********
Foreword
********

    As if my fic hasn't been offbeat enough, this time I go way off the
deep end. Please forgive me - this chapter fell victim to my slightly
insane poetic/symbolic style of writing (complete with parallelism and
lyrical passages). That being said, the following writing may be a bit
difficult to understand, but from here on out, I promise to keep the poet
in me bottled up.

    A little **IMPORTANT** background information:
    First, this chapter takes place ten years before chapter one. If you
read the previous installment, you might remember Minako alluding to
something about "traveling the world" for ten years, leaving the Senshi for
a decade, "living outside [Crystal Tokyo]," or stuff to that effect.
Basically, this chapter (and subsequent ones) will detail her emotional
progress during her journeys across nations, sort of like a prelude.
    Second, please understand the Minako I'm trying to portray: a
battle-worn, guilt-ridden, hate-filled, near-schizophrenic burnout looking
for solace. Remember, since this chapter is year one of a ten year journey,
Minako's wounds (like the war with the Black Moon Family and the "Purging")
are still very fresh and painful - she hasn't had much time to think about
them.

    Also, I'd like to thank everyone for their kind emails!!! Your feedback
has provided me with a huge source of inspiration! And, as always, a big
thanks to Bethany and Lita Juno, my editors! While this chapter hasn't come
under their scrutiny (delayed writing on my part), I still appreciate their
support, countless ideas, and overall greatness.

Disclaimer: Everything associated with Sailor Moon is in no way, shape, or
form owned by me. I don't intend to make any money off of this; that's up
to the larger than life corporations out there. All that jazz about Sailor
Moon in tons of disclaimers out there apply.

email: doniswong@hotmail.com

Rated: R (mild swearing and violence)




                                  "Clean"
                                 Chapter 2

                                 A fanfic
                                    by

                                    Don





    London, England. One of the most beautiful, historically rich, and
architecturally grandiose places in the world. Heart of "Cool Britain."
Leader of nations. Giant among giants.
    It was once said that the sun never set on the British empire...
    Once.
    History can be flattering, yet twice as brutal: London can attest to
that. In a time long past, the city radiated like the brilliant sun,
illuminating, eclipsing, and blinding all. Enemies trembled from their
homelands, foreigners gasped at the sights, and natives reveled in the
fear, attention, and respect. Now... Now this once great city stands - no,
kneels! - in shame, refusing to lift its head up high. Once awe-inspiring
works of architecture crumble and rot. Once indescribable paintings fade
away. Once high and mighty kings, queens, and prime ministers resignedly
slide into pages of a history text.
    Once proud people huddle together, wasting away in each other's misery.
    That was how I left London and that is how I return - dreary,
depressing, dead. This is the world. Not prosperous, not blissful, not
utopian, not anything like Crystal Tokyo.
    This is the world.
    Beggars rounding every corner, limbless children crying for their dead
parents, thieves of the lowest pedigree looking for their next mark,
murderers roaming the streets for their next kill - this is the world,
sullen and evil.
    These people have no hope, no way of climbing out of this hell hole.
Their brightest minds have migrated, migrated to a "safer" place. Their
leaders have abandoned them to the city-stalking wolves. Their souls have
been soiled by the corrupters who thrive on their blood, sweat, and tears.
    They are dead the minute they are born.
    Is this fair? Is this sad future the one I fought for? Is this what I
want? Is this what Serenity wants?
    Maybe Serenity, but not Usagi... not the girl I once knew. No, never
her.
    As I carefully trudge down the trash-layered, cobblestone street, dirty
children cling to my black coat. They beg - wail - for food, money, and
shelter. Their little hands dive into my pockets, searching for a money
clip, wallet, change purse, anything. I disappoint them.
    One by one, they realize I have nothing on me, so they begrudgingly
filter back into their makeshift homes of cardboard and tin. The adults
take over now. Even if I don't have any money, my clothes will either fetch
a decent price or provide ample warmth. They might even sell my body to the
butcher for meat.
    Three men - one armed with a knife - rise from their perches and
saunter behind me. I see the glint in their eyes, the feral, bestial, rabid
glint of the devil. Humans were never meant to look like that, but
countless generations of poverty, death, disease, and anarchy have turned
man into beast. To those three men, this is normal. They have been taught -
they are expected by society - to kill others for survival. This is not
even survival to the fittest, rather survival to anyone who can survive.
    This is their way of life. This is all they know.
    My heart aches, I want to help them, but I can't... Not like this...
Not like the way I helped Crystal Tokyo...
    Through the noise, I hear their steps. The sploshing of their boots,
the dull thuds on the filth ridden cobblestone. Just as I am about to reel
around and catch the first mugger with a right hook, a voice from behind
them calls out.
    "STOP!"
    The bellow echoes in the dank, alley-like street. Everyone becomes
silent, everyone stops moving. I turn and see the knife-wielding man slowly
tucking his weapon away. They move aside, parting like the Red Sea. A
figure clothed in pure white stands at the end of the street and slowly
approaches me.
    I sense it. No one moves save for breathing. He is not imposing at all,
yet the people seem to put him in high regard. His gait is arrogant,
condescending. His eyes are focused straight at me, attempting to pierce
through my body and examine my soul. He is like a petty aristocrat drunk on
his newfound power and newfound friends. He reeks of classless ignorance.
    Finally, after an eternity of sauntering, we stand face to face.
Actually, I am a bit taller, so he stands on his tiptoes in order to look
threatening. The side of his lips curl downwards, but he quivers: it looks
like he's crying when he's frowning. I resist the urge to laugh and smile.
    "Would you like to talk to me, sir?"
    "A... Are... You F... From Crystal Tokyo?" The kid was about twenty
years old, but his voice was high like a boy's before puberty. He was
unsure of himself, like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.
    Strange, why would anyone ask that here? "Perhaps," I reply, "What
makes you think so?"
    "Y... Your clothes, they're clean. Your sk... skin, there's not a speck
of dirt on you..." The more he speaks, the more confidence he gains. People
begin to crowd us, murmuring amongst themselves.
    What do these people want? I gauge the situation and find it very
dangerous. One wrong move and I can be poked full of holes and stripped by
a roving band of robbers. Better answer neutrally. "I've been there."
    "You have?" he asks incredulously. A collective gasp escapes from the
onlookers. "Pl... Please ma'am. F... Follow me..."
    The crowd parts, forming a human path down one side of the road.
Without batting an eye, the boy pivots around and struts off like he
accomplished something important. He expects me to follow. I don't.
    I shove some people aside and walk the other way, the way I was going.
No use in following an upstart like that. He's probably some crazy cult nut
out for an easy score.  Odd, people around him seem to take offense to my
action - they shout to the boy that I am not following him.
    While their attention is diverted, I slip into a dark alley, easily
blending in with the shadows. His pounding footsteps and gasping breath
pass me by. From some distance away, he shouts, "She's disappeared!!!" and
back he sprints. Surprised muttering spews out from every crevice of the
street; the formerly quiet avenue bustles with activity. Someone shouts
something about an angel, then, the entire block breaks out into a chant.
Quiet at first, but it soon swells into a Buddhist-like meditation.
    I briskly walk out the other side of the alley and continue on my way.
I don't want to know what that was all about.

