Sorry for the massive delay in getting this chapter out. "Clean" has been a taxing project both physically and emotionally. There's only so much a person can draw from personal experience, adapt into a fictional setting, convey with conciseness, and make understandable to the general public. It's like putting a new spin on an old magic trick everytime it's done: I'm trying to get the audience see what they've seen for the first time. Much harder than I thought. Because of that, I would like to thank the people who made this fic even possible: Bethany (who is also the editor!!!) and Luna's Meow. They were instrumental in providing me with unbelievable inspiration, allowing me to finish this chapter. Thank you to all the fans of this series and I hope this new offering lives up to your expectations. I'm very sorry but again, next chapter might come a bit late. Small side note: in case you forgot, this chapter is still in the "prologue" stage, like the last one. email: doniswong@hotmail.com Rating: R (swearing) "Clean" Chapter 3 A fanfic by Don A decrepit jungle gym adjourned with slide and sand lives off the side of this road. Its glory days have long since gone, gone with the joyous bellows of young children playing, replaced by the noises of man's technological travesties. The place is like a badland, completely used, recycled, and razed. Not a soul lives on the soot covered park, no, not even a worm. Birds of prey circling above seem to disregard this barren land; even the vultures stay away. It repulses them, shies them away with its ugly, deformed, lifeless exterior. Yesterday, I would have agreed with the worms and birds. I would have set eyes on this sickening place and declared it depressing, sad, and taboo, like the world. But yesterday is gone and all that remains is today. Today I see something different in this land, something redeeming. Instead of seeing an old toy decay, I see a shiny object of affection that gave joy to countless impoverished children. Instead of hearing the noises of vehicles, factories, and fights, I hear melodious music composed of innocent giggling and content squealing. Instead of seeing the gym in despair, I see it in its splendor. Seated upon an old cushioned swing, I aimlessly hurl myself forward and backward, letting the rhythm mirror my calm heartbeat. I take in the surroundings, letting the dying park pulsate with my happiness, letting it give joy to one last soul whether she deserves it or not... Suddenly, the world doesn't seem that bad. Suddenly, the devil in me shuts its twisted mouth. Suddenly, I feel free, free like a wandering ghost. For a second, my sins seem to pale in comparison to my joy. As I let out a smile - a true smile, one that I have not shown since my youthful days - another soul climbs over the muddy ridge and witnesses my abandon. "Mina!" the sickly girl shouts, trying her hardest to run to me. Seeing her struggle, I tear myself from the swing and meet her halfway. Scooping the child up with an arm, I take care not to scare her with my abrupt movements. "Susie!" I smile, somewhat surprised, "why are you out here? Didn't your mommy tell you to stay home?" "Yes," she sadly replies, "But... but I wan... wanted to... CanIstaywithyouforalittlebit?!" How can I possibly say no? I whirl her about, giving a heartfelt "You bet!" in the process. Amidst her laughing and clapping, harsh coughs plague her energy, draining it away like a youma. Alas, the solution would have been easy had it been a simple youma. She, however, suffers from a scourge far worse than morbid creature: humanity. Look at her environment, her home. Smoke billows from every hole while nauseous fumes rise from spilled chemicals on the ground. The sky is darkened, burned and charred like the soot-layered jungle gym. Your fingers turn black from the grim in the air. No wonder her lungs are weak. No wonder she can't run. No wonder she can't live. "Want to go on the swing?" After giving a sheepish nod, we head toward the cushioned perch. I set her down on one of the swings and begin giving her soft pushes. "Weeeeeee!!!" she yells as her body rises closer to the sky. "Higher! Higher!" Acknowledging her request, I put more strength into my arms, lifting her to a new level of enjoyment. She reaches out, vainly trying to touch the thick clouds above, vainly trying to see what they are for the first time in her life. "Ha ha ha!!! Mina!!! Come on! It's funnnnn!!!" There's something so contagious about her and her smile. It's foreign, yet not wholly unfamiliar, like something I've had but lost. The