Hey, this was written a couple years ago, and was inspired by the
lyrics to the song of the same name. "Where Or When" by Anita
Shreve printed the words in the back, since it was, also, inspired by
the same song. Anyway, it's nothing special, but I thought I'd post
it anyway. ^^ Enjoy!
slr_europa@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa
AIM :: SeeShelliRun
***************************************
"Where or When"
Lyrics by Lorenz Hart
Music by Richard Rodgers
Performed by Dion & The Belmonts
When you're awake
The things you think come from the dreams you dream.
Thought has wings,
And lots of things are seldom what they seem.
Sometimes you think you've lived before
All that you live today.
Things you do come back to you,
As though they knew the way.
Oh, the tricks your mind can play!
It seems we stood and talked like this before.
We looked at each other in the same way then,
But I can't remember where or when
The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore.
The smile you're smiling you were smiling then.
But I can't remember where or when.
Some things that happen for the first time,
Seem to be happening again.
And so it seems that we have met before.
And laughed before,
And loved before,
But who knows where or when.
*************************************
Where or When (1/1)
By Sailor Europa
The mind can play tricks on a person.
Tricks that even ones bodily functions seem to be in on. The eyes see things that
the mind will recognize; a string of pearls, a fine wisp of golden hair. The nostrils catch a
whiff of a perfume that seems strangely familiar, yet you haven't a clue where from. And
the light tinkling of a laugh will reverberate in your ears until you swear you know the
voice to which it belongs. And you begin to ask yourself where or when.
*****
It was an ordinary day for the lonely Chiba Mamoru. He walked his patterned
route home from school late in the afternoon, and his eyes never caught the bright foliage
that had sprouted from the trees in this late autumn. He stared straight ahead, a signature
look of disinterest etched permanently onto his features. Pools of glass held in an ocean
of life, of a past. But the glass was a barrier which allowed only the most observant to
view the rage of emotions, and yet sadly, never touch it. The lakes of blue were placid, a
false serenity; a place where too many ripples had damaged the depths, and left no
necessity for warmth. Just peace.
He watched the horizon approach and change, the sun sinking slowly, gathering
itself closer and closer to oblivion. A warm breeze kicked up, and he pulled a hand to
rake steady fingers through raven locks, pushing them from his eyes, the effort in vain as
the wind whipped it right into place again. His lungs extracted in a sigh, and he let a
small sound, hinting at a deep longing from somewhere inside a heart he wasn't even sure
existed anymore.
Mamoru picked up the pace and headed in the same direction that a few
uniformed school girls were working their way towards. He listened to their idle,
mindless chatter with a touch of displeasure. Adolescence, innocence, ignorance; these
were things he had never been blessed with. He had been robbed of these human
treasures so long ago, and hurt he still nursed with all his might. And while he knew that
a deeper part of him envied their wide-eyed point of view, he harbored a more
detrimental urge towards them. The bitterness that forced him to judge each and every
one of them, and portray a cynical, sarcastic, isolated loner.
With his naturally heavy heart he trudged into Crown, a very ironic destination
when given the circumstances which shaped his existence. With the sour tone he held its
occupants in, he certainly spent enough time there, and many people had noticed.
Teenage girls marveled at the older man's aloof expression, unseeing gaze and
disinterested utterances. More than one swooned from a destructive, mad crush on the
guy only to ignore the fact that his eyes never strayed to the sides as he strode into the
arcade each afternoon and sat on the same stool, in the same spot each time.
That is, of course, until the one he'd dubbed, "The Blonde Tornado" enters. And
while his attention, granted, was never favorable, the insults and slams were much more
preferred to the icy obliviousness. And this afternoon is no different. He can not cease the
machine-gun fire that he spurns at her; it's a sickness, he admits. He enjoys the way the
bridge of her nose crinkles up in anger and annoyance, and how her cheeks will flush at
her pent up fury. He inevitably begins with his favorite term for her, and awaits the
eventual onslaught.
"Konichiwa, Odango-Atama." He says, as absently as he can possibly utter. He
feels the slight grin slip onto his face as he gets the first jab of the day in. He watches her
back bristle like a startled alley cat. She turns slowly, and the grin transforms into the
self-righteous smirk she has grown to passionately loathe.
"Konichiwa, Mamoru-baka." She spits out, venomously. He chuckles, already
glad that he chose to come that day.
"Such a witty and original come-back." He retorts as his posture straightens, and
he faces her, preparing for the verbal sparing to ensue. Such instances have been the
highlight of his days, and each phrase spoke in vehemence is like a shot of whiskey to a
withdrawn alcoholic for Mamoru. He's never really tried to explain his addiction, to
himself or any outsider. He simply accepts and lets it fill his ego. "Hope you didn't snap
your brain stem when coming up with it."