**************

    "Why do I come back here?"
    My only answer comes from the roaring fire staring at me from its lair
in the fireplace. Besides the occasional spit of sparks, the apartment is
silent, forbidding. The place is decorated much like an old 18th century
home: leather chairs, oak bookshelves, bronze statuettes, velvet drapes.
Truly a remarkable spectacle in a place as morbid as this.
    Reclining into the soft cushions, I close my weary eyes and dream,
dream of a time not long ago... not long enough. I have a nightmare about
heaven, about its angels, and above all, about its saints. They torment me,
haunt me, and lull me back into their fold, so deceptively yet lovingly at
the same time. I want to return, but something in me - something
indescribable - holds me back.
    Their seductive voices grow to that of wretched shrieks as I fall into
a fitful slumber...

------ Dream-------

    "Venus, we've got do something and NOW!"
    I buried myself into my arms and heaved a sigh. "Yes Rei, something,
but what?!"
    We sat at the table - our normal, crystallized ten seat conference
table - pondering our options. They numbered but a few. Ami rose to her
feet and began rattling off numbers.
    "At this rate, we will suffer-"
    "Haruka," I said, nudging my second in command, "Is there any way to
win this one?" As usual, I relied on the opinions of trained soldiers
rather than that of statistical gurus.
    The woman shook her head. "Too many of our troops are turning traitor,"
she whispered back, careful not to interrupt our resident genius, "If we
knew where their loyalties were, I'd tell you."
    "- and further, our northern fronts are-"
    "Shimatta," I frustratingly hissed, "Why is everyone doing this?! I
can't even trust my own generals!"
    "The Black Moon Family probably has some kind of brainwashing device."
    I wanted to believe that, and for a moment, I did. However, deep down
inside, a little voices was chattering away, droning, "You know why! You
know why!" like a childish kindergartner. Brainwashing device... it sounded
so far fetched, yet so logical. Indeed, we, the Sailor Senshi, NEVER did
anything wrong, did we? We treated all our citizens well. We stayed out of
the business of other nations. We maintained political ties with the
stronger countries.
    How, then, were we losing the war to an upstart band of societal
outcasts and misfits?!
    "- so we must be able to-"
    Serenity sat to my left, her face plastered with worry. I knew a person
like that could do no wrong, and even if she did, she'd make it right. A
heart that pure and a mind so wise simply rejected wrong like a... a...
    "Minako!" Ami suddenly shouted, stopping her speech, "Are you
listening?!"
    "I heard, I heard..."
    "What did I say?!"
    "Christ, is THAT important right now?!" I exploded on her, "Thousands
of people are dying out there and we're sitting here on our butts listening
to collateral damage speeches! I don't need to know how many more of us
died! I can see that when I walk out this door! Shut the hell up and start
cranking out solutions, NOT problems!"
    That was the first time I lost my cool like that. My flawed mind failed
and went berserk.
    Silence followed... then Rei said,
    "I have an answer."

    Sea breeze whipping by, I strained my eyes to the furthest borders of
our city. Riots... I was looking for riots. Ironically, I didn't have to
look far; I didn't even need to strain my eyes.
    Disgruntled troops were already pounding on the palace doors, held back
only by a thin line of quickly dropping loyalists.
    "Minna..." said Rei, taking a deep breath, "Are we ready?"
    Wordlessly, we formed a circle around Usagi who had her eyes closed,
undoubtedly drawing from her enormous reserves of power. Pounding grew
louder as we concentrated, pouring our strength into Her Majesty.
I knew we were doing right. We had to be right: Usagi was with us.
    The thin line of loyalists gave way and the doors were battered down:
the enemy had reached us with our own troops. Still, we continued on,
pressing further, living and breathing on faith alone.
    Rei took over for Usagi, warping the awesome energy before us into a
predetermined pattern. From what I remembered of her explanation, she was
creating a large-scale version of an exorcistic ritual, one traditionally
used by Shinto priests to banish demons from humans. With our combined
power, she was positively sure that she could "undo" the Black Moon
Family's hypnosis on our people. Not only that, but they'd be immune to any
further attempts to alter their mi-
    Thundering footsteps charged through the halls below the palace's roof,
where we were.
    I forced my mouth open. "Hurry up, Rei! They'll be here any second!!!"
    Immediately I regretted those words.
    With the wave of her hands, Rei dispersed her work into the hearts of
our inhabitants. A sharp pain plunged into my heart, my eyes were sealed
shut to dull the sensation. Screams rocketed from the floors below us...
bloodcurdling screams. Bellows of agony filled the streets as people's
souls were purged... Purged... Yes, that was a good word to describe this.
    We dropped to our feet, nearly fainting with exhaustion.
    Everything was silent. Everyone was silent. Everywhere was silence...
    Everyone and everything, save the voice I called my conscience was
thrown into an eternal pit of quietus. All was silent...
    ... but my heart roared like a rabid lion, encasing my mind, numbing my
body.
    We did wrong and thought it right.

--------End Dream-------

    I wake from my sleep, sweat - cold sweat - drenching my clothes. My
world is crimson, turned that way by the blood of an entire civilization.
Alone I murdered and massacred more in one day than I did in one millenium.
Men, women, children, and fetuses indiscriminately fell before my blade of
ignorance, crushed by my shield of pride.
    I blink, trying to rid the hazy film of red, but it returns as soon as
my vision clears. I tear at my eyes, unwilling to accept my blinding
ailment, thinking that whatever god put this curse on me would see my guilt
and release me.
    Something is running down my forehead... Blood? Yes, blood, my own -
blood produced by my hands, by my sharp fingernails, by my fitful sleep, by
THEM.
    Hastily, I cover up the cut and wipe my eyes.
    Good, I can see again... but do I want to? I could be blind to world,
live in one of my making. Why do I come here? Why do I stay in this sorry
place? Why do I see?!
    Oh, the joys of blindness! To live and never to taste the bitterness of
life! To feel a pile of refuse but think it a mountain of gold! I would be
happy blind, blind to everyone but myself. I could attend to me and me
alone because she is the only one I can help. Me, myself, and I.
    Happily releasing the pressure from the wound, I once again dance in
the world of blood induced blindness. No god cast this burden on me: I
discovered salvation! Never have I felt so free or chainless as I do now,
impaired by my own bodily fluids. I have escaped - ran from the nightmares,
fled from the world, and shut from the light.
    Such is my pleasure, to run. We all run from demons, but where else is
there to go when you are your demon? There is only one escape: in the
stomach of the monster. Be consumed, let it take you whole and you shall
find peace... peace...
    ... peace at long last... after a thou... thousand... years...

