April Rain

[06.12.00] » by Kate Lorraine

To Mags and Xedi.

Page - http://hometown.aol.com/rinoaheartillyy/

The rain came gently on the windows like transparent needles. In docile parallel, the tears came into my vision. Two forms of fluid following each other in consent. Their sources however, diverged like a hyperbola, infinitely racing further from the axis which was he who could not speak his name.

I used to love the musky perfume of the rain that wafted into that dark cavity in my heart. It nuzzled against the walls of my loneliness and embraced the withering soul that still lingered unwillingly behind. But when the rain stopped, the old grief would return leaving me insatiably hungering for yet another distraction, another chimera.

That was what you, Squall Leonhart, was to me, the scent of the spring rain. Like the sweet north wind, you filled me and made me whole. That hazy dreamy unity that came in that split second before sleep.

Now it made me wonder why, that when my world could not be more enticing, was also the very moment that you left it. And then since then, for me, the cosmos was without silence. You took that precious end away from and gave it to her.

You will never understand what darkness passed over my eyes when I saw her holding your hand. Disgust, like the most bitter bile, filled my lungs and swelled up my throat. It is not a girl's hand which you clasp, you hold a handful of maggots.

Oh that monger of men, vomiting affectionate lies, the Grendel out to destroy both kith and kin. Oh for shame upon shame, that wretched beast. She dragged my beloved's name through muck and infamy, torn from my sex any dignity we came to posses in this day and age and stole my faithful love. To me she is the weak sparrow, the devil's child, a mad sadist, pitiful wrench. She will always be the scum of our sex, the worst of her kind, and the slayer of her kin.

I see her hanging there always, on the last thread of life looking for you to save her. As she allowed the sorceress to possess her so that she would lure you into her vile despicable trap. Yet, you forgave her readily with a simple toss of her hair and a tap of her heel. What wretched spell has she cast over you Squall?

Yet I cannot accept that this must be. She stole not an object from my side, but a part of me, as dear as a limb or an organ. I cannot watch you make this mistake which I know to be wrong no matter how willing you are to try. Perhaps one day it will be your favorite blunder but I will be gone by then Squall. There will be no more of my way of life to salvage. I want you to see the truth and I desire it urgently.

The chance came one day in April. I saw you standing outside, training on the plains, standing with your face to the cloud capped mountains. The monster's blue blood squirted into the air as the life drained from him. You stood there, gunblade held stiffly at your side, like a warrior who had fought a dozen battles too many. Weary. You looked so weary, watching yet another passing, without emotion, without care.

The rain began to fall.

Yet you stood there without moving, like an object less than human, more than stone. Perhaps you were like me, a thing of shriveled up bone and skin and that dry decaying interior longs for the rain to moisten and animate it once more. However, that longing can no more be satisfied than my longing for your embrace. Water cannot revive that experience had taken away. They say that mother nature is the strongest force of all but even she cannot mend a boy's broken heart. When Ellone left she took your lifeblood with her. You are my fellow prisoner here beside me in Balamb, the dead city, a place without individuality, without effervesce. Even Rinoa could not tear you away from here, from your grave. The dead cannot rejoin the living, Squall, no matter how they may try.

We walk among the ranks of the living dead. Until the day comes when some mission actually cures us of this oxymoron and actually sends us to the netherworld, we can only draw in breath by breath, like a machine taught to perform an action habitually.

I ran outside then with an umbrella.

I came to a halt beside you and tried my best to shelter you from the rain. The streams cutting their way down your features were abruptly stopped as I stood here, in your proximity. You did not look at me but merely allowed your eyes to remain hidden under your dark hair.

"It's raining, Squall," I said breathlessly. "Come inside."

You did not answer because you did not hear me, never heard me.You and I, we live on two islands and the water between us are these fleeing words. Her words however, do not vanish, they sit here like a granite wall between us. I see you beyond that wall. I just wish there was some way for me to scale this obstacle, to go where you are and hold you in my arms, protecting you from her despicable actions. Oh how I despise her pompous attitude, her sadistic self pity and her weak damsel facade.

"Squall," I pleaded once more.

"Leave me alone." You finally said like I was a gadfly here to pester and prick you. I gave you shelter, Squall, from the storm, from Seifer, from loneliness, from failure. I spent my life giving you that boundless affection which only a lover could. I'm not your sister Squall, I lied. I love you as fiercely as any hot blooded woman. I spoke that little fib because I was a coward. I wanted to be close to you, just to be close to you even if that meant giving you to her. But not today. In the rain, in the ashen landscape here, my home, I believed again in you and me.

I kissed the tender edge of your lips, where the raindrops had resided. They hung onto my lips as I pulled back with my eyes closed. So this was the way it was, the product of so many lovely reveries, of devouring you with my eyes day in and day out. This tiny insignificant contact of my skin against yours, this was what so many love stories were written about. I did not want it to end. I wanted to believe that when I opened my eyes you would smile at me as you did upon her. You would take me by the waist and kiss me here in the storm I saw myself hurling the umbrella uncaringly into the air. In that vision I unclipped my hair and strolled through the silky mud, laughing with the promise of a future beautiful.

"Instructor Quistis." I heard you say and my heart sank. No, it was not just my heart. Everything within me fell to my feet. I was no more. My skin caved in and I died there, yet another metaphorical death.

"You don't love me?" I asked like a naive girl. I pondered my question under my breath for my ears only but you heard, and you answered.

"Quistis, I-"

"No!" I answered as I stepped back. "No, don't say it. Don't say anything at all."

And you did. You did what you did best. You said nothing. I could not stand it. You knew! I could hide it nevermore. I could never again pretend not to care. Because I have given you my heart and you have given me none in return. And so I ran, I turned and sprinted from you as fast my rage would take me. However, I fled in vain. The further I traveled, the further my heart was from me.

You Squall, you are like the April Rain, holding me in a spellbound silence. But now the rain was gone and although here I stand staring at the spring sky willing it stay, I know that it must go on. Only after the rain passes can there be sunshine. Only when the grieving storm dies can the clean undaunted sunlight break through. Perhaps, it will be better that way, one day maybe I too will see.

But now, now I shall mourn for the passing of the rain.