Reflections of an Angel

by Sarah Angel August 18th 2009, 8:36 am

Reflections

Darkness, darkness. Deep and suffocating beneath a wispy veneer of dwindling sunshine. Into this ichorous nothing drifts a very human profile, faded and wan, shimmering and rippling as pale light glances from the reflective facade. As the vision grows accustomed to the view, features can be better discerned; soft blue eyes framed by loose blonde hair. Expressive lips flanked by full cheeks, dimpled with the tears and laughter of a lifetime. A once delicate nose, snapped and healed so many times over...

The mirror image of an imperfect beauty.

Suddenly the picture is shattered by calloused fingers. Distorted, that face, bucking and twisting with the very canvas as hands lift to peel away the dense layers. Ensconced shadows fall away, surging yet deeper from the cool air above. A hundred thousand particles tumble in glittering droplets, all but destroying the rapidly departing vision. The silence once so still has been broken.

A mortal gasp echoes about the valley, scattering over the buoyant waters to rebound from the steep foothills. At the mouth of the small lake, a wandering jewel rises to her feet, chill, clear liquid streaming from her hair. Refreshed, awakened, Sarah Angel smiles as she surveys the peaceful landscape.

It is a beautiful evening. The sun dips low on the horizon, sharing the last of its glow as slowly the day's duties come to a close. No unnatural noise threatens the mood, and Sarah stands surrounded by wilderness for miles on each side. Edmonton beckons on the morrow, but she has vowed that those two crucial days be approached with a clear head. She stands at the verge of a new beginning. It is in these times that the mind falls most prone to distraction, to thoughts that disrupt the purest intentions.

Emptiness alone will not suffice, however. She travels alone not to share the silence, rather to turn form to function. Consolidation of thought is a crucial process to the young woman; and one best actioned in an environment that provides no anxious pitfalls. Here, only the base instincts guide her step, leaving every other faculty free to contend with the issues at hand.

With a heaved sigh as she shoulders her pack, Sarah resumes the passage of foot, and thought.

Time turns back...

***********

Another face shines in the mirror. Where golden locks framed soft eyes, now lie darker fronds. The flesh is subtly less marred, the central bridge a step closer to the extreme perfection of youth.

Memory awakens in a flash. With a scream.

"I'm sick of this! I've had enough!"

Whirling from the mirror, the younger Sarah comes face to face with her mentor. Physically scant altered by time, his stance and demeanor spin an alternative tale. His mouth stands set in a disapproving scowl, eyes dark and horribly emotionless.

"(Is there a problem here?)"

The girl does not recoil, her own lips tearing a cruel hole in her face as she incites further wrath with a rageful hiss. A hand lifts and tightens, pale knuckles waving forth in a measure of threat. She speaks in limited Japanese, but her anger carries clearly enough.

"(Big problem, old man. Very big problem. I am not happy! You know why!)"

"(You are unhappy because you have lost? The business demands it. You are not yet ready to win.)"

"(When am I ready? Tell me what to do. Why does this happen?)"

"(Had the pheasant not screamed, it would not have been shot. You persist in acting like an undeserving fool, and therefore I treat you like one.)"

As the last sentence is delivered, Sarah's jaw clamps firmly down. Her teeth grind against one another as her fist continues to twitch in the air. The frenetic pace of her heart drowns out all bar the anger, the frustration boiling her blood. Memory halts; time seems to stand still.

And then, the action is resumed with a horrific wrenching sensation. A booted foot comes down upon the unyielding floor, an embittered scream careers from spittle-flecked lips... and is abruptly cut off as a harsh and unforgiving hand strikes like thunder. The blow is not hard, the kind of dismissive slap reserved for a disobedient child. But to Sarah, it rings louder than the most potent cannon's blast. Her cheeks explode a violent scarlet, mouth twisting to a disgusted rictus as she casts aside the urge to hesitate. With hell's fury she throws her body into a huge counter maneuver. Her clenched fist acts at last, and she shudders with the sheer effort of the blow.

