apocalypticapparition-blog

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Aradia: find Bakura.

You sit on the edge of the roof of the apartment complex where you and your friends no reside. The apartment you rented was perfect for you. You preferred small spaces rather than wide ones, so that it seemed there weren't supposed to be more than one person living there. Big spaces made you long for companionship, it used to not bother you so much. You lived in an orphanage with several other girls, your mother dying when you were thirteen. You were lonely without her, you didn't like the other kids. You were never alone, though. Not in the literal or metaphorical meaning, either.

You sigh, no use in thinking such things. You had to get acting if you wanted to have her back. You slide down the ladder of the building and land on the ground below. You had a boy to find, before he got back home.

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American politics? More like, I'm glad I'm in Japan right now.

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You laugh "Yeah that works, you shouldn't have crushed his spirits like that though," she laughed harder. "Oh well, he seems out of practice though maybe we shouldn't get his help..." She walks away from her with her hand on her chin.

Aradia Emerge

You look at the duel from the sidelines, everything went according to plan—mostly. You didn’t want her to cause such a scene and be so dramatic, but that’s life you guess.

You step out from the shadows of the building and walk towards Roxy to talk about the recent developments.

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Aradia Emerge

You look at the duel from the sidelines, everything went according to plan--mostly. You didn't want her to cause such a scene and be so dramatic, but that's life you guess.

You step out from the shadows of the building and walk towards Roxy to talk about the recent developments.

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Lemon Blossom Girl

 My father used to take me to the Natural History and Science Museum, downtown, when I was six. That was where I first saw her.

I remember thinking what a pretty name for someone that was, the “Lemon Blossom Girl.” I have never been able to forget the time I laid eyes on the Lemon Blossom Girl, imprisoned in the tall glass case smudged with the fingerprints of all the other children who had come to stare at her. But she could not stare back.

She lay on the floor of a papier mache cave, curled around herself, her smooth head cradled and face hidden by tattered, crossed arms. I watched her for a long time, with my dad standing there, reading to me from the placard that described the way she became mummified.

Although I wasn’t able to put it to words at that age, I must have been asking myself why anyone would name her “the Lemon Blossom Girl.” This was a name for someone who skipped in fields of flowers in spring, laughing and playing; not this awful, trapped, parchment-skinned thing. The word I would have wanted at the time was “irony.”

I had the first nightmare a few days after our visit.

I was there in my bed, in the dark, when my eyes opened, somehow outside of my control. I couldn’t move anything except my eyes, but I couldn’t shut them. And I knew, with that knowledge one is given only in dreams, that she was here, in our house somewhere.

The Lemon Blossom Girl. She was no longer lying on her misshapen side in the museum behind glass. Or perhaps that’s how she was in the house, in that same position, curled up beneath the kitchen sink. I couldn’t see her in the dream, but I felt her presence. I knew that she was on the other side of the house, waiting for something, thinking bad thoughts with that smooth, yellowing head of hers. Thinking of me.

I woke up screaming. My mother came running in and comforted me, and my father must have been scolded for taking me to the part of the museum full of old, dead things. I had the same nightmare several times in the weeks to follow, but like all things, it eventually stopped and I was free to worry about whatever it is that six-year-olds worry about.

When I was twelve, my family moved to the East Coast, to Boston. My father had been transferred to a new position and given a raise, and since my mother wasn’t working at the time, moving was the sensible thing to do. I said a few awkward goodbyes to my friends; at that age, it doesn’t really dawn on you that you won’t be seeing them next summer, and chances are you won’t see them ever again.

But I made new friends easily enough. The grade school I went to in Boston was much more reputable than my old school, but I didn’t really notice, other than how we took a lot more field trips. Field trips were never about learning; they were about leaving the classroom and being able to talk to your friends in an environment where your teacher didn’t notice as easily. That’s exactly what happened when Mrs. Hafner took us to the Harvard Museum of Natural History.

I paid absolutely no attention to the droning tour guide, and continued to pay none until I heard a phrase I hadn’t heard in what for a boy of twelve was an eternity.

“Lemon Blossom Girl.”

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Went in for hummus, walked out with a new ghost-designed pillow. Well played, Target. (Taken with Instagram)

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WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?

I'm already there!!! Japan! It's neat here I'm so excited to see these people 0u0

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Moon