**************

    Footsteps on ice cold floors echoed throughout the castle as the boy
made his way to the throne room. Trepidation usually seized him when he
walked down these halls, but today... today was different. He had something
to give, something to report, something extraordinary to share; the
Mistress would be proud.
    He passed stoic guards armed with ancient swords and clothed in even
older armor. Boyhood fantasies overtook his mind; stories his mother used
to tell him resurfaced. Chivalrous knights, heroic rebels, daring bandits -
he was amazed that he was actually living out these age old tales. To put
on the historic breastplates, to wield the legendary swords - it was purely
enchanting... enchanting.
    As dreams of beautiful princesses and indescribable maidens seeped into
the boy's fantasies, a line of haggard commoners passed him by, bringing
him back to reality. This was no time to dream: his find must be reported
at once.
    Resolve renewed, he stalked toward his destination, stopped only by two
of his peers standing watch at the doors.
    "Norman," one of them drawled with a speech impediment, "W- Wh- Wha
brings you here?"
    The boy smiled. "I found someone from Crystal Tokyo."
    With no further ado, they admitted him inside for an audience with
their leader.
    Upon hearing the doors close, Norman's determination and pride left
him; his knees slackened and his throat became dry. No one else was in the
throne room... save the Mistress.
    The boy remembered her as an old woman who spoke with a harsh whisper,
nothing more. No one really knew how old she was; people only knew she was
elderly because they saw her crumpled hands. A large hood constantly
blocked her face - there was even a rumor going around that she was the
ugliest thing on earth. However, no one could contest the fact that she was
rich, knowledgeable, and dangerously powerful.
    Her official cover story was simple: she was a former advisor of Queen
Serenity, sent outside of Crystal Tokyo to help struggling peoples.
Everyone worshipped her because those who did were guaranteed great riches
and free passes to the mythical Crystal Tokyo. In a land of cutthroats,
beggars, and hopeless peons, her proposition found much favor, evolving
from a humanitarian mission to a nation-wide cult. What began as an
exclusive club became a religion, a way of life. Crystal Tokyo was heaven.
The present place was hell. God was Serenity. The saints were the Senshi.
The angels were its inhabitants. She was their savior, their Mistress.
Simple as that.
    The Mistress ruled with an iron fist, demanding supreme loyalty from
all her underlings. There were no challengers to her power: all who
complained never resurfaced. Normally, there would have been plenty of
rebellions and coups - enough to end her reign - but the meager life she
provided was a vast improvement over the population's current condition.
Everyone was content.
    "Yesssss?" hissed the small figure seated atop the throne.
    The tone of voice sliced through the boy and put his nerves on edge.
Without thinking, he dropped to his knees. "Mi... Mistress, I... I..."
    "Ssssspeak boy. Do not be afffraid..."
    If he didn't know better, Norman swore that the woman was enunciating
certain syllables to make herself sound more forbidding. "I was on pa...
patrol today and f- found s... some... someone from Crystal Tokyo."
    "Hmmmm? Isssss that ssssso? Where issss thisss persssson?"
    "She disappeared into thin air!" the boy said enthusiastically. Passion
of a religious vision overtook him as he leapt to his feet. "And by
Serenity was she beautiful! Her walk, her posture, her confidence, her
appearance - she was an angel, Mistress, an angel! I'd soon as-"
    The Mistress waved her hand to cut off the rambling boy. "What did
thisss angel look like?"
    "She had long blonde hair that shined like gold! Her eyes were sky
blue, as clear as the countryside heavens! Her mouth was..."
    "Come closssssser, boy, sssssso I may sssssee you."
    Norman swallowed hard and lost all his passion. Cautiously, he took
baby steps until he reached the steps in front of the throne.
    "Clossssssser."
    He took one step up and stopped.
    "Continue, boy! I have no intentttiiiion of waiting the whole
dayyyy..."
    After an eternity of climbing, he was in arm's reach of the Mistress.
    Turning her palms up, the woman concentrated and produced a small
floating globe of red energy. The boy, transfixed by the anomalous sight,
stood dumbly still.
    "Touch it, boy."
    No more prompting was needed. On contact, the sphere twisted and
contorted, forming the outline of a human. Slowly, it molded itself into
the likeliness of Norman's latest discovery, into the likeliness of his
angel.
    The Mistress gave a small laugh, but it quickly grew into a sick,
roaring sound. The boy fell backwards, stumbling down the stairs in
absolute terror; before he knew it, the doors were opened and he was
outside.
    Her voice suddenly boomed from all directions, alerting the inhabitants
of the castle like an alarm. "Find the one from Cryssstal Tokyo," she
ordered, "and bring her to me..."

**************

    The boy tiredly entered his quarters, exhausted from his eventful day.
His room was large, a full twelve by twelve feet. It was pure heaven,
complete with a three by five bed and a privileged luxury called "indoor
plumbing." Many would kill for these quarters: indeed the boy had. The name
of previous owner eluded his memory, but the past was inconsequential -
only the present was important. The past held buried skeletons, and even
the youngest of minds knew never to disturb a grave.
    Settling down at his desk, the boy withdrew a text - his only text -
from the locked drawer. It was a leather bound book brimming with browned
pages of soiled paper: neither author nor title was on the cover. He never
needed a author or title: he was the author and the title was "My Novel."
This was his life, his proof that he existed.
    When the sun grew faint and the moon reared its vengeful head, Norman
would write about the day, write about happier times. Him being a Follower
of Serenity brought him great respect, a feeling he cherished. It kept him
warm in the harshest of storms, be they from the wrath of Serenity or from
the wrath of men. He loved to feel wanted, important; he was a cut above
the rest and he loved to flaunt that fact.
    That was another reason he loved to write. He was important. From his
birth, the boy always could see his distinction from the norm. He had both
parents - an uncommon occurrence at best. He had money - a true rarity
indeed. Now, he was part of a respected, though widely feared, religion.
Yes, he was better than everyone else. Every one of his days was special
and noteworthy, not sad and pathetic like the rest of society's. He was
doing posterity a favor by dutifully recording his life, recording it so
they can bask in all its glory.
    Tonight, the boy had plenty to write. He wrote about the Mistress,
about Serenity, about his angel... his angel... oh, his beautiful angel
with hair of gold and stature of delight. He could see her now floating
through the moonlit sky like a pale ghost, gracing the city with her
presence. For all his life, others taught him about these perfect creatures
created by Serenity. They were elegant, beautiful, forgiving, omniscient,
and... and... perfect.
    "You are all angelssss..." the Mistress once said. Her words became
their credo and the basis for their beliefs. The boy, and all the other
Followers of Serenity, were angels... only, they were fallen and misguided.
    "Come with me," she said, "and I will sssshow you the light..."
    He hadn't seen the light, but at the moment, the darkness was feeling
pretty damned good.
    Closing his novel, the boy rested his tired eyes before glancing at the
clock. My, my... five hours into the night already. Proudly, Norman gazed
at his addition to his literary masterpiece: a whole half page of writing.
He was improving.
    To think, he - probably the most educated one in the castle - was
improving. Impossible, and therefore, quite noteworthy. He etched another
three words before retiring.
    "I do good."