laughs, the giggles, the grins - my God is it intoxicating! Somewhere off in the hazy distance, I remember a time when I was in her place, being pushed along a swing, throwing the afternoons away to the whipping air. It's innocent, blissful, and utterly perfect. When you're up on that swing, you haven't a care in the world. I had that... once. Like a fool, I lost it, willingly threw it away because of a dream I could never have. And yet, somehow, I got it back. ---------- Flashback ----------- It all began one sweltering August day six months after I left London. The bullet train had just pulled into the station of Paris, France and I was eager to get out. As I recall, the particular line I rode consisted of treacherous terrain, horribly maintained tracks, and rancid cabin areas. Paris wasn't the destination I had in mind - Madrid was - but at the time, getting out of that speeding deathtrap seemed more important. Besides, I valued something called "self-preservation." So there I was, standing at the cargo zone, baked to an uncomfortable warmth by the pollution enhanced heat-wave. Inside the station wasn't any better; the ventilation was so bad that travelers had to be turned away. Locked out, cooked up, and pushed aside, my only recourse was to find refuge under the concrete skyline. Reluctantly, I walked away, hoping to find a taxi of some sort to get me to some reasonable shelter. Oh yes, and did I ever find taxis; just across the street, I saw a whole fleet of them crippled on the side of the scorching road, drivers homicidally complaining about their "gosh darned, no flippin' good, poo poo head" machines... to put it in a nice way. At the time, I felt trapped, depressed, and most assuredly, enraged. Why? Imagine for a moment, me, loose on a sidewalk filled to the brim with people of "alternate lifestyles" pushing, shoving, and cussing. While the sun mercilessly beat down on my back, cretins slid their hands into my clothes, trying to feel me up. Damned perverts - gets me pissed off just thinking about them... Anyway, I had spent the last six months visiting old stomping grounds, places that I had dwellings in. At all my stops, I either sold or destroyed my sorry memorabilia, opting to see them forgotten and buried rather than remembered and under my name. For a while, I was extremely paranoid: I thought the Senshi were after me. Of course, there could have been some truth in that - some of my apartments where disturbed when I revisited them. The caution carried over into my life, choking the joy out of my existence. Every wrong angered me, every sound shocked my heart. Now, I was progressing through the later stages of paranoia in a foreign land, at a place I didn't even want to go to, stuck under a relentless heat-lamp, and stranded on a transportation devoid piss palace with mohawk-inclined punks publicly touching me!!! I had every right to hate the city. I had every right to look at this depressing hellhole and scream, "DIE!!!" I had every right to want to leave as soon as possible. But as fate would have it - or wouldn't have it, depending on your point of view - I wasn't to leave this place so soon; its mark was yet to be carved on my scarred soul. While depression and self-pity lulled me back into their comfortable holes, an angel smiled down on me. Fine, maybe not angel, but whatever you call it, someone saw my guilt, my blind pride, my sadness and said, "Let's give her a hand." And that is how it all started. Paris. HA! City of love? Try skanktown! Damned no good global warming too; ought to have stopped it when I could. Get rid of Crystal Tokyo and I bet you'd get rid of half the world's pollution. Consumers, all of them! Wallowing in their pigsty like... like... fat pigs! "Oh Mina-chan, we're trying to make the world a better place." "Oh Mina-chan, we're fighting for love and justice." "Oh Mina-chan, we're retards who forgot there's other people besides us living on this rock." You're damned right there's other people living on this rock, and we screwed up their lives! In one of those remote ways, I can't blame these people for what they're doing, but then agai- **BEEEEEPP!!!