Hung Juri
by Jon Carp
{jcarp@med.unc.edu}




     It was an exquisitely crafted hospital.  The rooms were not 
cold and white and barren; they were filled to the brim with shelves 
and knick-knacks and mirrors, and the walls and furniture were 
Victorian in design.  Someone had decided that aesthetics and beauty 
took precedence over clinical and medical value, and the place was 
designed accordingly.  Nevertheless, it was twice as effective as any 
other hospital, and the patients even seemed to find it rude to bleed 
all over the well-polished floors, a sacrilege to die in such a well-
kept piece of history.
     Tucked away in one corner of the building, a slim body sat and 
rocked, alone.  The door was locked and the lights were off.
     The resident was tall and dirty, and had the boney frame and 
dull eyes of someone who had to be forced to eat.  Her face twitched 
randomly, and her eyes wavered and never could focus on anything for 
long.  
     It was unclear how aware she was of the world outside her own 
mind.  The doctors could tell you, if you asked, that she turned her 
head slightly when they arrived, and usually responded to their 
questions with grunts.
     When she gave her grunt, she wasn't even paying attention to 
the doctors at all, but rather thinking about those eyes.  HER eyes.
     They weren't exactly beautiful, but they were HERS.  They 
weren't sparkling blue or deep brown or enigmatic grey, but they were 
enough to be perfect.  And if every other single piece of her wasn't 
enough to give the whole perfection, the eyes themselves could do it 
three times over.
     The patient could hear her voice again, and with that 
hallucination came the memories, always the memories, and always 
of that one day, the day everything changed for good.  The day she 
returned to her room and sat down on her bed and cried, and suddenly 
realized for the first time how tired she was.  Her eyes closed and 
she went to sleep, but dreamed thoughts instead of images, thoughts 
she could not control.
     She had always been so strong.  Stubborn and unwavering, her 
mind and body would never bend or break, and she pushed through life 
like a juggernaut, making everyone turn their heads and say, "She will 
truly change the world someday."
     But she did not want to change the world.  She wanted one 
thing, one semi-beautiful thing, and all the strength she so respected 
in herself never got her one step closer to holding it.  Not one step.
     And then she woke up and opened her eyes and it was that 
moment, looking up at the ceiling above the bed and seeing HER 
transparent, imaginary face... it was that moment that she gave up.
     And she brought her hand up to her chest, where something 
sweet and metal used to settle (she'd lost it, lost it for good) and 
whispered, "If strength has never brought her to me, then I will see 
what weakness can do."
     Shiori noticed the difference in her eyes the very next day.
     And then a blur of so many years, just Shiori's voice and 
face, "It would make me so happy if you could just ____, sweet 
Juri-sama."  "Don't you want to _____ for me, sweet Juri-sama?"  After 
a few months, Shiori stopped even bothering to hide her glee when she 
received a present in the mail, when she'd talk on the phone for hours,
or even when she brought her dates over to the apartment... such handsome 
men.  They didn't deserve to have her.
     While the patient sat and rocked in her dark hospital room and 
mused about her past and its unmentionables, three days had passed.  A 
total of five doctors had asked her questions, she had been fed six meals, 
and she had started shaking from some unknown sickness.  
     The doctors heard her miscellaneous grunt, shook their heads 
sadly, and left shortly after they arrived, all unable to hide their 
pity at this poor, weak-minded idiot, with the mental capacities of a 
baby in diapers.  
     Shoiri...
     "Shiori..."







     
     Juri rose from bed silently, carefully.  She did not look back 
at her companion, whose soft breaths were captivating but not exactly 
beautiful.  She picked up a brush from the dresser and began running
it through her loose, soft hair.  From the bed, Shiori sighed in her 
sleep.
     Juri's eyes closed involuntarily and she nearly dropped the 
brush.  Her eerily accurate internal clock told her it was somewhere 
around 2:40 in the morning.  Oh, how she wished she could sleep.  The 
last time she did was the end of Ohtori, and she had dreamed that she 
was sleeping, and then she woke up and Shiori was not there.  
     Juri stifled a sob at the memory and its hold on her.
     And then, suddenly, the was a not-exactly-beautiful hand on 
her back and a not-exactly- beautiful face on her shoulder.  
"Juri-sama," Shiori whispered, "why are you crying?"
     Juri did not answer, but allowed her eyes to turn too hard to 
let tears in.
     Shiori kissed Juri's neck softly.  "Aren't you glad to have 
me?"
     Juri tried to speak but couldn't even open her mouth.
     Shiori laughed quietly and let her hand droop down to her 
lover's breast.  "My Juri-sama," she chuckled with glee.  "My Juri-
sama who loves me and gives me anything I want."
     "I..." Juri's mouth was the only part of her that was dry.  "I 
do love you...
     Shiori's hand and lips were moving so softly.  "Don't cry, 
Juri-sama.  We both finally have what we want.  You have me, and... I 
have you."
     Juri did not answer.  Shiori led her to stand and walk over to 
the bed and then they lay down together.  And, as Shiori's hands 
slowly caressed her body, she drifted off to sleep.
     One morning, nine months later, she woke up and Shiori was not 
there.  In her place was a note saying, "Thank you for everything you 
gave me."
     






