August 14, 2000
we do not own these puppets
views expressed are not necessarily those of the authors
we do not own this song: fiona apple should, but we doubt that she
does, some large corporation probably has that honor
'pale september' is a short series of 2x3 vignettes for draco ^_^
so...uh...surprise!
~pale september~
pale september, i wore the time like a dress that year
the autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin
but as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared
my heart when cold and only holy rhythms resounded from within
but then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full
and sank in the burrows of my keep
~pale september~
Somehow, I can't help but see his face in the pattern of the leaves this year.
I sit here, my fingers forming a cup in my lap, and watch the seasons change before my eyes. Summer went so fast, there was barely a chance to get to know her intimate green caress before she died away into the winds of the coming fall.
I chart his flushed cheeks, rosy with the glow of final death, in the maple trees as they shed their skin. I live here, on this tiny block filled with boisterous, noisy children, all decent in their Sunday school patent leather shoes and frilly cotton dresses. All good Catholics, or upright Congregationalists, or preaching Baptists. They all blend together, seem a huge judge's mallet to my aching myopic eyes.
I know that it is exactly 7:56 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, that all the preachers and reverends and priests and other holy men have just begun their services on Mercy Street. 'Never too early for the good Lord's work.' Yet they denied him a funeral. So he lies in the neverending push and pull of the ocean, not the way he would have liked it. 'Good enough, Trowa,' he would have said, and patted my head in that condescending but endearing way of his.
I know that it has been a little over a month since he died. 34 days, 6 hours, to be exact. It's funny the things we remember, a color or a taste or a scent. I could never forget the color of his eyes, so massively larger than life. Sometimes the darkest blue, or the softest violet. So soft you expected to touch them and feel a feather's wisp.
Though I know he's gone, somehow, I can't help but see his face in the pattern of the leaves this year...
End Chapter One: Autumn
Ariana and Bianca
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