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

    Finally, after a year and half, this series has come full circle
bearing with it all the luggage from past tales. Because it's been a while
since I've put it out, I encourage you to re-read chapter one BEFORE moving
onto this new offering. Doing so might make this chapter a little more
enjoyable.
    Oh, and for once, we're out of "prelude" mode.

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

Rating: R (cussing)






                                  "Clean"
                                 Chapter 7

                                   Eyes

                                 A fanfic
                                    by

                                    Don




Eyes of the Past
Forever then


    How important are we? In the greater scheme of things, what does the
life of a few petty, bellicose, viral species known as humans mean? Time
will always go on; the earth will not stop spinning - well, at least for a
long time, much after we are all gone. So many greater specimens has the
earth produced: those who never polluted, never warred, never bickered
about immaterial subjects like law, language, and knowledge.
    They say that the amount of species who engage in mass warfare amongst
their own can be counted on two hands; three of them are certain classes of
ants, four are genetic abominations brought forth by unnatural conditions,
and one... one of them sits typing, reading, and or saying these words.
    I am not important. My death will not be a great honorable glory where
on the day of my funeral, the planets will align and the Garden of Eden
will spring to life. My actions will be lost in a sea of meaningless
gibberish, destined and fated to be nothing more than a passing memory to a
passing breed of war-like mutations distantly related to bamboo climbers.
My words will lose their meaning, my language will fade and my struggles -
however much I would like to envision them eternal - will be left to the
deaf winds.
    Why don't I lay down and die? Why don't I quicken this evolutionary
pruning? We as part of this great kingdom of life have destroyed, soiled,
and corrupted more than our fair share of it. We have left our sinister
mark, so is it not time to go? Why do I insist on struggling, on denying
myself, on understanding what will be forgotten in a blink of the cosmos'
eye?
    Because... because these are my struggles. This is my tale. This is my
understanding.
    These. Are. My. People.
    I am not important; we are not important. But, in our insignificance,
we find importance. We make importance. Our lives may not mean much to the
indomitable will of time, but for a little while, our overwhelming
selfishness brings us great hope.
    Love, justice, truth, honor, good - we express what nature has been
built upon in our own little selfish ways. Our legacy may be nothing, but
the important thing is we tried and succeeded.
    "Tried and succeeded in what?" you may ask; don't ask me, I don't know.
I'm not important and neither are you. My absolute absence or presence
means nothing.
    So scary, ne? To have your center of being hinge on what you believe
and what others believe of you - shoots the argument about everyone having
a soul to hell, doesn't it? It's quite a logical assumption too: I for one
know first hand the human "soul" can be tampered with. Besides, "the soul
is a network of cranial fluids and nerve endings fused together by
observable environmental reactions - 'experiences' - which are
secondary to survival and evolution."
    "Gray's Anatomy," volume sixty, edition 601, page 602, paragraph 
two.
    If such a fragile, yet previously assumed eternal entity can't escape
the touch and understanding of man, then it is subject to man's every whim.
    Mystery is what makes us gawk at something's beauty. When the mystery
is gone, analyzed to death by science, that something is no longer
beautiful, only intriguing.
    I mean, would you rather receive a crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate or
a red rose?
    I'd stick with the rose, thank you very much. Its petals open up,
beckoning me to fall into it like a lover's dying embrace. The bud forms a
soft kiss, almost like the lips of a soft-spoken soul with an even softer
spoken heart - again, it beckons to fall into it and to forget my
troubles... if only for a little while.
    On the other hand, the crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate loses its grip
on its petals due to its inability to maintain homeostasis. It
plasmodifies, the inner membrane shrinking upon itself while the cell walls
remain intact, weakening the bonds of stem to petal.
    Fuck the crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate.
    I would rather the world be beautiful than intriguing, the very
opposite of its current situation.
    Oh yes, isn't the dichotomy of earth versus Crystal Tokyo intriguing?
How can so much poverty roam the streets of London while the mechanical
angels of Tokyo ignorantly feast like gluttons? What an intriguing social
science thesis paper: "If one completely removes the self-serving mechanism
of humans, does the world become a better place? Is altruism the key to
