Shoujo Kakumei Utena : Daybreak
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Sleep is such a strange thing; the leap into oblivion and back, the line
in between almost imperceptible.  When I finally open my eyes it feels
like the very first time... like the beginning of the world.

Far, far above the stars are dying, consumed by the lightening sky of
the coming day.  A chill wind sighs through the treetops, glassine
leaves rustling like a thousand hushed voices, driving clammy tendrils
of mist across the ground.

I force myself to stand, my body stiffening in protest; the earth is
hard, barren and cold.  No flowers will ever grow in this forest.

Still numb from the cold, I make my way slowly back towards the path I
have walked so many, many times before.  The trees seem almost to shift
before me, leaving a myriad of tiny paths leading deeper into the
darkness.

Perhaps I never truly knew this place at all.

At last, though, I find the familiar, well-worn stones beneath my feet.
Almost without realising it I begin to walk, the rounded cobblestones
seeming unerringly to fit the pattern of my footsteps.  It is perhaps a
minute before I finally stop, awareness returning with a chill that
pierces my heart.

The line is crossed.

Before me the shattered base of the stairway rises steeply into the air,
clawing at the sky like the macabre ruin of an arm thrust forth from the
grave.

And I long for oblivion to save me.  Because I remember.

Because I remember every word I said, every fleeting thought, every last
terrible moment of what I did to you...

...the touch of your hand...

...and the words I never said.

And I scream.  I scream until I can barely breathe, until I have no
tears left to cry and my throat burns raw.  I scream because there are
no words, because every endless moment of loss and pain and rage and
hatred and bitter, aching regret is the purest, most terrible freedom.


I finally come to myself once more huddled on my knees, the tattered
rags of my dress stained with tears.  Through burning eyes I make out
something lying on the path before me - the broken hilt of a sword, the
fragments of a rose crest still visible on the pommel.

I lift the fractured blade between my hands, beyond caring as a thin
rivulet of blood trickles darkly across the mirrored surface.  The first
rays of sunlight pour through the treetops, glinting from the jagged tip
as I lift it high above my head.


I swear I will find you.


For the revolution of the world.



                                        FIN