhaps talking to him would create so many
different types of poems.
“Hey!” She called to him. Her voice sounded different now. It was
faint like a whisper. She tried raising it but it still came out soft. Why was
her voice being carried away?
The handsome stranger refused to turn around. It had to be because
he couldn’t hear Umi at all. Even if he did, he
ignored her. He was too busy looking down at the book on his lap. The pages
were rough and turning yellow. There were several words, all in his lovely
handwriting, scribbled on those pages. These words reflected his feelings, his
dreams, and his life. The book was bound with leather and the name “KELLAN” had
been sewn on the front cover. It was his book of poetry, the one he had carried
with him when he died. It contained all his best poems and he never got tired
of reading it.
Kellan had been
sitting under the oak tree and thinking up another love poem to be written. He
had found a blank page in that book and had the urge to capture his feelings
once again. Now these were the days he remembered before the war. God,
everything was alive and blooming! This was where inspiration was drawn. This
was where poetry was born. This was where imagination would never die.
If only others
would come visit this place… He thought wistfully. He knew no one
would come. After all, this was happy and untouched. Reality was tainted with
pain and anger. Fantasy was sweet, growing bitter every now and then.
~Bitter, bitter life all around me.
If only the world opened its eyes to see~
And then he stopped. Once again, he had reached the point where
his mind drew that horrible blank. Trying to rhyme poetry was never easy.
Keeping everything in a perfect meter was much harder. But the worst part of
all was not having anyone to write about.
I’ve written so
many love poems but who are they for?
He flipped through the pages of his book, looking through the
poems of love and beauty for women he did not know. Everything had been written
from the thoughts in his mind, not from experience. Good writing did incorporate
thoughts but experience was what made the poem a masterpiece. And Kellan, in the twenty- two years that he had lived, had not
experienced true love. He never held a woman in his arms or inhaled the sweet
perfumed dabbed around her neck. He had never kissed her and told her that he’d
always be there for her.
I don’t have
anyone who inspires me. He realized. So there he sat with the truth, hurt and
disappointed, trying hard to push everything away.
Then there was Yanagisawa Umi, still
watching the cherry blossoms blow by her. She was wearing her blue slip but
felt naked for some odd reason. Was this what she had been writing earlier? It
didn’t feel that way. Her story had been a thriller, involving a wild goose
chase between the good and bad guy, and the setting was dark. There was no
sunshine, no cherry blossoms, and certainly no happy feelings surrounding it.
“Am I dreaming? Doesn’t feel that way but what the hell do I
know?” Her gaze turned back to Kellan. He seemed to
get more handsome every time she looked at him. “I sure hope *he* isn’t a
dream.”
She called out to him again and her voice blended with the wind.
He didn’t look up at her or even in her direction. Finally, Umi
decided to suck her gut in and talk to this guy herself. She didn’t like
meeting new people but she wanted to meet him. He could help her understand
what was going on. Getting up on her feet and brushing herself off, she walked
over to him. It felt strange though as if she was just learning how to walk.
Her feet seemed to have no feeling in them.
Somehow, as she got used to walking, she made it to him. “Hey!”
The young man didn’t look at her so she sat down next to him and
tried greeting him again. Still no answer.
“You know, you could at least answer back.” Umi
was growing frustrated with the young man. If he wasn’t so good looking, she’d
have punched him right then and there. The stranger finally turned around and
looked at Umi. Now she had a better look of his face.
It was smooth and clean like the rest of his body. The
shirt he wore was half-opened to reveal a nicely-shaped chest. Umi wanted to put her hands against it. She had a hard time
keeping them to herself. The stranger seemed to sense what she was going to do
and his look hardened.
“My name isn’t *you*.” He began. His voice had a nice flow to it,
not too deep and not too high. “It’s Kellan.”
“Kellan, huh? What’s your
last name?” Umi asked, suddenly intrigued. She liked
his name. It was unique and interesting just like him. She giggled and sat down
next to him, pulling her legs up close to her own chest and hugging them. Kellan ignored her and flipped a page in his book. All the
while he wondered what this silly girl was doing here.
“My name is Kellan. I don’t have any
other names.” He said. Umi felt her shyness slipping
over her again. She always had trouble when it came to meeting new people and
he was no exception. His cold exterior was making it even harder for her to
open up. But she forced herself to stay and keep trying. On any other occasion,
she wouldn’t do so. But Kellan...there was something
about Kellan that made her hang around. He was a
mystery and Yanagisawa Umi loved mysteries.
“I’m Umi. Yanagisawa Umi.”
She introduced herself, hoping that a new start would make Kellan
lighten up. Instead, he seemed to grow colder as she approached him. She was
offended but stayed. She may be shy but she wasn’t a quitter. When she noticed
the leather-bound book in his hands, she came up with another subject to talk
about.
“Is that your book?” She asked. Kellan
lowered his gaze when she did. He immediately put his hands over the pages and
covered up his writing. He wasn’t ready to show her his horrible poetry.
“So what if it is?” Was his reply.
“Can I...can I read it?” Umi held out
her hands and he closed the book, letting a cloud of dust fly up and hit Umi in the face. She coughed and backed away. Obviously, looks were only skin deep. He
ignored her and treated her like she wasn’t human. However, his attitude would
not keep Umi away. The more he resisted, the more she
would pester him until he opened up. Or at least let her read the book.
“I’ll take that as a no.” She muttered. Kellan
glared at her and put the book aside. No wonder he didn’t have a woman in twenty-two
years. Most of the ones he met were all like this Yanagisawa Umi! Clearly, she wasn’t going to go away or give up until
he said something.