"No, but I'd like to snap yours, you over-achieving, self-serving…." Her tiny fists
clenched at her sides, and her eyes glowed with a fire Mamoru had rarely seen in anyone.
He savored the outpouring of emotion she emitted and greedily drank up the overflow.
He's giddy and drunk within moments of her arrival; the adrenaline flow is as
intoxicating to him as ever. Her small, tight group of friends stand by as usual and shake
their heads, muttering to each other, exhausted with their never-ending battle. They've
approached him on occasion and asked him about his motives in the one-on-one war they
wage each afternoon. He shrugs nonchalantly and mumbles, side-stepping any real
thought on the matter. To think about it would mean he cared and that was something he
routinely and deliberately avoided.
Mizuno Ami stepped up and physically drags her enraged friend from Mamoru's
view. Usagi screamed in frustration, wailing about the authorities "never finding his
body" and that "no court would convict me! So help me GOD!". Mamoru can't shake the
contentment he only gets when in her presence, even as she shouts and bellows death-
threats and phrases of blood-lust. He knew that if given the chance, she would make good
some of those promises. He often wondered when it would come to that. He'd let his
mind wander off a few times when Usagi peeked into his thought-patterns, and he wasn't
completely unaware of the path this road was taking.
The taller brunette shakes her head in confusion, her gaze meeting Mamoru's for
a split second. He frowns; she doesn't have the same look of annoyance the other four do.
He sees a hidden intelligence, an unblinking eye that professes a knowledge of his agenda
with the blonde. He tilted his head to the side. He tried not to let this upset him, but her
sympathetic, pitied glare kind of pissed him off. A sour taste entered his mouth and he
turns around to his amused friend behind the counter.
"You never give up, do you, Mamoru?" Motoki asked, a chuckle evident.
Mamoru smiled blissfully and shrugged as he leaned onto the counter in front of him.
"What can I say? I love fighting battles I can win." He answered, knowing it isn't
the truth. He loves fighting any battle, assuming that his enemy is always Tsukino Usagi.
Win or lose, he knows that getting there is all the fun.
"I will never understand the appeal of ripping on an innocent high-school girl."
Mamoru casts a glance over his shoulder, and catches the gaggle of teenage girls
mulling over him as they glare disapprovingly in his direction. He shook his head. He
didn't really understand his own penchant either. But the overwhelming sense of
euphoria that engulfed him whenever he traded insults with her was enough to make him
sit up and take notice. He'd realized it the second he laid eyes on her wide blue eyes,
adorned by the most ridiculous hair-style he'd ever seen. Usagi wasn't the normal
teenage girl that annoyed him, and he suspected that even she sensed that. Maybe his
hostilities were a bit misdirected, he admitted. But he assumed that anyone who
witnessed their little tiffs noticed that right off. He was never cruel to her, nor did he
make-fun of things that were beyond her control. His comments were off-handed remarks
that he knew that, by her nature, she would take the wrong way. She was the sensitive
type, quite the opposite of him in every possible way. If she were to use similar tactics to
anger him, it wouldn't work, and he knew that.
It was their conflicting ego's that made their relationship so much fun for
Mamoru. Never in his life could he remember meeting such an optimistic, cheery, light-
filled being. He'd for so long seen such individuals as near-sighted and naïve; he made it
his job to knock them down a few pegs. And although he thought of the task as
necessary, he was always a bit saddened when their façade faded each time and he found
that his own personal misery had company.
And yet, with each blow to her pride he delivered, she bucked it up and pulled
herself together. Her gaze never faltered, heart never descended. When he was at his most
lonesome state, he would admit, albeit grudgingly, that he was impressed and humbled by
her determination. She never backed down, and even through her tears and sobs, he could
see that flicker of light flash between each wail. He had to accept that she, a tiny, lithe,
petite 14 year old girl, was his most formidable counterpart.
He didn't remember his past. He couldn't remember his parents, or their love or
any of the familiarities that made up tender emotions. He was hardened by the world he
had built himself, and staring at his one and only friend in the world at that moment, he
realized that somewhere in the midst of his and Usagi's constant conflict was a
recollection of something he couldn't quite place. Nothing distinct stood out, but there
was a comfort in her red hot rage when she got lost in a staring contest with him. The
sensation made him long for something he wasn't sure he had ever presently experienced.
No words she spoke rang of déjà vu, nor did she ever mention the feelings herself. But
still, Mamoru watched her back, recently relaxed within a less restrictive atmosphere, and
frowned at the puzzle now presented to him. He didn't care for the pungent stench of
uncertainty that plagued his mind now. Usagi had been his "nemesis" for too long, why
was this returning to him now?
He shook his head, hoping to free his mind of these chains she was putting on
him. Her essence might have been captivating to him from the very beginning, but life
had dealt him a different hand, and he played it to the hilt. He chided and angered her
with all the passion he could muster, and enjoyed it. The indistinct remembrances could
not shake his place in her life, should he even want them too.