** "Hey!" some guy yells from behind me, "Yeah you! Preppy lady! Need a ride?!" I glance back at the man. His head is sticking out the window of a cab, in his hand is a cheap cigar; looks more like a cab driver from Brooklyn rather than a Parisian taxi valet. Oh well, at times like these, beggars can't be choosers. Without saying a word, I step into the driver's backseat and mutter something that resembles thanks. "Where to?" How about somewhere with no lowlifes and no reminders of my previous life? "Somewhere with a nice bed and some good food." Eh, good enough. The man gives me one of those scandalous winks and suggests, "Me bed is always warm and me food locker is in need o' stockin'! What say you come to my place?" Someone up there sure has it in for me. "What say you shut your trap and drive before I wipe that smart ass grin off your face with the car upholstery?" He drove off after that comment. At the time, I truly thought that my tour de France was a curse. Just goes to show me how many curses are often blessings in disguise. He drove and drove and drove and drove, winding through modern structures and dilapidated streets. A while later, empty fields in mid-development littered my sights as summer rains descended upon the city. That dreaded smell accompanied it too; you know, the stale odor of ash-ridden water evaporating on contact of an red hot surface. I thought I had died and gone to hell. More and more he wove, disappearing into the residential area... if you could call it a residential area. Tenements of old - similar to buildings from days of 1900 American immigration - stood, leaning on their last legs. Somehow or another, they still managed to hold some kind pride in their plight, a feat that struck me as arrogant, like a blind man claiming he could see. Finally, the driver stopped the car and gave me a malicious snarl. Through his clenched teeth, he spat something about hope you break your neck when you fall off your bed. I ignored him; didn't even pay him either. I exited the taxi, fully expecting the accommodations to be some kind of brothel or burlesque house. What I saw, though, was anything but. The modest town house stood a towering two stories, eclipsing a small pad of lush green grass on the front yard. There was a stoop even, complete with a white soot covered bench. Windows shined to blinding reflectiveness brought a comforting feeling to the home. Immediately, an image of the ancient "bed and breakfast" lodgings came to mind, stirring up old memories of vacations long past. Given that I was not in the mood for reminiscing, I was ready to turn and leave, but one look at the rest of the neighborhood convinced me otherwise. Remember the aforementioned tenements? They were still there in massive attendance. Lacking any other better place to stay, I decided to take a gamble with the town house: either the driver dropped me off at a respectable establishment or he threw me to the wolves. It was a fair gamble. Besides, wolves aren't all that bad once they're tamed. Before knocking, I remember dusting myself off and taking a huge breath. Why? To prepare myself for a shock. And did I ever get one. "Yes?" a calm, sweet voice answers. I nearly collapse at the... the... STRANGENESS of the situation! Here I was, ready to deck a person across the face and someone like this- The door creeks open and a comely young woman wearing a clean dress steps forth. Couldn't have been more than thirty. "May I help you?" "Ummm... a taxi driver said that, well, this is a... a... nice place to stay?" What the? Who is this?! What is going on here?! This has got be some sick joke! There are no - I repeat - there are NO people who look like her! I got it! She's some mob boss' mistress who can- She giggles at my stuttering and obvious confusion. "Come on in," she motions while opening the door wider, "Business has been slow lately; you're going to be the only guest staying." Where's the arsenic smell or the weird knives? Where's the Stephen King bloody hatchets and the Edgar Allan Poe forbidding lightning? Where's the gang of thieves and pack of lunatic cultists?! Where is everything that's SUPPOSE to be here?! Look! Over there! A true living room - couch, armchairs, and coffee table. To my left, a walk-in closet for jackets and coats! I'd ask "What is this place?!" again, but it's getting real old, real quick. "I charge- Where are you from?" Japan? United States? "England." "Ahhhh. I charge about," she pauses to do some mental calculations, "ninety pounds a night; it includes breakfast too. I apologize for the high price, but it's-" I kick my brain, trying to get it functioning again. "Yeah," I mutter, "That's alright..." ... ... ... What's wrong with this place?! Little did I know the only thing "wrong" with the place was me. In retrospect, I'd say I was disillusioned, inconsiderate, and stupid. At the time, I called myself cautious, wise, and intelligent. Put yourself in my old shoes for a second. I had left Crystal Tokyo for a whole nine