world peace?"
    Fuck intriguing.
    Without selfishness, there would be no undying love. Without evil,
there would be no good. I know people say, "There universe has a balance,"
but even that isn't true. The universe isn't about balance; it's about
self-fulfilling survival. People do good because they believe it gives them
a sense of fulfillment; likewise, people do evil for the same reason.
    For example, Mamoru would go to the ends of the world to save Usagi
because his existence without her would be most uncomfortable. How selfish
is that: to disregard the world no matter how productive you are and spare
no expenses to reclaim your happiness. Selfishness permeates that act, but
yet, we call it "undying love." Mamoru wouldn't go to the ends of the world
for anyone else because "anyone else" doesn't bring him the joy Usagi does.
He saves Usagi for himself, because her continued existence makes him so
happy that her death would be the equivalent of his death. And believe me,
no one wants to die.
    I say, what a double standard! What a sad but true reality! What an
unforgivable travesty!
    What a fucking intriguing question.
    Selfishness brings us importance. Selfishness gives us hope. To remove
that selfishness is an act of unreasonable malice, like a villain who
derives no reward from killing but yet continues to kill. Such is an
unfathomable thought to me, and, my friends, that is why I hate the
Purging.
    How can someone ever do something that doesn't bring them some sort of
- be it infinitely large or atomically small - satisfaction?
    Ah yes, another fucking intriguing question.
    See what understanding does? It undermines the mystery, the mystery of
undying love, of good, and of God. No longer are those symbols of beauty
and power but of convoluted half truths mixed with whole lies. And once
understanding comes, no one can ever stop. Once something is understood,
there will always be something else to understand, and then the next and
then the next and the next and the next until... until...
    No. No "until." It'll never stop.
    Such is the world today, a world without a mystery. Everything is
interesting and intriguing, but absolutely none of it sustains our
emotional and spiritual selves.
    The fucking crossbred Rosa filipes Kiftsgate strikes again.
    Lazily, I turn my head to the right and look at the bedraggled, haggard
man. Unkempt and unclean, so unlike everyone else here.
    And instead of intriguing, I find him mysterious, beautiful. He is like
a stain on a shirt, a blemish on a face - awesome to behold because of its
imperfection. Only months away from the outside world and I already miss
his kind of demeanor, his trust-nobody, grizzly gaze.
    Curiosity pulls me forth. I know he is not a product of my handiwork
and I long to hear the a real, human tainted voice.
    What do I say to man like that? What do I say to a man's whose steel
enforced eyes glisten like a feral fangs? What do I say to a man whose
world I helped exclude? What do I say to the awakened beast inside of us?
What do I say to God's untouched creation?
    What do I say to a man?
    "Do you believe in happiness?"
    The question catches him off guard. I guess he really wasn't expecting
me - or for that matter, anyone - to talk to him. Remarkably, he answers.
    "No. We live, we die, and we pay all the way. What's the joy in that?"
    I relate with those words, only, I miss out on the "we die" part.
Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I died. Like I said before, I
don't matter to that invincible stream of time, so what if I had died
centuries ago? Did I really matter? Did I create that little source of hope
for myself?
    Every night, I wish I could follow one of my dismal actions to its
ultimate conclusion. I want to see if I set off some chain reaction that
continues to flourish long after I have moved on. I guess I want to know:
did I change the world or not?
    But then again, we all know the answer to that question...
    "Kind of bitter, aren't you?"
    Obviously, yes. This man is bitter and rude, two qualities which I
would've long ago hated. Now though, I can't bring myself to do that. His
attitude reminds me of my humanity, of my station in life: I may be a
millennium his senior, but I am no good until I prove myself otherwise.
It's cold, calculating, yet immensely appropriate.
    No one should ever be judged on name alone.
    I wait, tasting the stale air around him. Seconds drag by, his rudeness
almost off-setting my talkative mood.
    Almost.
    I try another conversation starter. "So what brings a stranger like you
to these parts?"
    He looks at his drink, swishing it around and gawking at it like a
child. His arrogance begins to grind on my nerves. Yes, yes, it's very true
that I haven't proved myself in his eyes yet - at least, not enough to
start a deep conversation - but he is violating humane respect. He should
answer me, if only in a dismissive grunt. What does he think I am? Forget
that, what does he take me for?
    I will not grovel in front of an arrogant, egotistical, respect-lacking
bastard.
    "Hello?" I say once more with annoyance, "Earth to- What's your name
again?"
