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as well as riddles and poems, i also luv stories. so i've made a journal entry for the stories that i know.
It’s like falling sand, slowly but surely, I lose myself. I forget more and more everyday. How much have I lost already? Things… People… Everything that’s precious… That must’ve been when I got serious about magic. It was when my memory started to fail. It’s much more than merely being forgetful. It’s like someone’s been poking holes in my memory. It frightens me. At any moment, I could lose the last of what’s precious to me. I’ll always remember you… Slowly but surely, the sands of memory fall. An hourglass running out of time. As I lost my memories, one end would empty out, and she would turn the hourglass over, and fill me with love once more. The grains tumble down again and again. With love, and sadness. We meet each other again and again. I would drink out of a cup I had never seen before, and she’d tell me we had picked it out together, and sleep with her in a bed unfamiliar to me. I’d fall in love with her as if it were the first time. But how many times was it really? An endless cycle, it eventually took its toll on her emotions. She cried for a long, long time, and then smiled through gritted teeth. I’ve taken enough from you already. Goodbye, my love. “Even if you forget me, I will always love you…” Right now the names on this watch have become unfamiliar to me. I want to know who gave this to me. I want to know if that person is happy. The sand in the hourglass may have stopped, but with this mechanical timepiece in my hand, I can move forward. My past fades away. The memories of the ones I love, that is what I sacrifice for my magic.
A long time ago, a famous harmonica player lived in this country. He was a magic user. The beautiful sound of his harmonica captivated all who heard it. But playing so wonderfully cost him. Every time he blew his harmonica, a little sound was taken from him. Even so, he never stopped making music. Nobody cares about a silent harmonica player. People thought he was strange. Yet he continued playing until the day he died. When he died, the man thought to himself I wish I could play my harmonica for one last audience.
There’s a legend about a demon who appears at this intersection. A demon who will grant you any wish in exchange for your soul.When I first came here, I had lost my parents, I had lost everything. So giving up my soul meant nothing to me. I told the demon that my wish was to become a demon like him, so I could give others happiness. Making people’s wishes come true, I thought that would be a wonderful thing. I couldn’t protect my parents. I felt my life had been a waste, but now I could make something out of it. My wish was granted. The demon had vanished, and from that day forth, I have been the demon of this road. Many people came and I granted many wishes. But I never asked for people’s souls in return. I felt bad for them so I fulfilled their desires for free. But it wasn’t what I hoped it would be. Gaining fame and wealth only leads to heartbreak. The people I granted wishes to all had new problems. That’s when I finally understood why demons take souls. People don’t notice what’s precious unless they lose it. But, I still couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take people’s souls. I thought long and hard about it. What could a person like me, neither demon nor human, truly accomplish? And then I figured it out. I know! I’ll give out melon bread! Back when I was happy, my family would eat melon bread together. This is the taste of kindness! A piece of break can’t change a person’s life, but no one is unhappy to receive such a wonderful treat. I’ve been here a long time, staring at the same sky. I’ve been standing in one place this whole time, but I’ve been lost. I lost my sense of purpose. I can’t return to being human, and I can’t become a demon. So what am I now? I lost my sense of taste, and my own sense of existence. That’s why it pleases me when people say the like the bread. But, now I can remember the flavor of my happiness. Even though I can no longer eat my own cooking, it’s okay, because I still put my whole heart into it. In this land, there is a legend of an intersection where a demon appears. A demon who gives travelers melon bread in exchange for hearing their fondest dream.
I had a son once, my only child. Perhaps it was because I spoiled him, but he was kind and gentle like a girl. He loved flowers, but was flighty and unreliable. It was like he never grew up. Having such a son was vexing, but still I loved him and didn’t want our time together to ever end. But as you know, we are at war, and it got pretty bad. My son was sent to the frontlines. What could such a kind and unreliable boy do on a battlefield? It haunted my thoughts. Even now, I still wonder about that. To this day, I like to think that my son isn’t in the trenches, but instead is napping in his favorite flower patch. “The war is over. Please come home soon.” Years have passed and he hasn’t returned. I want him to know I haven’t forgotten him.
The memories of my youth always begin with pained screaming. I was an orphan. My adopted home was not a warm one. It was even worse than the orphanage. What kept me going was the memories of a picture book I'd read at the orphanage. It was a story of magic. A talent for magic awakens suddenly in a young girl, and she uses her power to save a kingdom. The story ends with her marrying the prince and living happily ever after. I read it over and over, never getting tired of it. Surely, one day my talents would awaken and a prince would come for me. I heard that magic requires sacrifice, but how bad could that be compared to my current life. To awaken to magic and escape a painful existence is nothing but a fairy tale. If only I could use magic like the girl in the story. I'm sorry to say, you have no talent for magic Like I thought, that book was a fantasy. I'll never be like that girl. This was my fate. I'm stuck here. I wish you happiness little miss Happiness... not for me. I'm an orphan and I can barely survive from day to day. I can't even take care of myself. I can't help anyone. I'm powerless. What good am I? Why am I even alive? I wish you happiness I'm utterly powerless. I can't even run away. But why? I tried to answer that, and all I could think of was the magic user from the book. The power of magic isn't for hurting others. Magic is for helping people I may not have the talent but I'll learn everything there is to know. I can help, I know it. I believe, that is my magic. May you always be happy in magic I knew right then, even though I had no talent, a prince had indeed come for me. I'm so glad I believe in magic. I want to help as many people as possible. To do that, I will study hard. The thought of it still excites me. But I never knew the extreme weight of his sacrifice. I started to understand what he had to deal with. He had aged a few years in one day! They talked about that in the book, but I was too young to understand. I was still so ignorant. To use magic, a sacrifice is required. It's different for each person. Soul, memory, voice... life. It is a sacrifice. A magic user's fate is something very, very heavy. I cannot live at the same speed he does. Every time he saves someone, he moves further away from me. Then, I swore to myself, I would always be there to assist him. This love will stay in my heart until the end, even though that will be sooner than I can bear.
there's more to come... soon.
 Aquamoon341 · Wed Feb 27, 2008 @ 07:54pm · 3 Comments |
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