**************

    I flutter my hazy eyes, or try at least; I find that they are bound by
lead weights. For a second, I want to scream in terror, but the past few
hours come back to me. Yes, I remember now - the blood and the escape, my
damnation and my salvation.
    Blindly, I stumble into the bathroom and splash myself with some cold
water from the sink. The dried, caked blood melts away, revealing a
haggard, rabid, and twisted me.
    I hate mornings.
    I also hate it when I get have those dreams... those god-awful
dreams...
    After plunging my head into the river of running ice water, I grab a
towel and wipe my drenched face dry. Good. No more blood.
    Checking the gash on my forehead, I notice a scab already; it sure
healed quick. By tomorrow, my drunken, poetic frenzy for escape will be
erased and forgotten. That's even better. Memories are bad; forgetfulness
is good. Ten centuries of harsh living has taught me that invaluable
lesson. The past is always better than the present, so bury the years gone
by and face the moment at hand - you'll feel better even if you aren't.
    Exiting the bathroom, I relocate my perch on the armchair, the one in
front of the dying fire. Heat given off by the bright embers dries my hair
as I gaze out into the open street below. A courtyard is there - gated and
guarded of course - brimming with modern day high society. I watch men and
women daintily court each other while young boys play some sort of ball
game. Their demeanor is a parody of nineteenth century English nobility,
what with all the incessant bowing and horribly thick (not to mention
diverse) accents.
    I give a tiny laugh at these pitiful people. Their acting is extremely
amusing, especially when they try to assume sophisticated attitudes.
Whether in speech or in gestures, these individuals - these richest of the
poor - mock themselves, outwardly embarrassing themselves while inwardly
beaming with pride. How pathetic...
    ... and strangely heart-wrenching.
    I watch a mother - a vain, make-up filled, nearly painted woman - grab
her child from the grassy area and savagely admonish him. So loud is her
voice that even I, four stories above the ground, can hear her words.
Something about being proper if I'm not mistaken, about being a well
groomed boy and not a nobody like the "trash outside these walls." Of
course, expletives of the foulest kind were casually peppered in, stuff a
sailor would think twice before saying was freely used to scold the boy.
    Funny, yet discomforting. Like watching a guy who thought he was
Superman try to fly... and then watching him fall forty stories to his
gruesome death. Dangerously amusing.
    Suddenly, tears fall from my eyes. Subtle at first, but they grow into
streams, sliding down my cheek like droplets of freshly fallen rain. I sit
there, suddenly wondering whether or not I was the cause of all this. THIS
- this as in the terrible acting, the pathetic conditions of people's
lives, the Black Moon Family attacking, the murderous glint in everyone's
eyes, the child being scolded by the mother. This, as in everything wrong
with the world today.
    I fondly think back to days of old, days of youthful vigor and teenaged
worries. Was there ever anything like this in those times? Before we, the
Senshi, came along, was anything amiss to such an extent as THIS? Did man
ever lose themselves? Did our lives ever threaten to degrade to this low
level? No... Things went downhill when we showed up. Because of our lofty
ideals - foolish dreams of love and peace - we carelessly destroyed
everything; only a tiny bit we saved, and even then, we only saved that bit
because we wanted to feel superior over something.
    It makes me sick now that I think about it. Without me - and indeed
without "them" - none of this great suffering would be in existence. Man
would continue on as always, improving their lifestyle with each passing
generation. Humanity was never meant to walk into heaven in one step;
Crystal Tokyo was never meant to happen overnight like it did. A "perfect
society" in an imperfect world can only lead to trouble.
    Why didn't I see that centuries ago?!
    Those NOT in "heaven" would grow bitter - like the Black Moon Family -
and lash out. Those in "heaven" would grow tired and unhappy because of
human nature! We all need change and we all need excitement; when that
dangerous, unpredictable edge to life is lost, we inherently become
discontent. Nature is that way - a balance of order and chaos. Man cannot
stray from nature...
    ... unless man himself is changed, or in this case, "Purged."
    Damn... Damn it all! Rei and her ideas! Stupid, arrogant Rei the
charlatan! If she were here - oh if only she were here - she'd feel the
pain I feel right now. I'd show her my wrath, make her see through my eyes
what suffering she has caused. I'd make her find the happiness she killed
in Crystal Tokyo. I'd make her repent for every soul she made me kill, for
every moment I felt the deep, stabbing wounds of guilt burning as if on
fire. I'd... I'd...
    I'd better get some fresh air.
    Before I know it, I am outside the door locking, bolting, and securing
the entrance to my lavish condo. I bet all the "rich abodes" in this
complex combined don't add up to value of my home. And to think, this is
all old, unused furniture I moved here three, maybe even four hundred years
ago. Talk about foresight.
    With the bright shine of the sun, my rage simmers and dies to a mere
agitation. Remarkable what a bit of warmth can do to a body.
    "Excusez-moi madame, but aye never seen you around 'efore."
    In front of me is a man wearing an old English velvet and high white
stockings. Hell, he even had the white wig going, although it was a little
frayed around the edges. I couldn't help but chuckle at the man's coarse
Irish/English/French accent... not to mention his failed attempt at
combining the three styles of speech.
    "Pardonnez-moi," he drawled in all seriousness, "but uhhh... what tiz
zo funny?"
    Great, now he was throwing in a Spanish accent!!!
    "Could ya shut yer yakkin' and tell ma what's so funny, ya damned
whore?!"
    Ignoring the man, I exit their guarded community and saunter into the
"better" parts of London. There are still homeless people, orphans, and
shady individuals, but they are hurriedly killed or shooed by the armed
patrol milling through the area, protecting their "rich masters" from harm.
Bodies are quickly disposed of, where I don't know. I don't want to know.
    A guard casually walks by and tips his hat to me; behind him, he drags
the corpse of a young boy. The postmortem gaze burrows deep into my soul
