A/N: Definitely to be edited and added as a chapter to my fic "Life is Perfect". I was just insanely inspired by beauty that I was compelled to put my feelings, my thoughts, everything on paper. Forgive me, dear readers, If one seems so garrulous right now. I simply...cannot fully express the overpowering emotion within me. Do watch out for the edited version of this.
Let us imagine this: the world is black and white. The scenes are black white. Imagine a silent film.
In the beginning, there was nothing.
But she could feel, hear, think, and see beyond the realm that angels dare not thread, past the clouds that are grey with dread, and through the universe which is merely a colossal fireworks display whose sparks and radiances live on for centuries and centuries that come and go like black and white strangers crossing the streets, that there was something more- much more than the nothing.
For what was the nothing after all? Nothing cannot be anything.
Her room is dim, as the shadows of the furnitures and the dark capes of the somber cracked walls that surround her fall on the wooden floors. It is quiet and the only sound that reverberates through the still air is a buzzing hymn, like the anthem of bees or the repetitive electronic humming of zappy television screens. She sighs mutely while her fingers dance on the glazed, black surface of the table.
A bird chirps silently outside her window. She turns around to look at it. It is nothing – nothing at all. It a black robin with charcoal eyes and with feathers as dark as dead red roses. It is just like everything else.
She closes her eyes and concludes, with this thought of nothingness, with this concept and desire to reach the sublime yet mysterious beauty that she speculates to lie beneath the droning pavements that sing with the voices of a million cars and whistle to the tune of the footsteps of nameless crowds, with a flick of hair and a teaspoon of black coffee, that nothing will happen if she continues to do nothing.
She stands up, and slowly, like a million threads of fine silk dyed to perfection with the darkest shade of black, her hair falls upon her white shoulders; hiding her back from the malice of the mortal world. A rat scampers towards the dark hole on the wall. She watches it with eyes keen and dark with curiosity, like the shadows of the moon upon a snowy field.
She puts on her leather jacket. It is dark like a bleeding wound; changing flows and dripping dark blood with her every movement. Her footsteps are heavy but silent. The wind wipes thick streaks of ebony off of her face with hushed kisses like noiseless waves rolling over and cleansing white sands.
She opens the door and steps out from the darkness of the room and out! Out into the white morning light! Out into the world which was a lighter shade of gray! She walks, with steady steps into the streets where the cold, cruel pavement bit her feet, where the idle crowds of faces were swept away by a million more of their own kind, and each building was a shade or a million shades of gray all at once. The cars were polished steels zooming back and forth through sturdy, unfeeling, stygian rivers.
She pauses underneath a brick wall and stares at the election posters plastered all over the burnt gray barricade.
Black and white faces in monochrome pin stripe suits.
Crowds gather behind her. She turns around and stares at a million shades of gray. She is stunned by their presence.
The universe runs still on the pendulum of her wrist watch.
A car shrieks quietly as it runs past the street
A heart refuses to beat on the asphalt street
While dark liquid seeps
F r e e
From cranium cracks and broken flesh,
Punctured by fiber glass
The crowds turn around and skip on their feet, while she, a damsel fleeing from the world, flowing with leather laces and hair of dark silk, crosses the street while shadows of birds and bricks dance on her feet like ruins on a white nightfall.
Where she lives,
Where angels dare not thread
There is no color,
There is merely
and silent like death
She is running across fields of grey like a snow crystal lost in the warm embrace of tremulous summer winds. She needs to get away from it- from the nothing. NOTHING! She is running away from nothing.
An old woman cackles mutely while children zigzag merrily on the pavements which are dusty and glowing with chalk dust. Death hangs upon the air, stiller than stars. She walks past them. They leap awkwardly. Uncanny long-legged beasts. They sang about nonsense and quoted lines that they could not even comprehend.
Puny. How tiny it is:
That white flower petal clinging to her hair. She picks it off with her pliant, candle like fingers and blows it away with a kiss. The children follow it; drooling like babes.
Soon it disappears into the air, like a balloon popping into oblivion. It is no longer a petal. It is nothing. NOTHING! She puts her hands in her pants' pockets and walks away.
Fearful, she is,
Of losing that something which she was in search of.
She know the world would take it away, if she gave him half the chance.
The parking lot is empty. Her fingers dance on her motorcycle's smooth body. She opens her mouth and words of endearment escape her lips without a sound. She clutches the glazed, silver, bars with moist hands. She licks her lips. They taste bland. She twists the bars, steps on the clutch. Her engines start with Transylvanian fog. She closes her eyes as the area grows misty with machine breath. Gears turn, fuel rushes towards the engine like thick magma flowing towards the core.
And with a breath of fire, the earth turns and she trades peace for freedom.
She is a loose animal. A creature built for speed. 'Born to be wild'. Yes, much fucking better. She passes the houses, the buildings; they all tremble before her – catacombs for the living. She snarls and licks the air with her moist tongue. She passes each shade of grey, each shade of black, each shade of white.
She zooms through familiar black and white surroundings; Fields of grey, thick with black, bitter strawberries and humorless planters whose backs were bent toothpicks; frigidly plucking the unbeating, black hearts away from unbleeding veins. She stops to look at them.
An old man approaches her. He hands her a strawberry. She takes it, bows, and leaves. She rides off with the wind and he goes back to his field of black hearts and grey veins to sits, sit, sit, and pluck, pluck, plucks, while her wheels glide through spiral highways.