     The room was dark.  It did not particularily like this fact, 
but lacked the ability to do anything about it.
     The one person was in the dark in the room, sitting and 
looking at something she couldn't see.  Her breathing was 
inaudible, and once in a while she muttered something that was just 
as quiet.  Not even she knew exactly what she was saying.
     The door to the room opened briefly, letting in a triangle of 
light partially filled by a moving, human-shaped shadow.  The dark in 
the corner remained untouched, however, and she did not move to 
recognize the fact that the room's population had now doubled.
     The room felt it, though.  The newcomer came with something 
new, something full of life.  There was a soft, squeaking sigh, made 
with confusion and a bit of distress.  With shock the figure in the 
corner's darkness raised her head and squinted.  "Shiori?" she 
whispered.
     The newcomer did not reply, but in an instant the room 
joyfully filled with light.  Juri involuntarily shrank deeper into 
the corner, but forced her eyes open to see her love.
     A miracle stood there, its slender hand on the lightswitch and 
its pink hair glistening.
     Juri's mouth fell open and she suddenly found her voice again 
after so many years.  "You... are not meant for me," she rasped.  "I 
think a mistake has been made somewhere."







     Far, far away, Shiori sat in her mansion.  Her boyfriend was 
in the kitchen making tea, and she sprawled on the love seat, sighing 
happily.  There were wonderful things everywhere, whether she chose to 
look around or at the world within her.  
     She suddenly thought of Juri for the first time in several 
years.  Truthfully, for the first time since she'd finished the note. 
"Thank you for everything you gave me."
     It was so true, she mused.  Juri gave her everything she asked 
for.  Wealth, sex, power, freedom... everything that mattered to her.
     Shiori smiled.  Juri had been so weak... so weak.  She was a 
toy that had been played with too much and broke.  
     Broken toys are flexible, but dull.  Oh, so dull.
     And Shiori suddenly realized what a miracle it was that she'd 
gotten so much from so little.









     Utena raised her eyebrow as she regarded Juri.  "I'm as 
surprised as you are," she said, still bewildered by the fact that the 
person in front of her did not have glasses and dark skin.  "But I do 
not think it was a mistake."
     "What... are you doing?" Juri asked softly.
     Utena smiled.  "I'm searching for someone," she replied, "but 
it looks like I've found someone else.  It's good to see you, Juri- 
sempai."
     "I remember you," Juri whispered.  "But... it's been so long. 
You faded away.  What happened?  Where did you go?"
     Utena didn't reply at first.  She examined the walls around 
her, then opened the door slightly and peeked outside.  "It's 
complicated," she said.  "I was set free.  Juri, why are we in an 
insane asylum?"
     "I've been broken."
     Utena nodded as if reaching some divine, eternal 
understanding.  "I see then," she muttered.  "I'm here to help you."
     Juri ignored this statement.  "I was broken because I wasn't 
strong enough," she said, possibly to herself, possibly to Utena, and 
possibly to Shiori.
     There was a pause.  Juri suddenly fixed Utena with cold, hard 
eyes.  "I was broken because I wasn't strong like you.  I didn't 
believe what you believed.  I failed where you succeeded."
     Utena dismissively waved her hand through the air.  "That's an 
oversimplification..."
     "Tenjou Utena," Juri interrupted.  "The victor of the duel.  
The true prince.  You believed in miracles and then you were gone."
     "I was set free," Utena corrected.  "But now I have returned 
to find my princess."
     "I am not your princess," Juri muttered sharply.
     "No," Utena said, "but nevertheless I'm here."  There was a 
pause.  "Maybe I've come to set you free, too."
     "You were not set free!" Juri suddenly exploded.  "You were 
forgotten by everyone!  You did not revolutionize the world, you did 
not find the truth of the ends of the world, you were FORGOTTEN!!"
     Utena casually stretched her thigh.  "It's all the same 
thing," she said.
     There was a pause as Juri seethed for the first time in years.
     "It's okay if you don't believe me," Utena said.  "But you 
should know that I am a lot wiser than I look, because I am a lot 
older than I look.  Even," she laughed, "a lot older than YOU look."
     Juri did not answer.
     "There is freedom in oblivion," Utena explained patiently.  
"And with that freedom comes truth and change.
     "But I am not just a Duelist," Utena continued.  "I am also a 
prince, and a prince needs a princess.  That is the difference between 
us."
     And then Juri was standing.  Her knees were shaky and her feet 
ached, but she stood and walked out of the corner and faced Utena.  
There were tears filling her eyes.  "I don't understand," she 
whimpered, though it was obvious she did.
     Utena laid a firm hand on her shoulder.  "I can help you 
forget her," she said.
     The tears flowed down Juri's face freely now.  "But... but I 
CAN'T.  I CAN'T forget her.  She... she's all I ever needed, I love 
her..."
     "Juri..."
     "The memories are all I have left and without her I'm nothing. 
 Loving her is all I have, without it I'm nothing..."
     Utena watched as Juri began to sob.  "That's not true," she 
said.  "Without her, you'll still have your own strength."  She 
reached out and touched Juri, who suddenly found herself unable to 
cry.  Utena smiled.  "Which, I am embarassed to admit, far surpasses 
even mine."
     Juri wondered why she could not cry.  The fear was 
overwhelming and was quickly sapping all the strength this liar had 
just been ranting about.  She felt herself about to fall...
     She suddenly looked at Utena and was blinded by the beauty she 
saw.