Yet he tried to tear his gaze away from her sun-lit hair, and couldn't help but
wonder why he suddenly found himself expect the scent of roses and metal to explode
inside the room.
*****
Mamoru felt a shock of electricity race down his spine and he shivered. Her
transformation had begun again; he could sense it. He sat bolt up in bed, and whipped his
damp face with his hands, ridding the exhaustion from his expression. Before he can
count to five his tuxedo has appeared, replacing the simple boxers her slept in. He leapt
carelessly from the railing that shielded his balcony; it's no match for his fear. He views
Sailor Moon in much the same light as Usagi; they both seem indestructible and
unfailing, unwilling to relent no matter who the enemy may be. Yet his heart is nagged by
his cynicism that one day, he won't be there to catch them when their innocence is
shattered. He'd grown fond of both of them, in a way he was still unwilling to admit.
With their unbelievable strength and courage standing the test of time and hardship over
and over again, Mamoru had found someone to put his trust in. And when he realized that
two people had made an appearance in his life to counteract his dark, solemn nature, he
knew that there was a God.
He raced through the streets of downtown Tokyo at breakneck speed, the extra
weight of the layers of formal attire not hampering his pace a bit. He instinctively read
her location; an internal radar that linked his soul to hers which he had learned never to
question or disobey. A warning was flashing in his mind and he simply let it guide him. If
he stopped to inquire about it, he could lose precious time.
He came to a halt when the tell-tale signs and shouts of a battle caught his
attention. He watched flashes of light and flames engulf the sky. He was immediately
glad that it was too late at night for bystanders to stop and gawk. Anything out of place
made him nervous.
He staked out a narrow alley to stop and wait for the appropriate time to make his
appearance. He couldn't risk showing up before he was needed. He had an effect on
Sailor Moon that both flattered and frightened him. Influencing someone he cared so
much about was not something he took lightly.
He watched in an awe-inspired silence. The senshi's movements were like a
dance, and he never ceased being amazed at how well they handled themselves. It was
never an individual effort. They fed and worked off another's help. They had a flawless
team, and although they all were unbelievably young, it wasn't hard to spot right away
why they were undefeated.
He eyes traced the route Sailor Moon made on the scene unfolding before him. He
blinked, and was awash with a sense of longing. He did care for the young girl, and it
wasn't hard for him to see that her feelings were a mirror of his own. That innocence was
like a hidden memory, the same one that enveloped him in the presence of the
incorrigible Usagi, and in the simple, short dream of his Princess. They all cast the same
spell on him, the one he so reluctantly let overtake his senses, and yet so willingly sank
into each night. The three woman had such different characteristics, but they all made
him feel the same. He almost felt forced to pick one, only to realize that none of the three
were his to claim. His Princess was too distant to grasp, and Sailor Moon was an enigma
he was constantly chasing. While Usagi, on the other hand, he did his best to push her
away.
He watched the war end abruptly and he sighed. His precious warrior had come
out victorious one more time. He wouldn't get to save her tonight and watch her loving
eyes follow his own as he offered mere words of encouragement. But it was a small price
to pay, knowing she would return home safely; wherever that happened to be. The five
broke apart and went their separate ways, but Mamoru caught the blonde give a few
pleading glances around the destructed site. She heaved a sigh of reluctant acceptance
before exiting herself. From his limited point of view, he heard the wind catch her last
words uttered in desperation.
"Tuxedo Kamen-sama…."
He'd heard it before, from the same lips, with that same voice. It was familiar to
him, but it seemed so new. With an aching heart, Mamoru pulled his mask off and headed
in the opposite direction his heart was going. Tuxedo Kamen was as much a mystery to
him as it was to her. Nothing that he thought about any more made sense in his mind. He
had to keep believing that even though he didn't know where or when he had lived the
life that seemed painstakingly similar to this one, these weren't mere tricks of the mind.
The women he thought of 24 hours a day, 7 days a week were not false; they were
memories that had followed him to where he was today. They gave him hope with their
familiarity. He knew them, their fears, their dreams, and their futures. He was once a part
of them, or so he imagined. Perhaps he still was, in an odd way and in such strange
circumstances.
He'd just have to wait and see.
************************************************
Wow, that was…..different. Especially for me. This was one of those things I wrote while
in a sleep-deprived stupor. Once I passed out I was visited by the Hindu God of the Monkeys,
Hannuman, and he finished it up for me. Those Hindu Monkey Gods are so nice, you know.
Always thinking of others.
But if it sucks, I blame him. Blasted monkeys.
Feedback? :)
slr_europa@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa/
AIM :: SeeShelliRun
(
geocities.com/slr_europa)