and carves a hole in my guilt-riddled heart. I turn my head away, unwilling
and unable to look any further.
    He would be about Small Lady's age...
    I increase my speed, trying to escape from the sight. No matter how
much death I see and produce, a child's body always destroys my emotional
defenses. At least I know I still have a conscience unlike some "other"
people I know...
    *THUD!*
    Damn my klutziness! I thought I got past it egos ago!!! I look at the
person I knocked to the ground and offer my hand.
    "I'm so sorry. Wasn't watching where I was going and I guess I just
crashed into you."
    The man has a dumbfounded look on his face, like one of recognition.
    "YOU!!!" he screams, though not out of terror.
    Me? What about me? "Yes? Look, just get up pal. Your nice white cloak
is getting... getting..."
    It's that kid from yesterday, that crazy cult nut from the streets. I
almost didn't recognize him in the light.
    "My angel!" He crawls through the muck on the ground and latches onto
my leg. "I'm not worthy of your glorious presence! Please, let me-"
    I better stop his ranting before someone sees me and thinks I'm in
cohorts with this freakshow. "Get off of me this instant! I'm going to give
you three seconds before I seriously hurt you!"
    Reluctantly, he backs away and remains seated. Good.
    Resisting the urge to kick him in the face (given that he did catch me
in a pissy mood), I go back in the direction of my condo, confident that
the armed guards would be reason enough for him to stay away. Rather the
opposite, however: the guards respectfully tip their hats to him as he
races in my direction.
    Without further prompting, I run. I don't want to know what he's all
about, and frankly, I don't care either.
    Huffing and puffing, he relentlessly pursues. "D... Don't run!!! I...
Our... Our Mistress wa... wants to *breathe* see *hack* *cough* you!!!"
    Their "Mistress" wants to see me? That's too weird for my liking.
Effortlessly, I summon a little bit of my Senshi powers and leap onto the
roof of an eight story building. He won't - and can't - follow up here.
    As I turn around to face him, I see that he hasn't come alone: perhaps
fifteen other people wearing similar white cloaks are standing there gazing
at me, their jaws dropped down like released hinges. Not wasting a second,
I bound onto the rooftops of other building, escaping from their
worshipping eyes. They follow.
    Actually, the group I previously saw doesn't follow, rather, more of
their kind pours in from the streets. Their pounding of feet... it sounds
like a soldier's death march. Their screaming and yelling... almost battle
cries. I feel surrounded, captured, imprisoned like an animal. Scenes flash
before my bloodshot eyes, scenes of a war not long ago - not long enough. I
remember death and dying, quietus and quivers, bodies and... lots and lots
of bodies...
    They wear the color of white, the "official" color of Crystal Tokyo's
troops. They swarm around the bases of the buildings I leap to. Ten... no,
twenty! No... too many to count. Wherever I go, more of them appear!
    Desperately, I fumble for my communicator; it's not there. IT'S NOT
THERE!!! They raise their hands, preparing to do in me no doubt, preparing
to drag my ice cold corpse off to that vile Wiseman as a prize, as war
booty. Feverishly, I scream their names, hoping that one of them would be
around.
    "AMI!!!"
    "HARUKA!!!"
    "ANYBODY?!"
    No... they couldn't be gone too, it's just not possible. Where did they
go?! I could have sworn I saw Ami in the back, cautiously striding along,
being my rear guard. But, what of Haruka? She went off first as a scout.
Damn this thick terrain! Couldn't the battle have taken place somewhere
open?! Where is everybody?! Oh God, where are MY troops?!
    Suddenly, I'm surrounded by darkness lit only by the torches of white
below. Those people down there... they killed them... They got Ami... They
got Haruka...
    To hell with them! They're not going to get me too!!!
    I raise my hand up to the sky and feel the powers of Sailor Venus wash
over me. This is war... why wasn't I transformed already? No matter. There
is a time for answers and time for action.
    This was most assuredly a time for action.
    Jumping into the maddened fray below, I cut down the murderous
warriors. Not one of them will survive my wrath, not after what they did.
They have already breached the frontier, and I'll will not let them get
past me, past me to Crystal Tokyo... past me to my queen.
    Rays of golden light streak out from my hands, raining death onto the
massive crowds. They turn to flee, wailing like the dead men they are.
There's a large packet of them huddled in a corner; I use my chain to snare
them before drilling holes into their heads.
    I continue my crusade, crushing all these... these... innocents?!
    My eyes revert to their normal color as my body loses its battle-high.
All around me, the ignored scene fizzles into view; I'm not in heavy
foliage, rather, I'm in the city. For a second, I glance at the
environment, thoroughly and utterly confused at my location. Then, my sense
of reality kicks in.
    The war... the war with the Black Moon Family... it's over. This isn't
Tokyo. This is London. The war has been over for a full five months, this
is not the war.
    Well then, what is this?!
    I step in something sticky, namely blood. Hesitantly, I gaze all around
me and observe the streets - streets filled to the brim with corpses. I
count... too many. White cloaks splashed with blood taint my eyes and burn
my soul the more I realize what just happened. I went berserk, insane! I...
I...
    Something shifts behind me. Instinctively, I charge a beam of deadly
energy and prepare to fire at the target. Before I do the unexplainable,
however, I regain control of my composure and dissipate the blast.
Besides, it's only the boy, the freaky cult nut that started this whole
thing.
    "P... Pl... Please," he stutters while on his knees, "D... Don't
kill... kill me..." His voice tapers off into a pathetic whisper.
    With left ear torn off and right arm bent precariously, he is living
proof of my sins. He reminds the world of what happened here today, of what
happened to countless innocents. I lose myself and cry, tears pouring from
all facets of my mind. He is scared: too scared to say a word. I am... I
am... a demon of the worst kind.
    Quickly, I escape, leaving the gruesome massacre behind. Using all my
skills ever learned, I run, futilely burying the ugly, shameful past.
What's done is done; it can't be changed. Best leave skeletons of days gone
where they lay.
    Even the youngest of minds know never to disturb a grave.