    Heaving a sigh, the man puts down his drink and leers at me. "Evan
Wilson," he drawls, "People call me anything ranging from Ev to
motherfucker. Take your pick."
    My lips curl up in a laugh, but I force myself to choke back the
giggles. Such a typical guy answer, no? Sounds like something from a cheap
western or campy romance novel. Actually, speaking about campy...
    "I think I'll stick with Mr. Wilson, thank you very much."
    Mr. Wilson - wasn't that from an old kids show? "Dennis the Jerk" or
"Dennis the Dumbass" or something. My memory fails me occasionally.
    Might as well have some fun with the man's name.
    His eyes light up in one of those inquisitive ways, much like a
reporter after they've stumbled upon something interesting. For a second,
I'm stunned, boggled at what he would find so intriguing.
    "What's the matter?" he inquires while chugging another unhealthy gulp
of his martini, "I thought all you people were suppose to be dolls and not
take offense to anything. What? Something messed up in your genetic
programming?"
    Ohhh, I get it now. He thinks I'm a product of my own work, a puppet
without a master. Such irony to be mistaken for a race I killed, no? It
says something about this world and the people outside looking in. It says
that while everyone here may remain blind to their kidnapped egos, those
from the scary, free-thinking world see the discrepancies. It says that we
- the Sailor Senshi, Usagi, me - it says that we tried to play God and
failed miserably.
    No one here knows they're in hell because this is a hell they love.
    Begs the question: is the world better off with 100%, wholesome
spoon-fed happiness or 2% selective but true happiness?
    Me, I think we are all better off with small doses of heaven. Keeps us
in line with our hearts, keeps us in touch with our lesser peers, and keeps
us unfulfilled.
    Unfulfilled you ask? Yes, unfulfilled - take note, being unfulfilled
can be a good thing because once everything is done, what else is there to
do? Once we're fulfilled, we die, simple as that. When the sun rises
tomorrow and we have nothing to live for, nothing to fight for, we atrophy.
    Look at the people in this bar. There's silence, and no, it's not the
noiseless silence but the speechless silence. Music fills the air from
concealed speakers, but no one is talking. Everyone is content - smiling
even - but there's no personality. Nothing is beautiful - there's no one
being the shoulder for someone else to cry on, there's no one cheering up
someone else. When people are fulfilled, there's nothing left to talk
about: no one needs cheering up, no one needs hope.
    And from there rises a pregnant silence hidden under a veil of smiles.
Slowly, the people waste away, all the while thinking they're happy.
    Sadder still is that these people really are happy. They are happy
because they think they're happy; I just wonder if they'll still be the
same if they could gauge the situation for themselves.
    Such a cruel joke: God created us with the capacity to sin, but because
of it, we were cast out from His grace. Now that we don't have the capacity
to sin, what are we?
    What are we?
    Another fucking intriguing question.
    Slowly, I answer Mr. Wilson. "No, nothing went wrong with my genetic
programming. And I am NOT from Crystal Tokyo, so lay off."
    Damn right I'm not from this... this... place. I'm from Tokyo, a flawed
but brilliant ancient civilization where somehow, the wrong co-existed with
the ri-
    "Growing an attitude?" asks Mr. Wilson as an arrogant grin crosses his
face. "If you're not from this forsaken land, then what's up with the goody
two shoes act?"
    It's not an act. I'm just naturally nice like I am naturally blonde,
and damn it, no one can take that away from me. "What's wrong with being
nice to strangers?"
    Suddenly, his eyes are emblazoned with an unspeakable wrath. He flails
his arms side to side, almost knocking over his martini.
    "Everything!" he empathetically shrieks, "Have you seen the world? At
every corner, there's a parentless child begging for food. In every house,
there is a starving mother of five giving herself up to a richer man's
pleasures so that her children can eat a meager meal! Governments are
fighting amongst themselves; some try to solve problems, others fight for
bribes!!! The world SUCKS, you can't trust anyone! This fantasy is the only
place where you can honestly say hi to a person and not get clubbed because
you're wearing clean clothes!"
    I've seen the world, boy, and I know what it looks like and how it
acts. I know about the desperate mothers, dying children, laughing demons,
and overwhelming troubles: I made them. I also know that for every one of
those despicable lowlifes and downtrodden transients, there's a spark of
hope Why else would they do the things they do? Why else would they club
somebody for their clothes?
    Everyone is fighting for a better tomorrow, and no matter what sorry
state the greater human race is in, that struggle is beautiful, admirable.
    Just how we do it is questionable.
    My immediate dislike of this man is cut off by my curious nature. "If
you detest this place so, why don't you leave?"
