本帖最后由 cein 于 2015-7-21 22:11 编辑

另外最早是打算投到fanfiction的，所以实际上初版是英文……不过我始终收不到fanfic的注册确认邮件所以发不了。{:4_353:}

这楼放下早期版（喂，其实和最终版一模一样吧！？），还望不吝赐教，毕竟broken English。

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Dream Solister

She dreamt that night. Kumiko recalls visions vaguely after a summer day doze as a sense of sound lingers on her mind.

It was like pacing through a tunnel but Kumiko figured out she was on the shady lane winding up Mountain Daikichi even in dreaming. Then the imminent event they were treated to came alone, leaving no room for Kumiko to grow any reminisce of what happened before reaching the lookout. She never felt regret for matter-of-factly considering those appealing stars in western skies a rare event that night, and even turned depressed slightly when she got to know Jupiter and Venus approaches each other roughly three times a year. It was special. She long deemed.

The dream flashed itself. Kumiko soon lost sight of the stars. She saw her own fingers tapping on that brass instrument. It somehow took her a second to recognize what the instrument was. An Euphonium. She identified it, and momentarily a sort of frustration ran through the marrow of her bones that she wished her fingers on something else, something more special. That emotion would have made her squeak if it were not a dream, and this inability turned the frustration more of a struggle. But Kumiko still took it not a nightmare. And a song arose, to be exact, a sense of a song, as she could merely perceive the song rather than read its notes, which a skilled player like her often did. She knew that song nonetheless.

Before long the sense obscured. Kumiko could even prophetise soon nothing of the song would remain but its title. And the dream did shift to another night when Kumiko caught a strand of moonlight slanting. Stars seemed to be closer. She kept talking, pretending to be obsessed with that UFO catcher. Who was she talking to? There was no reflection in dream, but Kumiko had no doubt on it. She kept herself against the backdrop of skies, facing the additive vending machine, in a subtle manner avoiding observation of the person behind. It was an evasion. A courage was exerted to turn to the stars but diminished halfway.

The rest of visions was hazy. Maybe it was like a wild point where the stars and surroundings turned to her, like in a vertigo, instead of the common reverse...maybe. She might turn to Kumiko.

Beneath radiant stars the feeling emerges, she imagines. It is so impending that Kumiko almost has her own mind deprived. She merely senses her turning but can not see that. There stands only the girl in white dress, she imagines, while her face is likely to be entirely veiled by the dream itself. Like an Emir deep in Arabia. But it is no obstacle.

Her lilac, stern gaze. Oumae Kumiko knows. Her stoic, lavishing expression. She knows. Her straight, persistent style. She knows.

A longed warmth eventually crawls on Kumiko’s lips. She embraces the kiss.

She smirks, under a breath, then goes utterly silent.

She kisses her own arm awake.

...

In that dream she reflected lonely without any concrete image of the girl. It’s certainly a bitter thing to Kumiko.

What a gray hint.

Now she groans. It was lacking, it still is, Kumiko concludes the running theme of every life. However she languishes for that trumpet, she has been holding back the Rubicon. There is love, a love confessed to her. There is death, a death promised to her. But that is all. Amusingly Kumiko finds herself involved in the perennial appreciation of music, love and death, the consummate urges, the ultimate manacles. Though this may seem to be an auspice for great musicians, Kumiko is no great she thinks to herself. And she wants a breakthrough, at least absently.

A sudden shiver warns her of the recoil form this idea. It is in essence confusing. Kumiko has been baffled since the day knowing that girl’s love toward another man. She considers her both loves authentic but derivation from different aspects of a young impulse. The shade between them, Kumiko thinks though, is not trivial, yet she can’t differentiate them. And she quits the ambiguous triangle.

Kumiko hesitates to get up and finally decides to just loaf the whole afternoon away , which is a luxury rarely she grants herself. She tries to come back to the thought before. What’s the love? But fluxes sweep her mind entailing her concentration to cease them. She has to notice, and can’t help remembering lyrics of the song before. The others you shall come across, affection might not go far, stars cherished by few, your precious smile of the past, a dedication no more achievable, and where love is found... Kumiko’s recount is fractured but its hint is again gray. It is not the first time that she begins to regret ever listening to the song. Haunting. She begs it only a spellbinder, nevertheless it turns to be a true prophet for now.