months. All nine of those months consisted of being immersed in a pseudo-civilized environment permeated by bestial Darwinism. That means, if someone offered me a bite to eat, the bite would be tainted with poison so that I'd die and that "someone" could loot my corpse afterwards. Comforting to see the future has turned out this bright. Anyway, to pile on top of that disturbing fact, I was still mighty angry at my former associates. To add to THAT, I was still very guilt stricken over my wrongs, past, present, AND future. Combine all those things swarming around in my troubled mind and you'd still be far off from how I felt. It was terrible I tell you, just terrible. Some days, like the day I went to Paris, I'd have my paranoid personality in full view. Then, at night in bed, I'd be crying my heart out because of some mental wound, war trauma and the like. When I'd wake, I'd find myself the resident of a destroyed room, testament to the subconscious anger boiling in my veins. I bordered on the gray area between multiple personalities and schizophrenia. One second, I'd be "booo hoooo hooo" and the next I'd be "Stop looking at me before I tear you a new-" Well, you get the idea. I was sick and twisted, yet, I didn't know it. Ironic how people always become what they fight... Well, such an interesting diversion. Where was I? Oh yes, about my attitude. Here was someone nice, somewhere clean. I was accustomed to a world - a society - built on death, and here was something different. I knew it shouldn't have seemed foreign; afterall, I am human, right? This woman was only acting humane, a sentiment that should not be experienced as unfamiliar. Yes, but SHOULD does not denote WOULD. That's why they're two different words. In the furthest recesses of my mind, I had an idea of what should be, but blinding confusion muddled my rationale. I saw the world as it was, not what it could be. Indeed, what stood in front of me was the "could" and "should," but I rejected it because I was too wrapped up in myself. It took me four months to finally accept it. Yes, I did stay there for four months. Odd how I previously moved from place to place in a heartbeat, then suddenly staying put for months. Be that as it may, the time I spent in that home passed by faster than my entire life. I relearned everything from that house - how to smile, how to care, how to hope, how to love, and how to cry. I was taken off the drug known as self-pity, and for once in a thousand years, I saw how good the world could be... "Mama?" a tiny voice from the left squeaks. There's a little sickly girl about ten years old leaning against a couch. The woman smiles sweetly in her direction. "Yes darling?" Sheepishly, she sticks out her finger and reveals a little cut, "I have a boo boo." "Would you excuse me for a second?" Without even waiting for me to reply, the woman hustles the girl into a remote part of the home, away from my sights. Cautiously, I survey the area, trying to discern any traps, weapons, and "security" features. Nothing. I step into an anteroom turned playroom, sparsely littered with dolls and drawing materials. It's really nothing to call a playroom, just a play area; it's simply too small and has too few toys. I check the corners of room for inconsistencies. Nothing. Forging ahead, I circle around the stairs and find an office lightly furnished with "expensive" desks, chairs, and lamps. A sliding window door opens up to the backyard, and if my eyes do deceive me, there's someone there! Throwing open the window, I am greeted by a huge amount of- Nothing. Other than the racing of my heart and the ominous howling of city winds, I see, feel, smell, and hear nothing. Without warning, I hear, "Do you find this worth the price?" Natural reaction? "AHHH!!!" And so began my rehabilitation. First item on the agenda? Trust. Evident in my approach of the house, I had some serious issues with trust, with simply believing in others. I guess it was because I believed too much at one point in my life. As someone once wrote, "Scratch the surface of any cynic and you will find the purest of idealists." In years before, I believed in good, trust, innocence, love, and justice. I fought and died for them without thinking twice. I was too good, too trusting, too innocent, too loving, too just... In the end, I was hurt because of those things. Like any other person, I didn't want to be hurt again, so I shut myself off from trust. In order to be blinded, one must first see: I couldn't be hurt if I didn't believe. What I stupidly forgot was that I couldn't be healed