    Almost unwittingly, he quickly says, "Can't. My boss is making me do
this segment on those bitchy Senshi chicks. It's... Forget it, you won't
understand."
    Boss? Segment? Senshi? If I didn't know better, I'd say Mr. Wilson here
is a reporter. Doesn't the world get more and more interesting by the
second? Here he is, telling a Senshi he's looking for the Senshi.
    Oh boy, I need a drink to stifle my giggles.
    After downing the beer in my mug, I indulge my curiosity and mutter,
"Try me."
    He rolls his eyes and sizes up the situation. I guess he didn't see
anything wrong with telling me everything: the man probably thought I was
some drunk hooker. "We suspect there's something wrong in this heaven. Me
being his only reliable onsight reporter, he's sent me here to check out
the place. We have our theories about what's wrong, but they're only
theories. I'm out to prove something."
    Conspiracies - the great American pastime. There's something to be said
about their sixth sense for trouble: it's slow. I've been gone for ten
years and now people finally realize something's amiss?
    Maybe I shouldn't get ahead of myself; maybe it isn't about me at all.
I should ask, "What's the theory?"
    "One of the Senshi quit."
    BAM. Here comes the part where reality reasserts itself and I feel all
guilty for leaving my friends behind. In about two seconds, I'll disregard
all of this - my life, my experiences, my conscience - and unfurl like a
badly wound ball of twine. My resolve will break and I will suddenly want
to go back to them because the words of a strangers are the truest.
    I wait for the expect surge of feelings, but they don't come.
"Interesting," I mutter to myself. Then, I realize this Mr. Wilson
character is still there, so I quickly make a save. "And what makes you
think that?"
    "For one thing, those infamous royal balls aren't being held anymore.
It's like they're retreating to a private life while at any other time in
history, they're living it up in the spotlight. There's bound to be
something wrong if they're doing that. No picture has been taken of them
for two freakin' years!"
    Infamous royal balls huh? I didn't know our gatherings were considered
infamous. Actually, the better word is "realize": I didn't realize our
gatherings were considered infamous. Well, now that I look at it, I could
see why though. Royal ball equals powerful people. Lots of powerful people
means lots of powerful deals. Lots of powerful deals means the powerful
people finely dividing the shattered world amongst themselves.
    So our royal balls were just like golf: a neutral and protected meeting
place for the top few aristocrats to carve out more power for themselves.
    Christ, no wonder there was war. We unwittingly flaunted our wealth and
good fortune, insulting and belittling those who weren't as lucky as us.
    I bet that pissed off enough people to want us dead... or at least
severely maimed.
    Mr. Wilson looks at me expectantly, waiting for a reply. I humor the
man and say, "Twisted logic, but nevertheless, sound. And is this all you
do? Dig up dirt on people and try to topple Serenity's rule through your
pen strokes?"
    If such is what he is trying to do, then I commend him greatly. He
could start a revolution without spilling a drop of blood. He could right
the wrongs and build a new civilization not born out of war and deceit.
    "I'm trying to survive. Frankly, I don't care about anything else.
These Senshi can have their happy little world, I want to live in my own."
    Unfortunately, not many people are as benevolent as they seem.
    Makes sense though. Why risk so much if there isn't a huge payoff? So,
"This is all for money? You're risking your life, flying all over the
world, dodging bullets, and sleeping in dumpsters because of money?"
    "Yes," he replies, already his attention diverted to another drink.
    As he waves the bartender over, I look back into my near-empty glass
and softly mutter, "Seems you love your id," before downing what little
droplets remain.
    Our dark side, our bestial qualities - can't live with 'em and
certainly can't live without them. Without them, I wouldn't have a job...
not that I have one now. The business of love and justice thrives on hate
and injustice: just how are you going to bring love and justice to the
world if it's already there?
    "At least," he suddenly snaps, "Unlike you, I'm fully human."
    Oh, that was low. "I told you: I'm not from Crystal Tokyo." Yet
somehow, what he says sounds right. No human would ever deprive another
human the ability to think - no thing with a soul (a true soul mind you)
could ever brainwash another kindred spirit. However, I did.
    What does that make me?
    Getting up from his bar stool, Mr. Wilson throws a few bills on the
counter before high tailing it out of here. There's an extra spring in his
step, like he's nervous or anxious.
    "Leaving so soon, Mr. Wilson?" I playful prod.
    "Yeah, I'd love to sit and drink, but I have a job."
    "Will you be back tomorrow night?"
    "No."
    Cold bastard. Yeah, I may feel like shit for the Purging, but
sometimes, I think some of those people deserved it.
    "God damn no good high and mighty reporter."