*************

    I find myself back in my condo. Am I crying? I'm so numb, I have to
check by feeling for tears. Sure enough, there's a river on my face. So
scared... so alone... so.... so hateful...
    Incessant shivering dulls any other sensation in my body; no matter how
many logs of wood I put into the fire, I remain at an ice cold chill.
Remnants of the war fade out of sight, out of mind. I knew my battle scars
were deep, but never did I suspect this deep. Today, I killed so many
people because of my uncontrollable pain. What of tomorrow? Will I lose
myself again? Will I be plunged back into a forgotten field of murder? Will
I ever find solace? Will my heart heal?
    Look at me. What am I? Am I just a soldier? A mini-skirt grunt adept at
the art of death? Yes, that's all I am - an instrument of the reaper, a
sower of sorrow. I was created to fight, to win. I was reincarnated to
fight, to protect. I want to die because I can't bring myself to do those
horrible things anymore: I am a spent weapon, useless and burdensome.
    Perhaps it's best I leave this place, leave all my memories behind.
Start over maybe - go somewhere in the world where I'm not see or heard.
I've always wondered what would become of me had I not become this...
monster. Now it's time to find out... before I hurt anyone else.
    I consider taking something with me - a memoir, like a plate or article
of clothing or picture or book, something. No, I don't need anything; I
don't want anything. If I'm going to forget the past, I'll have to start
with the present. Destroy "now," and "later," "then" won't be there
anymore. What a novel concept.
    Nonchalantly, I pick up a picture - you know, one of those old pieces
of glossy paper that a camera produced. It's of me and Usagi winking at
Luna and Artemis. If I recall correctly, Rei took this photo while hiding
behind a tree. It's was a cold winter day and I was wearing a matching
purple-
    NO! NO! NO! I'm here to forget, not remember! Damn my eyes! Damn this
picture!!!
    Thrusting the flammable antiquity into the roaring conflagration, I let
the flame lick my object of hate, burning it to a crisp. Before it's
entirely consumed, I throw the fireball onto my favorite armchair... my
favorite, cloth and wood armchair. Within seconds, smoke fills the air,
making it unbearable.
    Somehow, it seems awfully invigorating to me.
    I leave, never to see this room, this sad reminder of my life, again.

*************

    As the sun slowly set behind the concrete horizon, the boy stumbled out
of an alley and into the abandoned streets. He was tired, spent from his
day of constant running, running from his angel of death. Hesitantly, he
gazed up and down the lifeless road, afraid that a sudden shower of golden
light would end his life, his oh-so-important-and-significant life.
    Where was he? No time to answer that now; the thick smell of decay
still hung ominously in air. He wasn't far enough from the killing field.
    Along the trash-filled, smelly streets he walked alone and unattended.
His open wounds had long since coagulated, but the moment of utter fear, of
complete helplessness, had not been erased. For all his life, he was taught
about his importance; mere hours ago, he saw how pathetic his life was.
Begging, imagine him BEGGING! And for his life too...
    ... how embarrassing.
    To think, his existence could have ended with a flash of energy. It
wouldn't have taken more than a second - indeed, it didn't take the rest of
his fellow believers THAT long to die. What made him different? Nothing.
What made him better? Nothing. When death came knocking, everyone became an
equal in her colorless eyes. Everyone had the same chance at dying... but
being left alive, to wallow in the shame of defeat, beggary, and
humiliation, was far worse than crossing into the afterlife.
    "Sssssso boy, you have failed..."
    The boy whipped about, astonished by the Mistress' sudden appearance.
"N... no... Not exactly..."
    "Excccuuussseeesssss!!!" the frail woman screamed, suddenly becoming
sturdier, "You didn't bring her back to me!!!"
    "But she- I really..."
    "Sssstop your liesss!!! I don't... tolerate... your kin-"
    For the second time in a short frame of time, another unexpected soul
stepped into the street. Another soul inhabiting the body of a blonde
woman.