either. Hope is the cause of and solution to all our problems - truer words have never been spoken. The first step to hope is trust and the first step to trust is vulnerability. I needed to risk everything in order to get rid of the pain. I needed to trust. It was a slow and arduous journey given my state of mind. For days on end I would stay in my refurbished, four wall, one bed mock-Victorian room. Guess what I was doing? Pouting. Feeling sorry for myself. Sulking. Wasting away. Did it make me feel any better? No. On the contrary, I felt even worse. It was like scratching a mosquito bite: the temporary relief made the bite burn with untold pain. I needed to realize the best way to get out of a hole was to stop digging. I could only accomplish that by myself. It was the first things they provided me with: peace of mind and solitude. By myself, I couldn't lie anymore. By myself, I had to face the facts. By myself, I had to get up every morning, look myself in the mirror, and say, "This is natural for me." Wasn't before long I cracked. I realized that... "This is childish." I stretch my hand out and touch the glossy mirror, unsure of what lurked behind the surface. Actually, I'm not even so sure what's staring back at me. A haggardly old woman with eyes as old as dirt stuck in a young girl's body frowns in my direction. Shying away in fear, I throw myself back onto the bed and sigh. How many days has it been? When was the last time I took a breath of fresh air? Maybe just a little too long. My back aches from the constant sleeping, and if it wasn't for the generous woman, my stomach would be growling too. The polite thing to do would be to formally go downstairs and introduce myself so I don't seem like some crazy nut, which I am not. No, I'm definitely not short a few eggs from the deck... ... or however that saying goes. Never did get many of them right. You know, the two other tenants in this humble abode can't be too bad. If they were, I'd be worm food by now, probably rotting in their yard, dead from some poison. They've fed me and given me quiet; at the very least, a word of gratitude is needed. After cleaning myself and putting on a new set of clothes, I take one last furtive glance at the mirror. The same pale face appears, eyes so devoid of anything human. It scares me, chills me to the bone. Is this me? Is this what I have become? A reclusive ghost? Tears begin building up, threatening to burst through my emotional dam, but I fight the urge to cry, to feel sorry for myself. There's another time for that. Now is certainly not it. I unhinge the mirror from the wall and put it face down on the table. I will not look at the mirror until I come back. Pushing open the door, I carefully step to the stairs with cat-like grace. Why am I being so cautious? I don't sense anything wrong. Probably natural reaction, and there is nothing wrong with natural reaction, is there? Down the stairs I go, straight into a living room flushed with quiet breathing. The furtive girl I saw when I first came lazily dozes on the couch in front of the drawn curtains. I didn't realize it before, but she is immensely cute. Long blonde hair, pouty lips, narrow face - almost reminds me of myself back in the day. I hate to say it, but she does strike a dissonant chord in my heart. It brings back memories of my friends, of better, happier times. The images feel right, yet so strangely wrong; I want it, yet I don't. She starts, suddenly realizing that someone is watching her. Her hazy eyes open to sight of me. I expect a startled response, maybe even a little scream, but no. I get a smile. "Hi," she peeps, dazed and confused, but nonetheless, quite joyful. Squatting down, I return her friendly gesture and carefully whisper, "Did I scare you?" A laugh escapes her mouth, "No! I know you're a good person..." "And how so?" "Because you asked me if I was scared." A simple but profound truth - I only wish everything was as pure as her answer. "You're a kawaii little one, ne?" She frowns in misunderstanding at my liberally used Japanese. "K... Ka... Kawaii?" "Sorry," I blush, "Means cute." "Ka... Kawaii means cute?" "Hai." What's wrong with me? I'm all over the language barrier today. Can't even catch my flailing tongue in time! "Who talks like that?" Brushing some stray strands of hair from her eyes, I gather my wits and decide to switch the conversation to something less retrospective. "So what's your name, little one?" "Susie... but you still haven't answered me yet. Who talks like that?" I consider lying to her, saying something like Russian or