“Look.” Kellan began. “I don’t know who
you are. I don’t know why you are bothering me. I just want to be left in peace
so I can write my poetry. You being here is only
preventing me from writing the verses.”
Umi could only stare at the handsome
stranger.
“Are you a writer?” She asked as if she had never expected this
out of him.
“Let’s see...I told you I was writing verses. I told you I wanted
peace to think. I showed you that this is a book of poetry...my poetry, to be
specific.” Kellan’s eyes burned right into Umi’s icy blue ones. “Of course I’m a writer, you stupid
girl.”
“Hey!” Umi exclaimed indignantly,
putting her hands on her hips. “I was only asking a question.”
“A stupid question.” Kellan corrected. “And I am not fond of stupid questions.
Now here’s an intelligent one: why are you so curious about me?”
A line of red appeared across Umi’s nose
and she thought about what he said. She couldn’t tell him the truth! She
couldn’t tell him that the only reason she approached him was because she
thought he was hot! Then again, she didn’t have another good reason for him. So
she came up with another strategy.
“Oh, look over there!” She said pointing to the left. Kellan turned around just as she expected and loosened his
grip on the book. Umi snatched it from him before he
could do anything.
“Give that back!” He snapped.
“In a minute…” Umi said, flipping
through the pages and avoided the angry poet trying to get his book back. “Mmmmm…nice stuff here, Kellan! You got nice handwriting!”
“Give that back!”
“I will, I will. But let me read something in here…ah yes! This one!” Umi finally found a
poem that was short. She began reading it to herself, her eyes widening as they
scanned each verse. She had seen some really good poets in the past but no one
like him. As he tried to take the book from her, she went on reading another
one of his poems. This one she liked even better. He knew how to write romantic
stuff without making them overly sappy or superfluous.
“You’re amazing.” She whispered. “You’re the sweetest person I’ve
ever met.”
Kellan looked
puzzled. “Sweet?”
“Yes. You’re romantic.” She said. “I don’t know very many people
who think, much less write, the way you do.”
Kellan let out a
sigh. “That’s because not very many people like thinking...or writing...about
love. They all want to know about reality...about war...about grief and
suffering. They probably thought love was a waste of time. They think love
doesn’t exist anymore.”
“They? Who are
‘they’?” Umi asked.
“People you don’t know.” Was his response. Umi decided to drop
the conversation at that moment. She had clearly stumbled onto something that Kellan would not tell her regardless how hard she begged.
Besides, her eyelids were starting to droop and sleep was coming over her
again. So she curled up in the grass and put her head on the ground. Letting
out a yawn, she hugged her small body and took one more look at Kellan. Even though her vision was starting to blur due to
drowsiness, he was still gorgeous. He looked upset but he was gorgeous just
like the hero of a classic romance novel. She smiled at him though he didn’t
see her.
Meanwhile, Kellan flipped through his
book and felt worse as he read all his poetry. They *were* too happy and filled
with unnecessary images. They didn’t make sense sometimes. Worst of all, they
were about no one. They had no inspiration behind them.
“Soul mates, living as one…what was I
thinking when I wrote these poems?” He asked himself. Now he was bitter.
Maybe society was right. It was time to stop thinking like everything would all
right in the end. Umi lay back down next to him and
closed her eyes. Crazy girl. Just looking at her made
him want to write. So he flipped to a page in his book and came across a poem
he never finished writing. It was the one Umi had
been reading she handed the book back. This one was bitter and the last word in
it was something he normally didn’t put in poetry. But it fit from some strange
reason.
~It doesn't matter if we are living in one body or not.
You look at me in a way I don't want to be looked at.
You treat me in ways I don't deserve to be treated.
Most importantly, you love me...
You love me and I can't love back.
I'm just another uncaring bastard~
Next to him, Yanagisawa Umi had fallen
asleep.
* * *
Ring! Riiiing!
“Aw, damn!” Umi swore as she woke up.
Goddamn phone kept her from staying with that handsome stranger in her dreams.
But his words seemed to haunt her. Meeting Kellan
was the inspiration she needed to write her first novel. Yes, he had been a
jerk but he was an interesting jerk. He was also a romantic and handsome jerk who
bought out a feeling in her that she didn’t know existed. And the poem he had
written also stuck in her head.
~It doesn't matter if we are living in one body or not.
You look at me in a way I don't want to be looked at.
You treat me in ways I don't deserve to be treated.
Most importantly, you love me...
You love me and I can't love back.
I'm just another uncaring bastard~
I wonder if
we’ll ever meet again. She thought before picking
up the phone and answering it.
* * *
I’m so sorry to take so long with this story! The holidays backed
everything up. (I know, it’s the same excuse I’m using with all my fics but it’s true.) I hope I didn’t disappoint you all too
much. As I said, I wasn’t quite as happy when I wrote this.
*blink* I just realized Umi and Kellan are the same age as Shuichi and Yuki from
“Gravitation!” But the plot to my story and that anime are very different. One,
this is not yaoi like Gravi.
Two, Umi and Kellan have
more in common with each other than Shu and Yuki do.
There’s more that differentiates them from Shu and
Yuki too. And don’t get grossed out with the romance that’s kinda
blooming between them. I’ve seen people write Daisuke/Dark yaoi
as well as Yugi/Yami Yugi
romances before. It’s nothing new.
BTW, don’t hate Tatsuha. I know I made
him look bad in this chapter but he’s a nice guy. He’s like his mom; not thrilled
with Umi’s decision but cares about her.
Copyright 2002: CT
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Email me: sweetandsourcyanide@excite.com