Eyes of the Past
Always wise


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


Eyes of the Present
Fleeting times


    Another night, another stack of reports. With all due respect, my
browsing over the local law enforcement's daily activities wasn't
necessary, but then, I was always a girl scout - never let anything fall
through cracks, know what I mean? In this day and age, no one can be too
careful.
    Faint footsteps reached my ears; by the time I lifted my head, Ami was
already coming through arch and entering the garden. She immediately picked
out where I was and came over to the bench I sat on. In her hands were two
cups of coffee.
    "Working late, Makoto?" she asked with a smile.
    I accepted the steaming hot drink she handed me and took a test sip.
"Yeah," I hissed, vainly trying to expel the heat burning my throat.
    We stayed quiet for a few minutes: I examined police reports while she
examined Endyimon's bed of roses. Eventually, Ami's nosy ways got the
better of her and her aimless drifting came to an end behind my shoulder.
With picky eyes and that scrunched up Thinker look, the resident genius
blazed through the paper I was reading all the while humming a catchy tune.
What was it? Take Me Home Tonight? Beat It? I knew it was one of those
oldies...
    "Do you mind?"
    As if catching her by surprise, Ami jumped back slightly and blushed
heavily. "Gomen nasai. I-"
    "It's fine," I lazily dismissed.
    "But Mako-chan, I-"
    She started stammering again, even babbling a little. Admittedly, she
was much better now, but... but... that wasn't saying much. She was still
as bad as a schoolgirl caught in a makeout session.
    Hmph. Wasn't I the observant one?
    "Just don't worry about it," I answered amidst her babbling, "I know
sometimes you can't-"
    "Makoto, it's just that-"
    "No need to explain!" I exclaimed. God, was she being chatty today or
what? "All is-"
    Exacerbated, Ami threw her hands up and pointed to my files. "Look!"
    "Look what?"
    I followed her vantage point from face to finger to file. Yeah, so? "Is
there a bug on me?" I quizzically asked.
    "THERE!"
    By now, her eyes were wide with - what was that? - surprise? Glee?
Anger? She lunged at me, knocking me off the bench and making a grab for a
particular file.
    "Ami! What's your problem?!"
    Now totally ignoring me, she breezed over the report again and bolted
out of the garden, a whisper of wind in her wake.
    "Ami! Wait up! What's going on?!"
    From the depths of the palace, her voice echoed, "We're going to find
Minako!"


Eyes of the Present
Left behind


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


Eyes of the Future
Deceiving all

    Anticipation hung thick in the air as we gathered around the conference
table. Those who hadn't heard Ami's exuberant proclamations were quickly
filled in by an ecstatic Makoto. That look on Haruka's face - it breathed
of relief. Throughout the years, she developed a grim outlook on Minako's
fate: she had all but given up hope for our Senshi of Venus.
    Scouring the world and never quite picking up a scent did that to
people.
    The same mood was passed on to Michiru which in turn trickled down to
Hotaru. Ecstatic they were not, but nor were they relieved - wistful about
described their outlook. Down in their hearts, they caught a glimpse of the
journey ahead, a journey filled with pain, joy, and more pain.
    Who knew what trials Minako had gone through?
    Who knew what changes were ingrained in her vulnerable heart?
    A few of us had a clue including myself, but we weren't telling. The
truth was always better found, never told.
    The double doors opened again, this time admitting the rest of the
missing ensemble. Rei and Artemis were stoic, like dead-eyed suburbanites;
Their Majesties positively glowed, though Serenity seemed to be holding
back some miniscule but powerful emotion.
    I only assumed Luna had her hands full with Diana.
    Without wasting a moment, Ami blurted out again, "She's here in Crystal
Tokyo! I saw her name in the police report and her description matched-"
    "We know," I kindly offered. It was hard not to know.
    At that, the room silenced. So many questions, so many paths - we stood
at a crossroad and everyone sensed it. This was a point in time when
universes intersected and exploded, one unifying point which all histories
used as a reference. From here on out, the future distorted, hazed by a
million possibilities hinged on one yet to be decided course of action.
    With each passing second, doors closed, missed opportunities now left
to languish in the winds of nonexistence.
    With each passing second, infinite options unfurled, each one lying
before us like fine meat at a deli.
    Haruka, never one to enjoy the wait, subtly cleared her throat. "I
think we're all asking ourselves, 'What do we do now?'"

    Thud. We were committed.

