Countdown 24

2011 - The Pocky year

Day 8, which has a beginning, a middle and an end

Ta-da-da-daaah! Heute, mein liebes Schatzi, bekommst du endlich Teile meines NaNoWriMo Meisterwerkes zu lesen. (Die einzigen Teile, die ich dich uneditiert lesen lassen kann - sprich, der Rest ist noch viel schlimmer. Und Elefanten kommen nicht vor.)

    

Working title: AMNESIA

Prologue

She woke up from sand stinging in her eyes. She opened them, blinked a few times and reached up with her hands to rub the small grains out of her eyelashes.

She was lying in the middle of a sand dune, around her nothing but wide, yellowish-brown sand for miles and miles and miles. It was halfdark, the last sunrays of the day were creeping around behind the high dunes to her left. She slowly sat up and looked around properly. Behind her was a small rock formation, a steep stone caved out to give at least a little shelter from the whisks of sand whirled around by the sharp wind.

She crept up against the stone, pressing her cheek against the still warm rock. She found herself wearing a long wide tunic and a scarf like the beduins from the Islands wore them, wound around their heads and faces as protection against sun and wind. Clusmily she imitated their style and wound it around her face. Next to where she had lain, she saw a large water flask and a sack, which turned out to be filled with long preservable pickled meat and bread. Realizing her hunger she ate and drank, but not too much, insticts telling her to save.

It might be a long journey.

She dug a small mousld into the sand next to stone and stowed the flask and sack away securely. Then she leaned back against the boulder and watching the patterns of the sand flowing over the last puddles of sunwashed dunes huddled more tightly into her tunic. She stuck her hands into the pockets to keep them warm and her right hand touched something. She pulled out a small crumpled paper, folded twice. Written on one side of the parchment were only two words.

Head East.

 

Somewhere in Chapter 1

Tamaki's face was pale as death in the moonlight shining through the broken windows. The rays of moonlight sparkled on the shards lying on the floor and danced around the two figures in the middle of the room, giving the scene the grotesque appearance of a statue cast in marble.

Kyouya didn't notice. Neither could he hear the noise of the soldiers running through the streets outside, throwing granades and bombs into random houses or the deafening explosions right across the street. The only thing he could see was Tamaki's face, the shadow of his long eyelashes falling onto his ashen cheeks, the only thing he could feel was the brush of Tamaki's hair against the back of his hand and the scary stillness of his body. He could think nothing.

Then Tamaki opened his eyes, blood-red and staring at Kyouya with hatred.

"You killed me."

"No!"

Kyouya found himself sitting upright in his bed, the aftersound of his yell lingering in his ears. He clutched at his heart, willing its fast beating to slow down. His nightshirt was soaked in cold sweat.

Again, the same dream. He always saw the same scene repeat itself before his mind's eyes and always it ended with his dead friends accusing words.

"You killed me."

Kyouya threw his blanket aside and got out of bed. Scrambling for his glasses, he went to the faucet to drink a few gulps of water, then pulled of his shirt. The night was warm enough anyway that he didn't it. Shoving aside one half of the window blinds, he let his eyes wander onto the streets of the city, deserted and empty. He found no comfort in them.

It was a clear sky and the full moon was shining brightly, the rays of moonlight sparkled on the shards lying on the floor-

He slammed the blinds shut again.

The watch in the grand hall of the house chimbed four. He sighed, gave up on any more sleep and threw over his nightgown. He might finish reading through the officers reports before breakfast.

     

Epilogue

Teylor's name was not mentioned aloud in their circle. But Robin hadn't forgotten him and neither had the Queen. As much as she had despised him in the moment she found out about his treason, he had been a loyal servant to her for many years. And she could understand his reason's only too well. She would have liked to find a loophole or some kind of excuse to get him out of prison, but the Sheeban law was one of the best and as Sheeba's Queen she would not go against it.

This did not keep her from turning a very blind eye to Robin's obvious planning activities and from accidentally mentioning where she had ordered Teylor to be kept.

When one dark night the prison was infiltrated without sound, without any trace, without even a flicker of light and the whisper of the wind that made the candle burn unsteadily came only from the guards sleepy breath and the next morning found Teylor gone, all the Queen said was "I see".

Then she sent for Robin and started having a very hypothetical talk about how nice it would be to have a faithful person who was able and willing enough to infiltrate into the Haibara Peninsula to figure out how much they were involved in the shemes of the East and how probably the danger of an attack by see and ships was from their side. Robin smiled and answered "Oh yes, that would be a valuable position, wouldn't it". Then Robin mysteriously disappeared for a few days, then as mysteriously reappeared without mentioning her absence with a single word and two weeks later the Queen recieved an anonymous letter, with a single sheet of paper and a white lotus petal, grown only in the regions of Haibara, inside.

As of now, there is no need to worry.
I pray for your forgiveness.

The Queen smiled and Prince Rhint, in passing by on his way to a fencing lesson, took the petal from her hands and fastened it into her hairband. Danyll from his ever observing position in the background took a picture of the beautiful contrast of the pure white on Lady Elaines dark hair.

Teylor felt a single tear run down his cheek when he found the picture in the dark envelope. He looked at it for hours and hours and hours, memorizing every smallest detail. Then he burned it, so it would never be a risk that might give him away, and vowed to bring her another lotus when the war was over and see the same picture again with his own eyes.

 

[So sieht ein First Draft aus. Aber er ist fertig. Meine einzige Frage an dich - wuerdest du es lesen?]

     

Die Kunst des Blaetterlesens kann man in Sheeba noch lernen. Der Grossmeister geht allerdings auf die 80 zu. Man sollte sich beeilen.

8.12.11 15:35
 


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