[Ficlets/Drabbles]
Confession of an Animal Companion
Series: Eyeshield 21
Character: Keroberos
Word count: 200
* * *
He hasn’t known it yet, but I have. Evil as he naturally is, the boy is still humanoid and he doesn’t have my keen senses. Plus, he’s smitten therefore senseless.
Him. Should’ve known that he’d fall into the trap. One look, one fight, one stare. Hook, line, and sinker.
His mother is a strong woman. The girl too. You know what that Freud said and you know where this is going. It’s simpler than math. Take a boy, add a girl, and wham. Can smell it hundreds of miles away (from earth surface, that is). All that pleasant gunpowder residue cannot hide it, the way they move betrays it, and don’t get me started on the crossfire of glances they’ve been exchanging for the past three months.
In short, he is domesticated.
What should I tell his father?
I knew it was a bad idea coming up to the surface for education. We have perfectly good schools down there, but no. Experience is a good thing, dog. Consider it a vacation.
I miss my old post.
Guarding the doorway to hell is much more pleasant than being a chaperone to evil in love.
At least there I can eat people.
Assumptions
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Characters: Zuko x Katara
Word count: 100
* * *
She thought she had it bad. She thought hostility has only one face. She thought it wasn’t possible for parents to turn against their children.
Well, assumptions are made to be broken.
Hers come crashing down when the firebender bends his way and opens the scarred reality onto her face. See it, feel it, taste it. She obeys and another assumption is mutilated. She thought she would never have compassion for him. Ah, mistaken again. It seems she’s destined to always guess around him.
He presents the answers, but nothing more, she assumes.
And doesn’t mind being proven completely wrong.
Magick
Series: One Piece
Character: Zoro x Nami
Word count: 200
* * *
There is sand in his mouth, seawater in his eyes, and shark teeth deep inside his abdomen. He is not in mortal peril. He is just watching the exchange in front of him. He wonders if she really likes the white meringue or she’s just pretending to please the chef. The teeth dig deeper when she smiles. The organ that bleeds is strangely higher. Oh, he has his answer.
She predicts the wind and tells the chef to raise the sail. Love-struck obeys immediately, a typhoon of love. He, on the other hand, stands up lazily and makes a move to leave his spot. Wait, she calls out to him. Sit with me.
The sand in his mouth pours out and he can only dryly say, Okay.
He takes his place in front of her as if he is a guest at her royal tea party. There are no white rabbits. The meringue is untouched. The queen of hearts is smiling at him. He blinks and the seawater becomes salt. Enchantment. He’s heard of people who can see nothing but what magic wants them to see. He thinks he’s one of them.
She is still smiling.
And the meringue untouched.
Idol Worship
Series: Hanakimi
Characters: Nakatsu x Kayashima
Word count: 250
* * *
The ghost of his youth is everywhere. Nakatsu is a hero, he is larger than life, he is, in the eyes of hopefuls, a goal. Big billboard smiling white lies of sport advertisement. Screens screaming his names, which is synonymous with a black-and-white ball. He keeps his blond hair, cut short now, and inspires the revival of bleached top. The buildings, the windows, and the people make him theirs. Cities embrace and make him a part of their metropolitan, constantly changing poses and faces.
Sometimes Kayashima thinks he minds; sometimes he walks pass it all without noticing. Then he feels a vibration in his pocket and picks the phone up. The voice on the other end asks, Have you seen it?
He looks up and squints his eyes at a tall glass building. There, newest of the worship campaign, the hero’s most famous shot immortalized on a ridiculously large white banner, hanging down and covering half of the building. The kanji of his name is boldly printed, offering support to a pair of new Nike’s. Kayashima wonders from where the office workers will get their sun. Bad aura business, that.
Yes, he says. Looking at it.
The voice loves his answer and starts excitedly. We’ll celebrate, it promises.