Chinese or the like, but then again, I AM talking to a girl here. Why am I even considering lying to her? There's no point, no need! She is but a curious soul asking an innocent question! Have to face it: I've become much too sensitive about my life. Maybe it's time to open up... ... especially to a socially blind, nonjudgmental youngster like... like... Susie was it? "It's Japanese," I reply, helping her to a sitting position, "I speak it pretty fluently." She gives only a quick nod to the statement, dismissing it after being aptly answered. A child like her shouldn't be interested in that stuff yet. Then again, neither should the rest of the world; Japanese is not the language of gods, but of mere mortals. People of today - at least some of them - have forgotten that. Her voice cuts through my brooding, "So what's your name?" "Minako, but you can call me Mina though." Mina... I've always loved the diminutive form of my name... Shuffling off the couch, Susie darts for the office, undoubtedly making a break for the backyard. At the door, she turns around and grins. "Well Mina, can you play a game of tag with me?" "Sure..." "Ok! You're it!" I had a great time to say the least. She didn't run very fast and didn't put forth much of a challenge, but there was something maniacally addictive about her attitude. Brick by brick, layer by layer, she tore down my lame defenses. How? Probably because of her acceptance. I was rejected by everyone - myself especially - and her unconditional, unbiased love was a welcome burst of emotion. Just the smallest acts can make people happy. And why is that? I don't know, maybe it shows disenchanted fools like myself that the world isn't so bad. Maybe it's an issue about life, about trust. Maybe it's a reflection of a younger, more virtuous self. Whatever works. A great weight was lifted off my shoulders, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Things seemed to look up from there on. I was drawn out of my self-imposed exile, out of my pathetic shell and finally thrust into a brazier of hope. My being was reforged like an ancient sword, sharpened and shined after an age of antiquity. Of course, the transformation didn't happen overnight, oh God no! Now that I look back on it, I see I had to trick myself little bit by little bit. Day one, I said, "I'm just being nice." Day two, I said, "I'm just being courteous." Day three, I said, "It's just to keep her company." And so on. I never saw how hope and trust seeped into my life. Day by day I would make small concessions to myself, making sure I was keeping in character with my deep blue depression. Just because I was nice didn't mean anything. Just because I was being courteous didn't mean anything. Right? Wrong! It was like a drug slowly worming its way into my system, and then one day, BAM, I found out I couldn't live without it... just like self-pity. Despite the vast improvement in attitude, I still wasn't an agreeable person. Hope was only the base for my emotional rebuilding; I still had the entire house to attend to. A window of opportunity was open for me, now I had to seize it. I guess envy played a part in my lunge for sanity. Sad to say, but it was my driving force. I befriended Susie, it was inevitable that I would befriend her mother too. Result? I started seeing them together as a cohesive unit. When I was busy feeling sorry for myself, I never got a chance to see how close of a relationship those two had - but then, it's only natural seeing that they're parent and child. The laughing, joking, the playing - they stirred up the long forgotten maternal instincts in me; I wanted a little version of myself to hold, cuddle, and lull to sleep. I wanted to experience life to the fullest... I gave it all up when I became Sailor Venus. I remember Artemis used to continually ask, "Are you ok with this? Are you going to be fine?" Furball knew what was getting under my skin before I even knew. If he could see me now, he'd realize I wasn't fine with what once was, with my decision... ... but we all screw up. It's how we rebuild that counts. And believe you me, and I had a bunch of rebuilding to attend to. The sun slowly set off in the west, painting the dreary tenements in a bright red-orange color. The lingering warmth retained by global warming heats up my prone body as it rests on a comfortable, albeit it old, lawnchair. Beautiful... I never take the time to look at sunsets anymore; what a shame. Look at that fading horizon, that solid splash of brightness, that stream of highlighted clouds - this is a hobby I should've taken