This is a one-shot for a sort of writing workshop I joined on another site. The assignment was to choose any Sailor Moon character and, in a SHORT piece, have them break a valuable vase and react to it.
The first character which came to mind was Michiru. She seemed too obvious to me, but I kept coming back to her, and at last accepted that it was fate. I think I tend to have a view of her, as a character, that differs from most. Enjoy...
Character: Kaioh Michiru
“Keep it up. Only keep it up.”
Despite intense pain in what seemed to be every muscle of my upper torso, I had kept up, had preserved. The thunderous applause swiftly following the conclusion implied nobody else had noticed the missed notes. Missed when searing pain inflicted from a near miss by a daimon mere hours ago meant I was unable to draw the string back quickly enough.
“You’re amazing,” they breathed. I smiled, laughed, blushed, and wondered why they hadn’t noticed.
Uninterested in listening to the flaws in others, I found myself wandering the near-deserted halls. Tinkling notes of a flute filled the air, but I was drawn to art in the far lonely corners of the music hall. One of my own. A nightmarish wall of water towering high above a darkened land. Always water. Always, always, always water.
A display set apart from the wall caught my eye. A pedestal standing alone along the walkway, lit by a light high above. There were multitudes about the hall. Some displaying small paintings, some statues; this one: a vase.
There had been a vase like it in my former home. White and gold, masterfully made. It was far too delicate to do anything but be admired. As was this one. It was one deserving of the “Do not touch” sign, and the tightened grip on youngsters when nearby. Probably worth a small fortune.
I didn’t realize I had reached for it until I felt its smoothness in my hands, the gentle curve of its base. I examined the swirling intricate details, so fine as to make me marvel over someone having spent so much energy in creating something so beautiful that its beauty was its one usefulness. I felt a small inward glee in the dulling of its fineness when removed from the overhead light.
Nobody heard the shatter over the piercing shriek of the flute’s closing note.
Drifting away to sleep that night, realization hit me– hard –as though momentarily knocking my breath away. Mind a whirlwind of similarities, possibilities, it should have been no small wonder my face remained a placid mask. Only I knew myself far too well to believe that.
Beneath the surface the waves rocked, lulled only by the mask born of a lifetime’s responsibilities. One thought returned again and again. Strange the way it instilled in me a glimmer of hope amongst an all-encompassing terror.
Was it an accident?
I would get no sleep that night, perhaps not the next. When I did sleep, I would dream of her, of a woman whose appearance coincided with the day my life both ended and, I recognized some time later, had begun afresh.
Was it an accident? In spite of being someone who always knows the answer, I knew myself too well to know this one.
As a side note, this may be an interesting exercise to try out here sometime...with a different setting.