7seven7tools

Akito looks over at Kyo. He’s sitting alone as well. She opens her mouth to speak. “Cat: hated, despised, alone. Useless.” He stares back. Words are formed. “You are too.” She nods. “I guess so.” “Yeah.” “Well…” “Yes?” “I’ll see you in another life, when we are both cats.” “Yeah. See ya.” Her eyes dart awake. She doesn't want to take this subconscious message her mind conjures. She refuses to have a conscious. She refuses to be a “cat”. She is god. The day passes.

He stands at the edge of the rooftop, gazing down at the younger world. Memories pass by. Two smiles, a laugh. A silky red dress, soft to the touch. She trips, he catches, teases. You remember the words she says, embarrassed and blushing from her clumsiness. You remember him offering words of comfort. “It’s okay”, he said. The two of them oblivious, happy soft seduction. Leaning in for a kiss, and she’s torn away. A car turns the corner, and she is red. The dress is torn, and so is she. Her face is red, lipstick. Her hair is red, colored. But that’s not it…oh. You remember the blood registering. His eyes

She’s running, running towards me. I’m helpless, defenseless in this place. It’s filth, their filth is covering me. My eyes open, wide, wider still. Closer, closer she comes, gun in hand. How did it come to this? Millennia, and now this? Haven’t I become stronger in this time? No? Then They have, my creation. No longer needed to sustain them? No, that’s not true. I close my eyes. Snap shut. Take a moment to think.  I will not except my fate. My arms wrap around me, my wings shade me from the bullets. But I will not die. Does she know who I am? Do I know who I am? I peek eyes open. Her stern gaze hits me. Yes.

I sit alone at my drink. Fizzing clear liquid. Lemon slices. Pink straw with a fold-up pineapple on it. Ice crackles as it melts, so I turn to the window. People passing. People, and more people. Back to the drink. He’s waiting at home for me. I don’t have to be alone, I just choose to be. I have a pocketful of cash he’s given me. I could buy him a gift. No. I really don’t want to. I’m out of the house because I’m sick of him. Sick of his smiling face. Sick of his happy “Honey I’m home.” I’m sick and bored to death of this place, of this life, and yet I’m powerless to leave.

   Selling his car, he'd thought, would be a good way to move on. He needed the money, after all or so he reminded himself as he probed under the seats for spare change. The last place to check on the list was the glove compartment. As he struggled to get the little hatch open, he realized he'd never put gloves in there. In fact, he didn't think he'd put anything reminiscent of warming in there. Such an illogical name, he mused. A signature little click signaled the compartment's final opening. Scores of McDonald napkins tumbled out,brown and thin. Crumbled straws from god-knows-when and where were tangled in the mess. Sighing, he grabbed the

Kureno'd always been a silent type. He only used words he meant, words that were useful. Perhaps he'd learned this from his time with Akito, the younger cousin had so hold over him. He tries to search for the words, but he cannot. He's no Shigure, not the mastermind of novels. He falters, as she falls asleep in his arms. He powerless to  find the words he needs. He wished he could tell the sleepy girl he loves her. Shigure's not the gentle redhead. He grabs her by the hair, pulling her to his lips. She isn't in control of their relationship, no matter how she tries to be. Even as she'd kicked him from the main house, his smirk had haunted he