    "We bring her back," stated Makoto, "Simple as that. We go pay this
deviant, Evan Wilson, a little visit, jog his memory, and go from there.
She couldn't have gotten too far - the report was filed a few hours ago. If
she was drinking at a bar and talking to foul-mouthed onsight reporter, she's
obviously in no hurry to leave. We have people looking out for her at all
points leaving Crystal Tokyo and backtrack from her last known location. He
said she took a taxi, so we check out the public transportation records and
see where they lead. There, simple as that. I can have the necessary
information here in ten minutes tops, so we better start-"
    "You're talking like we're hauling in a dangerous criminal."
    We turned our heads and met the darkened visage of Rei, her glossy eyes
leering at Makoto from under her long, now unkempt bangs.
    Shrugging off the hint of disdain, Makoto replied, "We're trying to
find Minako, and I'm sorry if I'm going about this like a manhunt but we're
left with little choice. If she could disappear like she did ten years ago,
this window of opportunity we have is very small. Simple as that."
    A distressed moan emanated from Artemis. "Could you PLEASE stop saying
those three damned words?! Maybe, just maybe, it isn't as 'Simple as that!'
We're talking about Minako, not an outlaw! She is your friend, your sister
- all I ask is that we treat her accordingly or... or..."
    He took a deep breath and resignedly sighed. "Or we could push away
forever."
    Her defender till the end, her knight in shining armor: the first one
to come to her aid, the last one to leave her sight. Even after seeing,
hearing, and experiencing what became of his charge, he still rushed to
protect her.
    If only Minako could see him right now...
    ... she'd probably laugh.
    Flustered, Jupiter plopped into her seat, crossing her arms. "Well,"
she huffed, "Anyone with any brighter ideas, please, be my guest."
    No time was wasted.
    "For one thing," said Rei, "We could try and verify if this Aino Minako
is really Minako. How many people go by that? All we have right now is a
drunk reporter spouting off a name which could've come from anywhere. Once
we do that, a few of us go and talk to her, find out if there's anything
wrong. Like Artemis said, swearing a warrant for her arrest-"
    "I never said that!"
    "But you implied it."
    "Don't you try and put words in my mouth!"
    Swooping in to make the save was Michiru. "Minna, we're getting
nowhere," she pointed out. "We have to take advantage of the situation but
still keep in mind Minako's thoughts and feelings. To do that, we have to
hold back on our emotions for a little while..."
    Good advice, but how did you rein the emotions of a group individuals
who've been using nothing but their hearts for all eternity?
    "Minna," whispered Serenity, "What if she doesn't want to come back?"
    If I recall correctly, my attention drifted that moment (not that it
wasn't drifting before). Our meeting degraded into ceaseless bickering;
everyone had their own opinions about what was right. Worst thing was,
everyone was right, no one was wrong. Ironically, in the clutches of
righteousness, differences shimmered into the forefront. Diverse
methodology was misconstrued, reinterpreted in each of their minds as
"wrong."
    And why not? Because two people didn't agree, one of them must've been
wrong... or so they thought.
    Even after a millennium's evolution, my sisters still weren't able to
wrap their minds around the conundrum known as "multiple perspectives."
    One plus three equaled four, but so did two plus two. Neither procedure
was wrong, neither procedure was better - the debate arose from which the
opposing parties preferred.
    Of course, Makoto had gone with an aggressive stance. Rei had proposed
diplomacy, a option seconded by Ami. Michiru - as always supported by
Haruka - tried to strike some sort of middle ground.
    Such an intriguing situation, but god awfully volatile as well. How did
it ever get this way? How did a group innocent, well-meaning family members
ever grow so... so...
    ... confused?
    They used their hearts too much, that's how. Each one of them too
idealistic in their own way, each one of them too stubborn to accept
anything but perfection - in days when there was still war between good and
evil, their mindsets were invaluable: it kept them fighting. Over time,
everyone developed their own sense of honor and morality, as well everyone
should. The problem arose when peace came around and time to examine
themselves suddenly cropped up.
    What? You mean Makoto didn't like Rei? You mean Minako never agreed 
with Serenity?
    The Senshi were people in themselves. They had many sides, many
opinions, and sometimes, those opinions didn't coincide with each other.
The Senshi were not only born to be fighters but also leaders: they were
the whole army from infantry to standard bearer to general. That's what
made them so effective and efficient.
    But what happened when leaders came together?
    Naturally, egos clashed. In any situation, there can only be one leader
- at the moment, we had nine. The natural thing happened.
    The Silver Millennium solved this entropic problem by distributing a
planet to each Senshi. They would be ruled by a unifying body, but in their
spare time, they could toy with their own little microcosm. Instead of
trying to impress their views upon other equally stubborn and righteous
individuals, they could do it to a pack of willing followers.
    Problem solved.
    But here in Crystal Tokyo, there was one planet of which contained only
one nation the Senshi held.
    Too many big fish in too small of a pond.
    Problem rising, rising, rising-
    And now, problem quite possibly exploding.
    I don't remember how long it took or how many wounds were dealt, but
some semblance of a plan rose from the ashes. Everyone agreed that the
starting point should be Evan Wilson, so they decided to build from there.
Of course, a minor scuffle occurred about who should go meet this loud
mouthed individual.
    And of course, I stayed out of the decision making and chose to make my
own decisions.

