The Early Moon Chronicles
By Michaela Wills
Shelli982@aol.com

Story 2 - 'Collision of Fate' or 'A Younger Tuxedo Kamen'

He reached out towards the indistinct figure. It hovered at the far corners of his mind teasing and taunting his consciousness. Grappling towards the wisp of hope before him, Mamoru felt himself slipping away, slipping from the memories. He struggled to escape his growing awareness of the real world, he was so close, maybe this time, just maybe.

Closing his eyes tightly he reached for the shadow again, hoping, wishing, praying for it to come to him. He tore through the fabrics that separated him from his past, hoping each one before him was the last. Probing his unconscious mind was the closest he'd come to a memory. Just one. If he could just find those locked away thoughts he'd have something to hold onto, remembering what he had in this life.

"Mamoru-chan, it's time to wake up." A voice called to him gently. He pushed it away in his mind. No! She wouldn't do this to him again, he was so close! Just a few more of these cobwebs and he might have a memory, he could only hope . . .

"Mamoru-chan . . . wake up dear." Mamoru felt himself being pulled away again, away from his past as the sheets of tissue that hid his past fell before him again. NO! NO! NO! So close! It was all so close! "Wake up dear."

The images of his subconscious slipped away as pure while light invaded his world. He opened his eyes, looking up to the social worker standing over him.

"Mamoru-chan." She smiled warmly, it was comforting, but he could sense pity in her eyes. And that of all things was one he surely didn't want to have. "Get dressed, dear, today is the day. Your suit is all laid out." She patted his ruffled, ebony hair before leaving the plain room.

Mamoru sat up, shaking his head of his dreams. They were odd dreams, yet he knew that they were more, probably the closest connection to his past left. Usually they were set inside his head, with a spark of hope, of memory before him like a prize he could never reach. There had been a few oddball dreams though.

His own philosophy on the others was his amnesia had uncovered a tiny section of his brain's inactive region (supposedly humans only use a tiny portion of their brains, but who knew where Mamoru had learned, let alone why he remembered that!) which he had become aware of in his subconsciousness. A few 'memories' of himself at some point, he was almost positive it wasn't _this_ lifetime, had become apparent in his dreams. It had changed his religious beliefs drastically, as he was sure he'd been raised Christian, and Christians didn't believe in reincarnation as more Eastern religions did.

Once he was awake, these 'memories' became fairly elusive again, but he was slowly getting a little more to his conscious each time he dreamt of them. Yet the only thing that he was sure of even then was he sat in a rose garden with some other young children. That was it.

He stood up and began to dress. These dreams confused him so much, it was like they purposely were toying with him. He wanted the memories that he'd lost only a few weeks earlier, not the ones from another lifetime. He wanted relief from this aggravation, release from the questions that plagued him. And all he got was dreams.

It scared him, and the other children. They didn't want to play with this lonely, confused little boy who knew nothing to share with them. It tore through him like a knife, the rejection. These hospital invalids would heal and leave, go home to family and friends. Leaving him alone again, unhealed, unloved.

Fully dressed, Mamoru went to the small dresser in the room and began to comb his hair. Studying his reflection carefully he finished pulling the comb through his ebony tangles. He placed the comb back onto the hardwood in the same place he'd picked it up, allowing his now-free hand to graze the bruise beneath his left eye. The mark was the only physical reminder of the events that left him here. Soon only the emotional pain and confusion would be his companion from the accident.

Sighing, he quickly walked out of the room, attempting to leave behind his turmoil.

It hadn't worked. The turmoil and confusion had followed him to the funeral of his parents. He stared at the two coffins before him, closing his eyes, trying to recall what his parents looked like.

He couldn't.

He felt horrible. He couldn't even recall the simplest memory of his past; of his parents. Nothing. Seven years of his life were lost in the recesses of his mind, his parents with them.