up long ago. Suddenly, the panel door to the home slides open, admitting a bouncing Susie and her smiling mother. Giving me two quick, sunny nods, they proceed to pull up two chairs, sit down, and share a shiny red apple left over from yesterday's groceries. Look at them over there, all happy and content despite their surroundings. How do they do it? How they find so much joy in each other? How do they find the drive to continue on? While love, trust, hope, and honesty can get a person happiness, there's only so much those ideals can do when life is a piece of shit. Face it: humans are hedonistic machines programmed to maximize personal satisfaction through unitary means. When physical wealth doesn't stack up to some requirement, emotional wealth means absolutely nothing. But yet, the familial bond between these two seem to be forged of steel and imbued with some magical enchantment. I can't help but feel jealous knowing that, for some reason, they have it better than I ever had. They actually have a "normal" life in the most abnormal times. They actually have stability in one of the most unstable places. I never had that, no, not even in the prime of my life. I always had an empty spot somewhere, somehow. They're whole, complete. Wish I had even a taste of that. "Hey Mina," says Susie, "Could you play with me for a little bit?" What am I going to say? No? "Sure, what did you have in mind?" Her mother makes a mock-pouting face and tickles her in the side. "And what about me?!" she playfully laughs. "Hahahahaha!!! Come on!" Susie hysterically giggles, "Leggo of me!!!" Eh, why not? I jump into the fray, my fingers already diving for the more ticklish places. Little did I know the whole thing was a "ploy," so to speak. Babysitter... they needed a babysitter, and what better way to sucker a person into babysitting than by showing that the person had a great time with the kid? Wasn't my idea of fun, but nonetheless, I went with it, seeing it as a way of repayment for the hospitality. Remember those aforementioned maternal instincts? If I could compare it to a fire, I'd say my instinctual side was a blazing inferno. Being close to a child without having one yourself can do that to you. Susie seemed to be the zenith of happiness, the embodiment of joy. She healed the sick, forgave the sinners, and walked on water. I couldn't believe how much I needed that feeling. That was the breaking point for me; right then and there I said, "What the hell was I thinking?" Indeed, what WAS I thinking? "Mina?" What was up with my depression?! "Mina?" Why did I feel so hopeless? "Mina? I think we have to go home now..." -------- End Flashback -------- Shaking my head slightly to clear away the haze, I cast my eyes downward to that special little girl tugging at my pant leg. "Mina? Mommy's probably worried about us." I take a brief glance at my watch and the sky. 4 PM and waning light - anybody would be worried, not just my esteemed landlady. "Alrighty," I pipe, taking her hand, "Have fun today?" "Yeah! Can we do this again?!" "I dunno... only if you're good!" "Yay!" she hollers, sprinting off ahead of me, "We're going to the park again! We're going to the park again! We're going to the park-" On she sings and skips, farther and farther away. At some point in my life, I won't think much of childish actions, but for now, they mean the world. She makes me feel like a parent, a friend, a confidant, and yes, perhaps even a student. I'd do anything to see her smile... anything. Maybe that's why my outlook on life changed so drastically within these few short months. I finally realize that there are some things worth fighting for. I finally realize that in the maelstrom of chaos, hate, and deceit, there is some good to be found. I finally realize that life isn't great - it's grand. Nothing may go my way, and as evident in these past few months, nothing has gone my way; however, that doesn't mean everyone is as terribly mauled as I am. There are ideals worth hanging on to, people worth dying for. Just because I don't see it today doesn't mean I won't see it tomorrow. I once said that where there is life, there is hope. If I could do it all over again, I'd change that statement. It should be, "There is hope." Plain and simple. Hope transcends life, even death. It is the one constant we can look forward to no matter how deep of a hole we're in. Besides, there's always an exit to any hole: up. Just in our time of trials, we forget to look there. The poor forget, thinking they can never escape when they can. The sick forget, thinking there is no