Eyes of the Future
Hidden call


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


Eyes of the Future
Stoic wall

    The scene unfolded before me, intrigue and all. Makoto and Ami cleared
the bar with a polite request to the owner; meanwhile, Haruka and Michiru
waited across the street, scouting for the duo inside. Unbeknownst to them,
one particularly daring and fool hearted reporter was hanging around in an
alley next to the bar, a mini-transmitter in hand. Chances were he had some
kind of recording device hidden inside the establishment. The star of the
show, the object of our wait, had yet to arrive, but already people were
fighting for her.
    Me, I stood in the dark, unseen like always, gently guiding but never
imposing.
    Each participant stalked some kind of prey and never once realized the
competition they posed to each other. The line between hunter and hunted
blurred, which begged the question, "Who was going to strike first?"
    Did Haruka and Michiru have a plan of their own? Were they going on the
presumption that Makoto was handling the situation wrong? Were they ready
to intercept Minako at first sight? Moreover, was that Evan Wilson
character merely eavesdropping? Did he have something truly sinister
planned? Did he fancy himself Minako's white knight here snatch her from
the clutches of evil? Was he a relic from our previous wars or was he a
true fool?
    And I hadn't even begun to count the possibilities with Makoto and Ami.
    Such an intriguing turn of events, no?
    The more we don't know, the more we envision ourselves masters of our
world. When was anyone going to take that to heart?
    During my mental wanderings, Minako appeared. All of us tensed, primed
for battle whether battle meant psychological or physical warfare. Funny
how she had the ability to alter any mood to her state of mind - she seemed
to exude, almost impose, her emotions on others. Her very visage set all of
us on edge.
    I never took notice to the façade of a mystery surrounding her
departure, unlike minna. Simply put, she was so empathic she felt the
rumblings of discord from humanity itself. The wounded souls from the
Purging howled in her direction, hounding her day and night. She was the
walking incarnation of foolhardy conscience speak, fluent in the language
of all that was emotion. Whether the emotions undying love or hate, she
heard it all, the wailings seemingly guiding her course of life.
    And again with the heart-thinking.
    When was she going to learn that her heart would lead her astray?
Sometimes, cold and calculating was the only way to get to the light at the
end of the tunnel. Would be great if the heart could be a substitute, but
unfortunately, we all didn't think nor feel the same. With great emotions
came great egos, with great egos came divergent opinions, with divergent
opinions came turmoil - feelings must be sacrificed for a better tomorrow.

    The present was merely time to prepare for the future.
    If some things weren't destroyed ages ago, this present would've never
been.


    God forbid, I wouldn't be able to take that.