***********

    The boy... again. No good ever seems to stem out of that nutcase. But
then again, I shouldn't be so harsh; afterall, didn't I just butcher his
friends? The least I could do is apologize to the kid despite his
arrogance, cowardice, and stupidity. Yeah, sort of like a consolation prize
that says, "I'm sorry I killed everyone you know. Here, have a cookie."
    Wait a minute, who's that he's standing in front of? Whoever it is, he
or she is scaring the shit out of him. I move closer, close enough to sense
the unmistakable, foul, and evil aura surrounding the cloaked figure. Don't
think I didn't miss the thing about "bringing her back to me" either!
    Whatever it is, the boy doesn't stand a chance. I'd better interrupt
this conversation they're having. Maybe I can train myself to do some
good... for once.
    "Hey," I say, catching both parties by surprise, "Are you looking for
me?"
    Understandably, the boy gets thrown into hysterics; upon hearing my
voice, he goes bolting into an alley, much more afraid of me than the
person he was facing. As for the thing with a neon sign hanging on it's
forehead flashing, "I'm evil!!!"? He stays perfectly still... or should I
say she?
    Deducing from the previous events transpired, I say, "The Mistress, I
presume?"
    Ignoring my question, the woman gives me the once-over, appraising me,
sizing me up. I do the same.
    Typical bad guy, or in this case, bad girl. Dark, hooded robe, crumpled
up hands, snake-like voice, slightly hunchbacked - how much more cliche
could she get? The only remaining question is-
    "Yessss, I am the Mistress..."
    Question answered. No, wait, there's more. "What do you and all your
cronies want with me?"
    Her eyes suddenly light up, prompting me to fall back into a defensive
position. What am I suppose to do here? What am I going to do? Transform
and kill her? Maybe, but...
    She laughs at my startled reaction, "You are one of them," she states
as a matter of fact, "Venus to be exact."
    "And what of it?! Who are YOU?!" Oh boy, I'm starting to get this bad
feeling, a feeling that says she's part of the remnants of the Black Moon
Family. Call it woman's intuition or plain obviousness; besides, she
dresses like the Wiseman... go figure.
    "Me?" she asks, "Why Venus, I am the demon who haunts your dreams, the
tainted child no one wants to remember. To my pawns, they know me as the
Mistress. To you, I am but a mere flee, a thorn in your side."
    I spit through my grinding teeth, "If you're a flee, then be gone with
you!"
    "Be gone? Yes, I will be gone... after I exact revenge for my fallen
comrades." Her voice noticeably quickens to a point of near frenzy. "I will
spill your blood for all their sakes! We may have been defeated, but our
cause will always live on! One day, when your precious queen lies on her
bed, we'll strike like thieves in the night, finishing what we started! The
seeds of your fall have bee-"
    She's talking too much... which translates into a perfect time for me
to strike! With awesome speed and strength, I charge into her, effectively
bowling her over and stopping her rant. Given that I am in much better
physical shape than she is, I manage to recover and pin her to the ground
before she can so much as blink.
    "Now we're in a better position to talk," I remark while pulling down
her hood.
    A skinny old woman with white hair greets me, and if her eyes hadn't
been glowing, I'd mistake her for another elderly person. She looks...
too... too... human. "*cough* Too old," she croaks like she was dying,
"waited *hack* too long..." Despite her realization, despite her situation,
despite her pain, she musters enough energy to violently lash out at me.
    Luckily, I predict her move and easily dodge her wild, desperate
strike. "Damn it! You Black Moon types don't know when to quit, do you?!"
    Now I remember why I hated these cretins; they all thought they were so
righteous, so definitively right. I hate people like that, people who think
they're God. Maybe that's why it was so easy to kill them back in the day -
they thought they were better than me.
    "Listen," I bark, silencing her, "I don't know what hole you crawled
out of or what you did to become this 'Mistress,' but believe you me, I'm
not in a very perky mood. If you so much as sneeze the wrong way, I'll put
an end to you and your cult faster than a bullet! Got it?!"
    "Your kind is all the same," she hoarsely whispers, "You think you're
God... You Senshi think you have all the answers..."
    "Don't associate me with them."
    "What, Venus? Why not? Don't you want to trod upon the souls of the
crushed like myself? Don't you want to rule the world alongside your
queen?"
    "She's NOT my queen."
    "Yes she is... I see it in your eyes right now, that righteous gleam
sweeping through your soul, just like her. Be as virtuous as you want, but
we all know you brought this sad world into being."
    By reflex, I give a heartfelt "You're wrong" before I can catch my
tongue.
    "Lie, nothing but a lie. If you truly believe that, then you are as
blind as the bat you are. Ultimate power corrupts even the most innocent of
souls, much less the ignorant ones."
    Unconsciously, I loosen my grip on her as she hammers home these images
I have been plagued by for the past few months. My hate begins to turn
inward, refocusing onto myself. For a second, her words resonate in my mind
and ring true like sets of facts.
    "You begin to see, don't you?" Her voice noticeably softens as her
struggling diminishes. "Do with me what you will *cough* for I am old and
cowardly. Thirty years ago, before our first attacks were even launched, I
was sent here to garner support for our forces." A wistful look crosses her
exhausted face, "I was with Black Moon Family since the very beginning,
supplying them anything I could scrounge up. But I feared defeat. I
withdrew from the costly campaign and contented myself with ruling this
land." She gives a harsh laugh, "To think, I even used your city as a
foundation for my twisted cult. I turned into you..."
    "What do you mean?"
    "I became what I fought... A dictator, a righteous bigot, a drunken
fool! I did things because I could, and afterwards, I justified them by
thinking I was right."
    "Is that why you fought us? Is that all the war was about? A moral
disagreement?"
    Her glowing eyes dim, and behind the pale, angry stare, I see a hint of
pity surging forth. "Oh, you poor soul, brainwashed to the harsh reality
that is life. You may have lived for a thousand years, but your naivete
remains. No, we didn't start the war because of a moral dilemma with your
queen. No, we didn't even start the war for world domination. Though in the
end that's what our reasons became, we started the war out of survival."
    "Survival?!"
    She smiles at my surprise. "Is that so hard to believe? You with your
perfect city and utopian ways - did it ever occur to you that your paradise
was a society built on gluttony? In world where even food is becoming
scarcer by the day, why is it be so hard to believe that a band of outcasts
would rise up and fight for more? If your family starved while your
neighbor feasted, wouldn't you want his lion's share too?"
    I shake my head, unwilling to accept the truth spilling from her dying
mouth. She's the enemy and not one to be trusted... but an enemy of who? An
enemy of me? Of Serenity? Of society? Or has she always been on the side of
good?
    "You think I'm lying, Venus."
    "No," I correct, "I'm think you're partially right. You said yourself
that your crusade turned into something more than survival-"
    "Of course it did! How could we not envy your power? We are all human,
complete with the same needs and aspirations as you. In the process of
fighting, we saw our friends fall and demanded more for compensation. One
thing lead to another, and well, you know how war is..."
    "Yeah... all too well...'
    We sit in a comfortable silence, a newfound respect for each other
looming in the stale, decay-ridden air. Remember that aforementioned anger
in the woman's eyes? It finally flakes away, yielding to a peaceful gaze of
oblivion, like a person facing death. As for me, instead of pinning her
shoulders to the ground, I find myself cradling her elderly body in my
arms, much like what a mother would do to a child.
    Her weakened voice breaks my thoughts. "You didn't know, did you?"
    "About what?"
    "About our hardships, about why we fought."
    "No... I had no idea. We always thought you were pure demons, existing
only to destroy our beloved city."
    Tears float down her cheeks, "In the later years, that was true..."
    I still have one final question to ask. "Why?"
    "I told you. It's because we were pushed to the fringes of soci-"
    "No, why did you suddenly decide to tell me all these things? Moments
ago, we were ready to tear each other's heads off."
    Grinning, she replies, "That's because I don't stand a chance against a
young hooligan like you."
    After a short stint of comic relief, her face grows grave again. "I
wanted to see the truth behind the myths," she says dejectedly, "A side of
me wanted to be validated; it wanted to see Sailor Venus in all her haughty
glory. I wanted to know just how much I hated you... but instead, I find
out how much we're alike. We were both plagued by one-sided stories and
sick morals. Arrogantly, we both fought each other tooth and nail because
we thought ourselves right. But most importantly-"
    "We're human."
    "Yes, and destined to err." She closes her eyes and sighs. "My time is
almost up... I can feel it now. My body - in its old age - is not what it
used to be. I'm afraid our little scuffle has broken more than a few
necessary bodily items..."
    "I'm sorry..."
    Waving her hand in dismal, she gratefully grabs my arm and says, "No,
don't be sorry, for you have brought me peace and closure. After a long,
vengeful, hateful, and inhumane life, I have finally learned about
happiness, maybe even a little about love. You may not see your importance
today... maybe not even tomorrow... but... but... you let me talk... you
let me see your contagious innocence..."
    Me? Innocent?
    "I needed to put down my rage... if only for a second... thank you..."
    "But I didn't-"
    "Sssshhhhh... r... reme... remember... you are not... not... not
measured b... by what you want... it's by what you do... an... and you've
done me... a world of good..."
    The Mistress lies still in my arms, her formerly forbidding form
reduced to a peaceful, blissful corpse. I consider leaving her body in the
street to rot, but then again, she was human, enemy or not. A fellow human
being deserves more respect than that; the least I could do was bury her,
leave her with some dignity.
    Dignity she, and everyone else in this land, deserved.

