[Shiki] ; Silence
: Misaki Shiki
Comments: Blah, I can't be satisfied with this. I wrote it while sitting outside of Barnes & Noble a few weeks ago waiting for my brother to pick me up. I was there from 10am to 8pm, if I recall correctly... Now that was a long day of waiting. Still in Ohio, too. Hmm. Anyway, a little Shiki introspection drabble thingy. Comments & criticism are always welcome. I don't feel like I have enough of a handle on these characters yet.
Silence, Shiki thinks, is an ugly word. It puts her in a certain melancholy mood, for the word reminds her of other things--emptiness, loss, perhaps even a lack of something. Of sound, certainly, but also something more. Silence surrounds her, clings like smoke after a last cigarette, invading her clothes and fingers and hair. It follows her, whether or not she notices, and stranger's idle gazes in her direction remind her of it.
It prickles against her skin--skin that she can't even fully think of as "hers" even now-- as she is surrounded by people who chatter and laugh and giggle, who see through and around her. There is sound everywhere, but there is silence too, between each laugh, rumor and snide remarks about others who walk by. It is a lonely place, the middle of a crowd; lonelier than dinners spent alone. It is a special sort of silence here, and almost--almost, or entirely? She isn't certain at all--she prefers the silence of desolation.
But days pass quickly when you are conscious only part of them, and she finds herself thinking of silence less and less. Instead there are other words in her mind now; during those moments before he is by her side, she wonders when he will wake. She thinks of the next mission, or the mission past. She thinks of her life, which is not as painful now to recall, and friends. She thinks more and more of little things, too--like washing her own hair or how that last pair of pants she bought loosened ridiculously after washing, and began to sag down her hips. She finds little things to perfect on her kitty companion--loose thread here, tightening a button there--until she hears Neku's surly morning voice.
And by day six, silence no longer makes her nearly desperate for just the slightest bit of acknowledgement.