She suckles the strawberry in her mouth. Her shadow is long in the setting sun and it follows her as capes of silk adorn the trails of medieval knights. She smiles while the world takes a turn from bitter to sweet in her mouth. Her tongue turns slippery with nectar and juice. This how life should taste like: sweet and fresh.
The tiny, black heart bleeds in her mouth.
She was Percival, riding across barren fields of somber, dying barley and dried cement, questing for the Holy Grail through dungeons, through the valley of the shadow of death, through fortresses and strongholds built to withstand Armageddons. Through nothing – NOTHING.
She chokes on the tiny heart in her throat and spits the juices out with a hiss and a curse.
Freedom. The life of the lone wolf. It is all nothing – NOTHING!
Black shadows marching through deserts of asphalt and powdered wood.
She opens her eyes. She is in the city of lights and shadows again: the realm where angels dare not thread. Grey skies stare down at her with fierce, blinding white rage. Clouds hang above her; thick with their desire to explode, like coagulated supernovas within the Earth's atmosphere.
She had fallen asleep underneath a Peach tree, she concludes with a yawn. Her bike – her pride. An embodiment of mortal fortune and prestige. She notices that two men are looking at it from afar. They were hidden by the tall cream colored grasses that danced around her like Auschwitz survivors rejoicing over the Allies' victories. She could sense the jealousy in their faces, in their bulging eyes. She could read the quiet words from their fish lips. They are talking about her bike. They are envious. Her eyes became misty due to the colorless heat. She isn't shocked. She knew not everyone is as fortunate as her.
Fly eyed and fish lipped.
Doves fly above her. Her wristwatch beats like a heart.
The world revolves on the tip of her tongue.
Prestige. Fame. Fortune.
All of this! – she scoffs and gnashes her teeth – all of this is nothing!
She hears the caustic ticking of the world.
She gets up and runs towards the crowds that salute her with jester smiles and welcoming chants! We are one, we are one underneath the grey sky! We are one, we are many, we are one!
They swoon and churn through the dying light of the day like suicidal snails out to catch salt-flakes. Up above, the clouds seemed to crumble into snow.
There has to be something. Something. Something more than the nothing.
The world was no game of chess
Or was it?
Eat or be eaten
Pick a side: Black or White.
There is no other color but the absence of color.
She stops in front of an antique shop and stares at the devil from the tall China mirror. She peers into her fishpond eyes. The world inverts within her eyes. But she sees something from within the scorched ember. Her mouth hangs open in shock. It is what she had been searching for all along!
She chases the grail.
And God says: Let there be light.
And the sun topples from his throne.
The crowds snore in their awakening. They begin to shed their skins; peeling off the grey, exposing the marrow which was light congested into phallic shapes. She watches in horror and screams silently while light consumes heaven and shadow consumes the earth. White begins to blend with black and grey rises from the colossus in the middle of the city.
She runs away from it all. Everything is being turned into nothing –NOTHING!
She will not be nothing. She must find it, she must find that something! She must grasp it in her hands and take it! Take it before the world is turned completely into a humongous yin and yang – black and white! Light and shade! Nothing more and nothing less! perfect and imperfect – without life, without chaos! Free of ugliness but also free of beauty! And she weeps, as the women of Jerusalem did for Jesus, she weeps as she runs from street to street while seraphs laugh at her and demons tug at her shoe strings. Where was it? where was it?
She falls on her knees, and feeling defeat with every intake of hot breath, she sits. She decides that if she were to be consumed by nothingness, she would disappear honorably. So she sits there, while black collides with white behind her and the winter kissed trees disappear with feverish silver hue. But it is quiet.
This is how the world ends, neither with bang!
nor with whimper,
But with a solemn, civil, silence, made for worlds in passing.
She would disappear honorably. But then again, Natsuki, think again, think again!
Why sit there, Natsuki? Forever dead in that black and white film; grained with life and death.
with eyes set
dead on white, brooding over nothing and that you could've done something.
Why sit there, Natsuki?
So pale and beautiful with nothing but honor.
Why sit there, an image of the splendor of nothingness – nothing more. Without a future.
She looks behind, and sees that the grail was there – moving moving
moving towards the big, the black, the white, the gray, the nothing!
And she runs towards it, towards the center of the black hole, towards the clashing titans, towards the scorching white embers, towards the Holy Grail!
Arise! Percival! Draw forth your sword and free this land from nothing.
And the grail was there –
merely a heart beat ----------------------away!
A breath ------------------- apart,
a step ----- apart!
She screeches to a halt. The grail is there -standing beautifully before her.
The creation of nothing and the destruction of everything ceases to a halt behind them.
Exit God and Seraphs.
Exit, devils and sinners.
The grail's hair dances in the wind.
She is impenetrable.
She is divine.
Natsuki opens her mouth and mutters incomprehensible words. The grail consumes her words like fire to water, and the slowly opens her eyes to reveal a rosebuds encased within crystal pupils that saw the world in a hundred shades of pink.
They hold hands. And the blood-red rose buds
Natsuki smiles. Her white face slowly shimmers with a healthy, fleshy hue. Her lips are smiling and pinkish. Her eyes are seas, turned green by the blending of yellow light over blue depths. Deep, mysterious jades. The broken street light flickers with yellow light.
Natsuki opens her mouth.
"Are you alone?" Her voice is shaky.
The grail – Shizuru – smiles.
"Not anymore.", the Grail replies and leans on her shoulder like Venus on a pedestal.
With a kiss, she concludes, that she finally found something. No longer will the world be monochrome and she was no longer color blind.
Finally, there was a drop of crimson in her world of black and white.
And slowly, the world takes a turn from grayscale to a spectacle of colors.