**************

    The funeral was scarcely attended - a few loyal followers and a handful
of insincere snobs made up the mourning. I was among them, preparing myself
to deliver the customary eulogy.
    Why wasn't there a larger crowd? The Mistress' cult was huge, snaking
itself into all aspects of London life; I expected a bigger turn out, if
not to see her praised, then at least to see her dead. Perhaps everyone was
already scrambling to grab as much power as possible - I heard that she was
extremely feared and wealthy. In a land of cutthroats, beggars, and
hopeless peons, I wouldn't expect anything less. No, actually, the absence
of a swarm seemed logical given that man had lost the capacity to care, to
love, to give respect.
    Walking to the front of the room, I cleared my throat to get everyone's
attention; snoring answered my call to alertness.
    Maybe I was wrong in doing this. Since when was it ever my place to
give a eulogy - never mind that, organize an entire burial - for a person I
didn't even know? All my words would be meaningless in my heart. This stunt
of mine was created to loosen a burden on my conscience; I did this for
purely selfish reasons. The last thing I needed was another kill on my
expansive list of mortal sins.
    But that didn't make my actions any less wrong.
    They only made me feel better even when I really wasn't.
    I tapped the podium, rousing the dozing participants. They took a few
moments to realize where they were.
    "Ladies and Gentlemen," I nervously began, "You may not know who I am,
but I-"
    **click**
    Looking up, I saw the door in the back of the room open, admitting a
pair of people in white cloaks. Somberly and wordlessly, they took seats in
furthest corner of the rear. Then, another two came in, and another two,
and another and another and another and another until the room was stuffed.
Still others kept coming, first lining up outside the door, then finally
spilling outside into the streets. Windows were opened to allow the late
comers to see and hear everything inside. Besides the Mistress' so-called
Followers of Serenity, "rich" folk littered the area, equally respectful of
the silence reining supreme. They all trained their eyes on me.
    I felt naked under their expectant gaze. They regarded me as some sort
of spiritual guru - a harbinger of epiphanies - and waited for their dosage
of enlightenment like puppies begging for food.
    I didn't have the heart to disappoint them. I couldn't back down, but I
couldn't go forward either. I was caught between a rock and another rock;
one of them had to give.
    "Ahem, so is everyone here?"
    Escape was not an option from here on out.
    I considered many openings, trying to see which would fit the occasion.
None of them seemed appropriate for the public I stood in front of. Should
I tell them about myself or should I just go on? Maybe a little joke to
lighten up the mood or a grave story to set the stage-
    Finally, I gave up.
    "I'm here today, standing before you delivering this speech for a woman
I hardly know, because I'm selfish. I am nothing but a coward, an abandoned
slave, and a walking plague."
    Suddenly, someone from the back shouted, "But you're from Crystal
Tokyo!!!"
    Nods accompanied the shout; I only sighed.
    "Forget that dreadful place! Do you want to know the truth?! Do all of
you sitting here want to know how you've been deceived for thirty years?!
Do you want to hear about your idea of 'heaven'?! Well, I'll tell you
everything, everything to ruin and crush the pitiful dream you call a life!
    Thirty years ago, this woman - the one you and I only know as the
Mistress - came to this place to harness your blind support for the Black
Moon Family, the ones fighting against Crystal Tokyo! But like me, she was
a coward, a person who feared death and defeat. Instead of opting to rule
the world, she amused herself by consuming your minds, amassing your
fortunes, and devouring your country! She needed your complete loyalty, so
she elevated Serenity and her damnable court to the status of gods,
creating a religion out of their twisted paradise. The Mistress played a
terrible game with your hearts; she knew it was human nature to believe in
hope - you had none, so she provided it to you. Because you tasted hope,
you wanted more, and soon afterwards, she had you going back to her to hear
about 'heaven' and Serenity and her saints and her angels. It made you feel
good; it made you live for tomorrow. It made you find a purpose even when
there was none!
    Your way of life is nothing but a sham! A corrupt hand of roulette that
got too far out of hand! A figment of a villain's imagination! You devoted
yourselves to her because she said what you wanted to hear. You believe in
the infallibility of Crystal Tokyo because you have nothing else to believe
in. God is not tangible, neither is heaven; whatever that cannot be touched
is fake. Serenity is seen walking in her elegant dresses; Crystal Tokyo is
on the front of every postcard. They are both tangible, and therefore,
believable.
    I tell you now to stop your stubborn, foolish, and ignorant way of
life. Serenity is not a god, not even a saint. She is human like the rest
of you, flesh and blood. There was a time when I used to think of her as
you do, a time not long ago, but one day I gazed into her deep blue eyes
and found the soul of a helpless child, a sentient being as capable of
hating, wronging, and dying as you.
    She is human, chained and controlled by her absolute power.
    She is not benevolent nor self-sacrificing, and neither are her Senshi.
I should know, for I am one of them. Stained on my hands is the blood of an
entire people, an entire civilization. I destroyed their souls to create a
better society for myself. Every night, each of my victims' screams come
into my dreams, making me feel their pain and suffering. Every night, I am
drowned by the blood of future generations.
    You see, Crystal Tokyo is not heaven - it's hell. The Sailor Senshi are
not saints - we're mindless tools. Serenity is not God - she's human at
best.
    So, release your fanciful ideals; forget your white cloaks and roguish
cult. Return to the streets, to the houses, to the city - where you belong.
Remember this woman, the Mistress, not by her convoluted past nor by her
deceitful nature, but by her message of hope. Find your own salvation
because another's heaven could be your hell. Believe in yourself and your
hope, for they are the cause of and solution to all of life's problems."
    Quiet. Mighty silence.
    I stepped down from the podium and strode to the door, intent on making
my exit while everyone was stunned.
    However, before I could get out, a person stopped me, namely the boy.
    Tears soaking his eyes, he cried, "How do we hope for more when we have
nothing?!"
    "You're human," I reply, "Learn from your mistakes and grow from your
triumphs. Remember to accept your past, clean your present, and hope for
your future. When there is life, there is hope."

    That day I walked out of London, my conscience not as heavy as when I
first arrived. Hope filled my heart, hope for a better tomorrow not only
for me, but also for them. I already see a better today.
    Upon leaving, I left them with the Latin phrase, "Carpe diem."
    "Seize the day."


*****
Notes
*****

    Strange? Mystified? Baffled? Mail me your opinions about this
experimental, brooding, and extremely heady kind of writing. I accept all
comments, be they hateful cussing or words of praise. Chapter 3 (which will
hopefully be more... more... sane) will be delayed a bit due to time
constraints. School is going to start back up for me and I am not going to
have the time to write so much anymore.
    Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!

-Don.