On that girl, in a sense, Kumiko did know that affection and admiration of the throbbing young years mixed with each other, but it was another thing to tell when the blend would be separated. Kumiko in fact gained sort of confidence when she came to notice that girl even didn’t know Taki’s private life any bit. Despite this small victory, she made no intention to explore more. She would not twist that girl’s pursuit, according to the promise. Bitterly.

On herself, she sometimes withdrew from accepting an attraction beyond the realm of so-called soulmates but then fell into an air of nothing Platonic at all. And as the final blow, these doubts were incorrigibly coupled with the popular notion she had a crash on Shuichi, and even that girl was an possible adherent of this. Later in a mess she now forgets details of, Kumiko accepted Shuichi as a sorry means in her attempt to elucidate herself, but only to cloud more. Shuichi served to provide a gray fog where Kumiko could hide herself from the possible bad outcomes of coming out. This was practically a benumbing method. She felt nothing bad and nothing well. He was a good guy different from the kid acquainted before she had to admit. But that was the only opinion she could form.

“Where love is found,” she murmurs. She fears to call out the girl’s name and only the title of that song appears in her mind.

Tired of the former dream, Kumiko’s eyelids close. Lacking. Lacking the one she concerns. Kumiko is now jealous of those drunks who can easily pass out to a sweet dream. Literally sweet dream is her envy, dream isn’t.

It soon comes to a mixture of dream and reverie where Kumiko sees the Keihan Line she used to take on with her every day. And the red light of the leaving train in night time constitutes a thin red line stretching to the furthest of sight, to beyond the horizon, to beyond her ken. For this moment, she feels, that girl is linked to her. By the faring red line.

A voice comes out of nowhere.

“You are certainly terrible, Kumiko.” She let the voice caress and faint over her own mind as that song emerges again, soundlessly.

...

Kumiko finds herself out of brink of falling asleep with a realization that seems not so pertinent. She just forgets the melody. That is the reason the song is always only a sense, much less haunting than the conclusion Kumiko accepts without awareness that she herself intends to block the song.

Kind of relief.

Kumiko surely knows she is not a forgiving person. Of course she merely finishes her retaliation in ignoring and oblivion, and in fact she can’t get even a crude outline of the senior student bullying her in junior high school, but thanks to this she is considered a good girl despite of her “terrible personality” that girl intently peeled Kumiko’s skin to find out. Now Kumiko at least relieves herself that she never hates the girl. She just forgets a song.

“Kind of relief,”

She murmurs without an expression as if some dust just settles. Yes. It is pertinent. For her, it is not the absence of courage to call out but the domination of fear counts. Kumiko has been shunning to even speak out that name since she feared she would have a hatred in that straight trumpet and thus lose her forever. So she played her life lonely at her best, veiled her every thought on that girl. But finally it comes to her that she never breaks her promise.

A loyalist. She makes a brief comment on herself. Stupid comment. However Kumiko does not see it a problem in such a stupid afternoon. Or say even in such a stupid life. She wants to be blunt here, in spite of all the uncertainties, to embrace a wind of change, to seek a dizzy end for years of restrain.

Can a loyalist asking for a reward be a true loyalist? Kumiko questions herself but she cares not the answer. She is after all terrible and that girl knows. She asks her reward. She wants something special. She wants the special.

Yet there is a sense of guilt in Kumiko, for the guy Shuichi. He is innocent for the most part. But she must make the breakthrough at first, to be a soloists only in dream.

She searches his name on phone with a hand and finds it, wavers a little, but soon maneuvers a little trick somehow to make herself as special as that girl at least for this time, then calls out.

“Shuichi. Let us break up.”

A voice loses no time in responding, and satiates the manipulator.

“You are certainly terrible, Kumiko.”

The mesmerizing voice of Reina.