The hero, as Kayashima thinks of him during daylight and busy hours, will want an adoring smile. The lover, however, requires his usual stoically honest opinion.
He decides to tell him what he really thinks.
Really.
They should’ve used a bigger banner.
Lovefool
Series: Bleach
Character: Ganju x Hana
Word count: 100
* * *
Everybody who has seen the latest decoration of the Shiba’s residence can deduce that Ganju’s in love. Hearts are everywhere-in pink, red, lavender, and vermillion, straight from a novice Valentine card designer’s imagination-as if they don’t want to be missed. Really, it’s kind of hard not to notice. And the horrid display has been there for two months. It’s a miracle that his sister lets him go on with it for so long.
Then one day the hearts are gone, only to be replaced by teddy bears and baby paraphernalia.
Now they wonder who the poor soul is.
Hunger
Series: Yakitate!! Japan
Characters: Kawachi x Azuma
Word count: 100
* * *
It started with the same obsession, which turned into ambition. They call it bread. Then it gradually grew into the same company, the same store, and the same friends. Almost immediately they had to share a room. Their lives were similar from that point on. Compete, cry, bleed. Rinse, lather, repeat.
Somewhere along the way, they began to long for a taste.
It took a while before they graduated into the same bed. By that time, they were insatiable. One complimented each other, one lost without the other half. It was the most natural thing in the world.
Hunger is.
Peculiar Habit
Series: Fredwardshi no Ahiru
Characters: Kevin, Gloria, Max
Word count: 350
* * *
When they are much older, the couple develops a peculiar habit. It is one Sunday morning when Father Max, old acquaintance who is actually younger, thus wary of being called Father, speaks out loud of his observation on the matter.
“This is the third time this week.”
The man of the pair smiles. He pats his old friend’s hand. “Is there anything else we ought to do?”
“Adopt a kitten? Go to church?” Father Max tries and belatedly realizes that he’s skipping his own Sunday mass. “Hold a knitting contest?”
“She hates knitting.”
“You like cats, don’t you?”
The woman laughs, her throaty rumble echoes in the otherwise empty cemetery ground. “This is better, Father.”
“I find your definition of better questionable, Gloria.”
“He needs company,” she states simply, brushing snowflakes off the stone.
Father Max hates it when his friend has that kind of expression on her face-the kind that expects to talk to her son very, very soon, except that Nick Jr. had been dead for almost thirty five years.
“We are old,” her husband says. Lately the novelist is short of words.
“Not that old, Kevin.” God forbid, ponders Father Max. Hinting about the big D, is he? Death, Demise, Doom, De End, what have you.
“Don’t fret, dear Max,” Gloria says, holding his cheeks with cool fingers. “Our time is not limitless.”
He places a fine scowl on his face, asking, “Who is supposedly the wise man here?”
Kevin chuckles. His shock of silver hair flies with the winter wind. “Wise man or not, I’m sure you are prophetic.”
Father Max is intrigued. Kind, benevolent, smart, and other compliments he has received, but prophetic? Why, it’s just a step away from saintly!
“Go on,” he urges.
“You keep two spaces vacant beside his place,” Kevin points.
That silences Father Max. Slowly he turns away from the couple and begins walking back to his small, warm church. Waving his hand, he tells his friends to lock the gate when they’re done.
Two spaces, hah!
Really, he has no explanation for that.
It’s just a peculiar habit.
The Black Swan Dance
Series: Swan
Characters: Aoi x Mari
Word count: 100
* * *
Things that never were or will be. You and me; we fit together like an intertwined twin strings on stage. Fire from your skin against mine underneath the bright blue lighting, and my arms hold your legs along, feeling, raking, creating a shiver up your spine and jolt at the base of your neck. My fingers in your hair, my lips on your ear, and a twist, you spun out from me, cold, I wonder, and am warm again when choreography takes mercy. Ninety degrees of limbs and I follow. Step, jump, and we fly. At that moment, we, immortal.