Mamoru allowed his gaze to drop from the covered coffins that held his mother and father. Closing his eyes, he thought of those words. Mother and father. The words meant nothing to him. He knew that they should, that he should be bawling right about now over the loss of these two people who brought him into the world. That memories of love and kindness should be sending him into endless tears over the loss. But he couldn't cry for them. He wanted to, he felt he should, but he couldn't.

He had long ago ceased listening to the pastor, but somehow he knew that the man had stopped. He looked up, tears in his eyes. Not for his parents, but for the loss of everything he should remember. He couldn't decide if fate was being kind to him, by relieving him of memories of life with these people, or cruel, by taking away everything he'd ever known.

A tear slipped down his cheek in sorrow of it all. it was too much for him to handle. He knew he should be really crying for these people, but he couldn't. He didn't remember them! They meant nothing to him! His tears were for his own loss, which made him feel selfish. He should be crying for the silenced lives in those boxes, not himself.

He couldn't help it.

Suddenly he felt the social worker nudging his shoulder gently. He looked up to her with his tear stained eyes.

"Go ahead dear." She spoke softly, warmly, her voice thick with caring. Mamoru nodded slightly, clutching the two white, roses in his hand tighter.

A thought came to him, white. It symbolized innocence. He nearly laughed at the thought, the white flowers in his hand, he was not innocent. Pain and loss were too strong to allow him his innocence to hold onto. The world was full of too many damn realities. His thoughts halted.

He found himself standing beside the first of the coffins, unsure of how he'd gotten there. It no longer mattered. He swallowed hard separating the two roses from each other, holding one in each hand.

Slowly and uncertainly, Mamoru guided his hand to hover above the center of the coffin. He felt eerie all over. Careful not to let his hand brush the coffin's smooth cover, for fear of what would occur, he dropped the first of the roses to the coffin's lid.

Walking slowly to the other ominous box, Mamoru rubbed his wet eyes with the back of his free hand. Still clearing his vision, he dropped the second rose to its place atop the coffin.

Looking down at the soft grass beneath him, Mamoru walked away from the coffins.

He tipped up his head again, pressing on his elbows for support as he leaned back. Mamoru gazed at the sky. The funeral was long since over and in a sense, he was glad. Maybe now he could put the haunted feeling of loss behind him and look to the future. Stop searching for his past.

In two days he was to be sent to an orphanage in the Juuban District. Perhaps something would turn up for him there.

He kicked his slippers over the edge of the roof and onto the balcony of his little room. Forgetting his contemplation, Mamoru turned his attentions to the sky. there were only a few stars out, the strongest in the nearby systems. The reflection of light off the crescent moon blocked out most stars on this clear night.

It was a comfort to him. The crescent gave the appearance of a warm and reassuring smile, telling him that everything was to be okay. He hoped it was true. He looked at the patterns the glimmering points of light made in the sky. Idly he wished that his friend was here to point out the different constellations to him.

Mamoru sat bolt upright in shock. Friend?! As quickly as the thought, the recollection had come, it evaporated, leaving the boy with more questions. Grumbling to himself of his luck, he laid down again, pillowing his head with his arms behind his head.

And then he laid there, listening to the wind rustle the trees. Closing his eyes, he listened to the nature around him. He sat up again, blinking in surprise. He'd heard music. Not just any music, but the kind that came from a little musicbox. Slowly, he began to hum the tune, it sounded so familiar, like from a dream. It was comforting, like the crescent moon. Giving him the will to live on that he'd almost lost.

Climbing back to his balcony and into his room, he continued his humming, the melody becoming stronger in his mind as he went. He smiled in spite of everything. The music, and the moon, gave him an overwhelming feeling of hope. He crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, still humming. If it was the last thing he did, he would make sure never to forget this tune. It meant something, although he knew not what.

Slowly his voice faded off, the melody slowing and drifting into the atmosphere. Yet it continued to play in his heart even if the tinkering notes no longer hung in the air.

And Mamoru feeling into the first dreamless, peaceful sleep he'd had in a long time.

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