Hrm... yet another Sakaki monologue. Running down the same way as the other one... it's probably gonna have another couple of parts written to it, when I get around too it.
It rained once again, because it always rained in Tokiwa City. It was the city of rains, and the weatherman said that people should expect rain for many more days to come. Then the city of the green trees and beautiful flowers became the city of dark skies and thundering storms; there was nothing but darkness, and the black umbrellas. It was like a river of umbrellas that flowed down the streets, and every here and there was a pink umbrella, or a blue umbrella or a green one.
Tokiwa was monotonous.
One would think that the colloquium would be used to the rain by now; no, however, they seemed to bitch only worse about how wet it was and how the streets would be slippery and how the grass always seemed to grow longer and yet longer. And across the street, someone was listening to David Bowie up full blast, and the mother was yelling at the child to turn it down, but the child didn't hear.
We were standing, you and I, on the inside of the window, and we were looking out of it. The curtains were hanging down, parted just enough for us to look out, and you were watching but I could have cared less. I was remembering the past, and you were thinking of the future, because that was where we happened to be different. The rain kept pouring down, and the people kept bitching.
I was remembering what someone had told us, and you were thinking of what it meant.
We had been sitting there, small and young, on the edge of our chair. The man was smiling at as, sitting in the chair outside of your mother's office. He was tall and maybe forty years old, and his eyes were hard. Mother had left us sitting there for ages, because I called her mother too; and he had opted to keep an eye on us, and she had been thankful and returned to whatever she was doing. She didn't think that we knew, but she was wrong; we saw things that people wouldn't understand, wouldn't accept. They would reject it but not us, because we knew the truth behind the matter.
You chewed on a pen, and it broke and spread ink all over your lips.
"Life is trivial," he had said thoughtfully, "and there is no such thing as evil."
And then Mother had come, and he had turned and whispered in our ears: "There is only a colloquial view," and he had smiled and greeted Mother and she had went about whatever business he needed done and then picked us up, you and I, and took us away with her smiles and long, black hair in curls.
Then it stopped raining, and you turned and looked in the mirror and smiled at me.
I smiled back.
Changed the first sentance from the following:
(It rained once again, as it always seemed to do in Tokiwa City. Tokiwa City, they called it the City of Rains. The weatherman said to expect rain for many more days to come; and the city of greenery became the city of black, and the occasional pink, umbrellas, co-joined with their black and yellow and pink rain coats and rain hats and thick, rubber boots. It rained, and the rain was nice and warm, but everyone complained.)