cure when there is. The dying forget, thinking death is the end when there is life in death. On occasion, the foolish - like me - who have it none as bad as these folk, forget too. My luck lies in the fact that someone waltzed over to my pit of despair and hollered at me to look up. Physically, they didn't do much, a mere step and a shout. However, to me, it was like striking a match in a propane tank. There was an explosion... an explosion of hope. All that from a small spark. As I enter the bed and breakfast - my hospice for the past four months - I thunder up the stairs to my room, leaving Susie to hop onto the kitchen to greet her mother. Closing the door, I slowly but resolutely approach the mirror, the one I've left face down, the one I bathed my sorrow in, the one I thought my cure but in reality my disease. Come to think about it, ever since that fateful day, that day when I walked downstairs to meet Susie, I haven't seen my reflection. The image I have of myself is one of a shriveled young woman, complexion as pale as the moon. I remember my haggard eyes intermingled with my loathsome face. I remember the hate and resentment in my every move, how everything related back to some wrong I or the Senshi committed. I remember staring into that mirror and feeling noble because I hated myself. Putting my hand on the back of that dreadful pane of glass, I have an idea of what I will look like. I want to say what it is but I'm afraid I might jinx myself. I might look at the mirror expecting a butterfly but instead find a caterpillar. Dare I take that risk? I was never one to believe in superstitions, but... but... now seems like a good time to. I gently lift the frame, careful to not let the mirror be scratched; afterall, it does look quite expensive. Who will I see? A shining girl? A spent weapon? A pathetic ignoramus? A courageous woman? Or even- "Mina!!! Time for dinner!" The shout from below shatters my concentration allowing my flimsy grasp to loosen. The mirror falls to the table, breaking into a million pieces, some of the fragments falling to floor. Hastily, I bend down to pick up the larger remains and I cut myself; blood seeps onto the smooth surface of the mirror. Naturally, I pull the shard away, but in the process, I see myself and am mesmerized. It's the image of my younger self, ditzy grin and all; about the only thing missing is the red bow. The person in the mirror looks beautiful, vibrant, and above all, happy. Is that me? She looks so innocent, so hopeful, so accepting... I turn the fragment over to see if it was just my imagination. To my delight, it isn't: it is me. I wink at my reflection and flash my patent V sign. It follows suit. I blink cutely. It follows suit. "Mina!!! Are you alright up there?" So this is what I have become... once again - a digression back to a younger state, a better time, a jollier place. Glad to see I'm back. "MINA!!!" Standing up, I wipe the blood off my hand and reach into my money clip. A thousand, no, two thousand francs - that ought to cover the expenses for the mirror and then some. I grab my jacket and take one last look at my home for four months. I'll never forget this place, ever, not even in my time of trials. This'll always be my place of hope, my sanctuary from the blizzard of sadness. While I'd like to stay, my conscience weighs heavy on me. Just because I have hope doesn't mean that my conscience is wiped clean. There still remain the actions, the things that speak louder than words. Now that I have my life back, what will I do with it? Will I waste it? Will I squander it? Will I lose it? No. I'm going to share my newfound gift with others. Previously, I might not have used this wonderful talent productively, but now... now I know what to do. I have seen the harm it can do; it's time to see the good it can do. Going back to that analogy about striking a match in a propane tank: it takes so little to spark so much. All I have to do is provide the initial push, the rest will snowball into place. I cannot change the past, but at least I can change the future. ********* End Notes ********* Whew! Done with another chapter! Do you think this fic is done? Heavens no! Projected length is ten chapters, so hang tight for the next edition. While this current work doesn't display my literary skills at its best, I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Email me - tell me your opinions about what you think should happen (so far, this chapter is the one I'm least happy with, so complaints are more than welcome). I'm open to any and all comments. -Don.