     In a place of nothingness, a strange sound eminated.  It was a 
cold sound, broken and bleeding.  It was the sound of a man crying.
     He was on his hands and knees, pounding the nonexistant ground 
in despair.  A pink-haired prince knelt nearby, concern written across 
her noble face.  "What's the matter?" she asked softly.
     The man looked up with one anguished eye, the other well 
concealed by a dirty tuft of blue hair.  "I failed," he sobbed, and 
then again: "I failed."
     She lay a hand on his shoulder in a feminine, comforting 
gesture.  "Why does she continue to anchor you down, Ruka?" she asked 
quietly.  "You're free now."
     A cynical laugh caused her to look up.  An angry spirit named 
Mikage stood nearby, arms folded and eyes cold.  "Your princess 
anchors you, fool," he remarked lightly.  "Just as my boy anchors me. 
As long as hearts beat in our chests, no one can be truly free."
     Utena raised an eyebrow at him.  "That's what princes are 
for," she replied.  "And miracles, too."
     Ruka laughed through his tears.  "Miracles... I had thought I 
was her miracle.  But I wasn't.  I was just used."
     "We were all used," Utena said.
     "That's not true," Mikage hissed.  "WE were used.  YOU were 
not."
     Ruka nodded sadly.  "Only princes are spared that feeling.  
Why is that?"
     "Because princes have power," Mikage sneered.  "The rest of us 
are pawns."
     "Pawns to our truths."
     "Pawns to ourselves."
     "Pawns to our loves."
     "Pawns to our princes."
     They fixed Utena with hard, resenting eyes.
     The prince just smiled and pointed into the void.  "But that's 
not true," she said.  "Look, everything has changed.  Look, Ruka, 
she's free, and so are you!"
     Ruka looked.
     "The revolution," Utena whispered.  "See?"








     And then they were kissing, though Juri couldn't remember 
exactly how that had happened.  But when they broke and she stepped 
back, she found herself strong enough to feel happy; happy for the 
first time since she'd met...
     Shiori.
     Utena smiled widely.  "Do you believe now?" she asked.
     "Yes, I do," Juri answered, eyes unclouded.
     Utena's expression quickly became somber.  "There is one more 
thing which you must know," she said.  "If you forget her, then all 
her beautiful parts, all you gave her through your loving eyes... 
They'll be gone, and she will never be the same.  She will have lost 
the only part of her worth having."
     Juri was silent, but she smiled.
     "Do you regret?" Utena asked.
     "No, I do not."
     "Very well," Utena said, smiling.  She turned to leave and was 
halfway through the door when Juri's voice stopped her.
     "I hope you find your princess."
     Utena laughed cheerfully.  "Thank you."  Then the door closed, 
and she was gone.  Juri's world went white, and she slept.







     Early the next morning, Juri's doctor saw her leave the room. 
"Excuse me!" he called.  "Miss, what are you doing here?"
     Juri turned and fixed him with a heart-stopping glare.  "Is it 
any business of yours?"
     He blanched.  "M...miss, you're not allowed here.  You'll 
disturb the patients, and some of them are very dangerous..."
     She turned and began walking away.  "I neither need nor desire 
your concern," she called over her shoulder.  "I can take care of 
myself."  She was gone before he could think of a reply.
     
     







__________________
Special thanks to Elisabeth Hergerat, Vera LaPorte, Sean Gaffney, and
Alan Harnum