The action pauses once more, but this no failure of memory - nor an unwillingness to recall. The old judoka catches the young hellion's blow with a soft grunt, age worn digits closing with catlike speed. And the power of a lion. A single twist of his wrist and the girl's knees buckle. Hamaguchi leans back, chin raised, jaw set, and speaks with barely bridled scorn.

"(I invited you here to train with me because I saw something in you. Inside your heart. A spark that might become a flame. Continue to act in this way and that blaze will be extinguished before it can begin. You disappoint me, Sarah Angel. You have much to learn.)"

With another twist of the wrist, drawing an agonized hiss from his rebellious ward, the legendary warrior turns and walks away. Not a soul observes the scene, though it seems to Sarah that the eyes of the world are upon her as she numbly crumples to the hard wood below, clutching her arm in shock more than mere pain. She is pale, drawn, and shaking; but it is nothing on how she feels inside.

***********

"Sick..." she recalls, addressing the wilds in the most distant and transfixed of tones, gaze sweeping the burning horizon as she reaches the sloping crest of a hill.

"I poisoned myself with ambition."

Overhead wheels the silhouette of a magnificent avian, fine-forged wingtips spread as it seizes upon an updraft and soars free and bold. Soft eyes flicker as they scan for the source of that shrieking call. A hand shields the forehead as Sarah sways toward the ebbing light, a smile coming to her lips without bidding. Her chest shudders as she breathes deep. The sight is beautiful indeed, one to inspire even the most cynical of souls. But would it once have inspired her? Memories are easily tinted or tainted, so much changing in the passage of time.

The greatest quandary of them all; that she has assuredly always been the same person.

And yet, if all things change...

(Continued Below...)

by Sarah Angel August 18th 2009, 8:37 am

(Continued from above...)

***********

Sarah lies upon her back, staring into the ceiling. She can see herself, soft leather of the couch framing features that appear too tired to belong to her; so weary, so unlike she feels. Or wants to feel. Beside her, a figure of whom only the head, shoulders and arms are visible. But no face. She has never met this man before, and yet he touches her in the most intimate of ways.

She cringes, drawing in a sharp breath.

"(Sorry, Miss Angel.)"

"(Don't worry about it. What have you found?)"

The man steps away as Sarah turns her gaze from the high mounted mirror, to his face. He has one of those ageless visages, part of a being who has seen too much pain, too much horror, too young. Every word he speaks is delivered with the utmost care, cautiously gracious even by oriental standards. He lowers rimless lenses, propping them upon the edge of his nose, and delivers a smile that never touches the eyes.

"(I'm afraid you will be incapable of competing for some time.)"

"(How long?)"

"(I am unable to ascertain immediately. You will need to come here each week for re-assessment.)"

"(I see... thank you, doctor.)"

Time enters a misty haze, actions blurring and fading as they become predictable, meaningless, and irrelevant. A slow heart's beat passes, and Sarah stands in another brightly lit chamber, this one framed in sparse displays of opulence. Her stance is awkward, as she carries one half of her weight upon a steadily planted crutch. Mr. Hamaguchi stands before her once again. They are conversing, but the sound is oddly muted for several seconds. They laugh and smile, then noise resumes.

"(Mr. Hamaguchi, I want you to do me a favor.)"

"(Anything. You must only ask.)"

Sarah nods slowly, watching her mentor's face carefully. And with love. His expression is more legible than it was, guard lowered without regret as he stands in the presence of a valued student, and friend. The memory is strong now, bright and clear. The woman draws breath before making her request; an important one, pivotal to the future as it now stands.

"(When I come back from injury, however long it takes; two weeks or six months, I want to start over.)"

"(Start over?)" He appears confused, head canting to one side, a frown at his brow. His pupil only grows more confident, delivering another, firmer nod as she draws her shoulders up. Proud, unbroken and unbreakable.