Eyes of the Future
Shattering fall


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


Eyes of the Past
Always present


    So that was it. Clean and broken.
    I came, I saw, I retreated. I had neither the inclination nor the
courage to face my fears. I couldn't correct or destroy them, so I hung my
head in shame, tail between my legs, and left. For all my musings, I was
still that far from peace and comfort. Actually, after some level, I hurt
more than ever.
    Back then, there was still hope, hope for right to prevail. Now though,
seeing the static passiveness of the Senshi, there was no more hope.
    What could I say? They liked it - fewer problems this way.
    Instead of challenging them like I should've, I adopted my aggressive
mask and pushed them away. Instead of talking, I retaliated. True, words
alone never solved anything, but they were good starts to the solutions.
    Why did I act so blind?
    Why did I have to be so stubborn?
    Why was I such a coward?
    To descend upon a ravenous daimon, to dance with death in the
battlefield, to sleep with the enemy both in this life and the last -
child's play compared to the sheer terror forbidden friendsh- NO, forbidden
love brought. So intense was and still is my love that I could never hurt
them so by bringing to light my traitorous thoughts.
    What I'd seen and felt could only spell disaster: look where it landed
me. All questions and no answers - seemed like some higher power was toying
with my entire existence, baiting me like a starving fish. At one time, I
might've been able to pass on my curse.
    At one time.
    But I was being selfish again. This struggle defined me, made me, gave
me reason to continue existing. No more did I rely on others to give me a
reason to live: I lived because I willed it so. What I've shared and
experienced gave me eternal life, life to contemplate about the past, life
to futilely fight against it.
    Would I be so cruel as to curse them with guilt-ridden immortality?
    No. This was a burden I alone would bear. Should they one day come to
my state of being, I'd share my thoughts, but till then... till then...
    I wished them the best.
    I loved them, and if not with my mind or heart then at least with what
I'd like to call my soul. I loved them for the people they were, and on
some level, for the people they are. They gave me pleasure and pain, home
and homelessness. They became my family, friends, and enemies. The fact
that I could hate them so intensely yet so relentlessly shield them from my
sorrow verified my love.
    I hurt for them because they couldn't feel the pain.
    How did the saying go?
    "You only hate because you care enough to hate."
    I may have said many things during these ten years, but I never said I
didn't care. I cared for everyone and everything, Senshi and mortal alike.
I had too much love to give and now that the people of Crystal Tokyo didn't
need my love anymore, I needed to share it with others.
    My actions today - while stupid, hasty, and cruel - felt natural, like
it was suppose to happen.
    Maybe I was wrong and God was punishing me for being an ingrate by
taking away my friends. Maybe I was right and it was time for me to move
on. Maybe my departure was written in the stars, fated in some way to bring
the world full circle. Maybe another enemy was looming in the background
silently manipulating and destroying us so it could easily take over earth.
Maybe it was time to care for people outside of Crystal Tokyo and I was to
be the catalyst.
    Whatever the case may be, I had no regrets.
    I had grown up and obviously, the Senshi hadn't. Didn't know if that
was a good thing or not, but the fact was we didn't see eye to eye anymore.
The person they desperately wanted back was gone, left somewhere in the
dust on a cold London day.
    When I said "I quit," Sailor Venus died. I renounced the ageless ties
to my Queen, my subjects, and my comrades. No longer was I a Senshi, no
longer was I a part of them. I had become a ronin, a masterless warrior
bound to no one but myself.
    Did I like that feeling? No. I was empty, devoid of all identity.
    Had Aino Minako still been alive, I might've found some solace in my
resignation. I could live out my dreams, become a movie star, singer,
dancer, and athlete. But times were different - formerly simple pleasures
were not appreciated. Most of the population had no idea what a volleyball
looked like.
    I left Aino Minako behind a thousand years ago when I forsook her to
become Sailor Venus. With Sailor Venus dead, what was I? Who was I?
    I was a shell of my former selves with the body of a Senshi and the 
name of a tragically killed girl, that's who I was.
    A husk. A shadow.
    Empty...
    Empty, but yet driven by naked emotions made by past lives.
    Before I knew it, the taxi had stopped and I hadn't spoken a word to
Evan. Casting a glance sideways, I saw his puppy dog eyes gazing at me like
a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
    I wanted to open my mouth, to tell him it was alright and that I hoped
he would one day find his heaven. Instead, my voice failed me.
    I didn't know what to say to God's untainted creation.
    I didn't know what he wanted to hear.
    Then, my feet betrayed me. Five seconds later I was cutting through the
throngs of people, disappearing amongst the crowd like a ghost. I had
become one of them again - a person I mean - and it was time to rejoin
them. Something in me demanded it.
    By natural reaction, I sped toward the European departure gates.
    Even so far away, I felt Evan's stare burrowing into my back, the
maelstrom of confusion up in his head so strong that even I sensed it. He
wanted to express something, some thought, but words seemed so inadequate
and useless. He wanted to expose his heart or at least offer a humble
apology. He wanted a clean slate with me, as if I was the only person to
ever matter in his life.
    However, he need not say it: I knew... at least, I knew what he felt.
    Why he wanted to have those things I hadn't the foggiest, but I knew
how the words died in his throat, forever languishing in the unsaid. I knew
how the combination of thought filtered through sounds seemed
inappropriate, how they resonated so lamely while his heart pounded with
ferocious strength.
    I only knew too well.
    I never was the wordsmith.
    So, I settled upon a small "smile and wave;" he settled upon a look
between mystified and relieved. It was perfect, beautiful, perfectly
beautiful. No words, no ambiguities, just a set of simple actions.
    Funny how a smile was worth a thousand good-byes, a million apologies 
and a billion words.
    As the plane quietly rumbled to life, I caught a brief glimpse of the
Senshi charging onto the runway. Too late though - they didn't know where I
was and I wasn't about to tell them.
    Clean break, right? That meant no more going back and crying to
anybody. That meant I was alone in this world with no kindred spirit.
    And damn it, I felt good. I felt good to be amongst mere mortals again
even if I wasn't truly one of them; and really, I didn't think my status as
a former Senshi made any difference.
    Besides, wasn't my center of being hinged on what I believed and what
others believed of me? My slate wiped clean, my heart reborn - I didn't
have a soul to tamper with just yet: no knew of me, not even myself.
    Now began my redefinition, my second shot at life.
    Now began my happiness, happiness I would find based on what I thought
to be true.
    Now I could truly be called a dreamer, a dreamer of not only a better
today but also a better tomorrow.
    Now I will claim my soul, the soul I was never privileged to have.
    I thought I'll earn it.

    But past and future collided.

    My mind cleared; the previously unnoticed fog in my eyes lifted.
    I saw a gloved hand on my shoulder; my lips parted enough to whisper
one word.

                              "Setsuna."
                           Eyes of the Past
                                Dead.








**************
Author's Notes
**************

    Strange, no? Please stay tuned for one more chapter and the epilogue
where some of your questions will be answered...
    My sincerest thank you to those fans who stuck by me through the good
times and bad. This series has been taxing on my work riddled mind; your
patience and encouragement are what keep me going. I have yet to discover
the appropriate words to express my gratitude, but when I do, you will all
hear from me.
    Till next time. I hope you've at least enjoyed this experimental foray.

-Don.
3/10/01