Author: Goldberry PM
Catherine's whimsical thoughts as she observes her audience. [vignette]Rated: Fiction K - English - Catherine B. & Trowa B./No-Name - Words: 612 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 5 - Published: 11-10-03 - id: 1595650
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. Not even close.
Author's Note: My first attempt at writing Catherine in 1st person. Wish me luck. ^_^
Dedication: To childhood memories.
All the world's a stage and the people, actors. Who said that anyway? Some graying old man watching his memories play themselves before his fading eyes probably. Well, whoever it was, he was right. In the rings I perform with dangerous whirls and twirls and the audience claps and cheers. Beyond the bright tents though, life cuts me as deep as my knives and out there no one laughs, not even me.
It's funny, isn't it? I think so, as I peek out at the crowded stands and see the dozens of happy people, laughing and joyful in this lonely corner of space. I can understand them for I have laughter now too, if in a different form than theirs. Mine's a bit more… well, reserved.
I turn my eyes to regard him as he shows off his acrobatic skills, flipping and dancing in midair. Ladies gasp in fear for him and children point excitedly, whispering of the clown's grace. For that moment, all else recedes from them and all that exists is the tingy background music and the quiet whoosh of air as Trowa spins on a edge and comes back to earth.
Within these rainbow walls lies the key to happiness.
My, how droll I've become.
But it's true, I say to myself and not without a hint of self-justification. Me and Trowa, we are in the business of making illusions, weaving dreams. Every girl and boy that leaves here will look back with fondness on the colorful times they had at the circus and remember better days of joy and lightness of heart. Doesn't everyone? Nostalgic daydreams are the gift of youth to the old.
Wow. I need to stop while I'm ahead. Too much introspective gabble will make me lose my focus. And we don't want that because I'm up next.
I step out into the lights, already playing for the crowd, a sultry smile on my face and a genuine spark in my eyes. I love this. I live for this. For this moment, those people see only me, hear only me. He sees only me. And it is enough.
I bow briefly before warming up with a few dagger tricks. Juggling them is especially popular, the arch of glittering steel flickering with cold blades through my hands. Trowa stands at the corner of my eyesight, watching impassively though I know he would leap to my side if I managed to hurt myself. It's comforting, really, the knowledge that he would come to me if I needed it. So much about him is hidden from me but that, at least, is not.
Ah, those playful images that stay tucked inside of us, painted with rosy hues. They are not for everyone, perhaps not even for me, but I desire them. Yes, I do, but not for myself.
For him, who has never had a childhood.
I've promised him that we will make new memories, happy ones that he can recall in old age and perhaps laugh at our foolishness. (You actually threw knives at me?!) I know it won't be easy, but what would be the point of trying if it was?
Now is the time for song and dance and the tinkling of summer bells.
Alright, Catherine, it's time to stop reading those romance novels.
Now is the time to live.