"(Yes. When I return, I want to lose again. I want to work my way back up from the bottom.)"

The news bothers the old man further. The wrinkles in his forehead score deeper, and darker.

"(But you have fans now, Sarah. We cannot afford to disappoint them.)"

His protest does not buckle the injured woman. She does not flinch. But she does smile, all feeling coming to the fore in a rush of emotion, her eyes shining not with tears; but with great passion.

"(They won't be disappointed, because I plan to take to take them with me. I want them to feel what it's like for me, for all of us, to know what we go through. They'll see my frustration when I lose, and they'll feel it. When I win again, if I manage to take back that title, they'll experience that joy. I think it could bring them closer; to me, of course, but to the business as well. To what we do.)"

"(There is risk, of course. You could lose everything you've worked for.)"

"(Yes. I wish to take that risk. You gave me an opportunity years ago, and you allowed me to keep it even when I failed. Without your support and understanding I never would have flown so high. I-)"

"(You wish to fly without my support.)" The interruption is seamless, accompanied by a small, warm smile. Eyes gleam like black diamonds, imbued with the man's enlightened soul. "(You've changed, Sarah.)"

Her throat tenses as she swallows a lump, and quickly bows her head. Grateful, humble, but self-aware.

"(I know.)"

"(I'm proud of you.)"

"(I'd like to make you even prouder, someday. Perhaps that's my true motive, Mr. Hamaguchi. I want us to start again, too, without any conflict. No arguments, no trouble. I want to know what it's like not only to take that journey with the fans, but with you. From the bottom to the top.)"

Her speech draws a whispered laugh from he, gently humorous yet deeply impassioned.

"(It will be a fine journey.)" His enunciation is barely audible. All the more powerful for it.

"(I know.)" She mirrors him perfectly, the two syllables falling into place with surprising weight.

The memory becomes a miniscule snapshot, the scope of the scene vanishing along with the two figures. Two hands, one youthful and powerful, the other bearing a more subtle dynamic, and scores of lines. They meet, fingers open, and close on one another. The grip is tight, even shuddering for an instant before it becomes firm. Unbroken and unbreakable.

Time rushes forward.

***********

Sarah is forced to stay her journey, slipping from the clutter-strewn trail to seat herself upon a sturdy boulder with desperate immediacy. She gasps for breath, looking toward the skyline as though searching for an answer within her soul. Only then does she become aware of the first gleam of stars, a handful of twinkling pinpricks lying pallid above a shrunken line of blazing colours. Night is coming.

For some, it is a time of solitude. Others, melancholy, or outright misery. But if the soul's light can remain strong, the darkness is merely a reminder. Of what might have been; of what may come to pass should the way be lost. A well-honed spirit carries its own shine, one dimmed only when the bearer becomes emburdened by thoughts and emotions unchecked.

As she recovers her breath and rises to her feet, Sarah starts to pick her way up the hillside once more, feet sliding and scattering through the very natural obstacle course. It is as to nothing. Compared to the past, and compared to the future that awaits.

Upon reaching this last crest, the woman feels the last of her concerns pass. Tomorrow she carries her light toward the hearts of a few others, in the next day she spreads it across the nation. The task would be daunting, were it not her everything; scale is a small part of the equation. A hill becomes a mountain when it rises high enough. Climb enough hills, and one is ready for the mountain. Climb enough mountains...

As she reaches the road and begins the trek toward this night's home, Sarah Angel sees herself one last time, a shadow across the form of the rising moon as vision and memory blur into one. Against that form - nature's own crystal ball - she stands triumphant, but nearly overwhelmed by the same. The tears in her eyes reflect in the stars; the same stars as hung over Tokyo that night, but where that was an ending, this is the beginning.

After the night, the rosy fingers of dawn will drift forth, comforting and warm.

Then, the victorious blaze of the sun.

It is coming, and she is ready

Reflections of an Angel

Reflections of an Angel

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