Okay, this is a shortshort Haruka story. All disclaimers apply, Sailor Moon belongs to Naoko and not me, blahblah... Haruka's not my character. Timewise, this takes place before she meets Michiru. It's rated probably PG. There's exactly one sexual reference, nothing extreme. Send comments/flames to me, Distant Sailor, TiraTrewyn@aol.com or heronblue@hotmail.com. I lost my Juno account, but this really is distant sailor. ~~Distant Sailor "Something more than this" ?In the empty corners of the evening, in the vacent beauty of the wind there is always something to remember something to remember to begin. I need no shelter I need no guide I?ll be alone on this long dark ride tonight. Whatever you fear whatever you hide whatever you carry deep inside: There?s something more than this.? --October Project A cool wind gusted through the street. Thrusting her hands deeper into wornpickets, she kept moving forward. Then stopped. It wasn?t as if she could go far. Back in the cafe, a cup of coffee she?d ordered was getting cold, and the flirtacious waitress had assured her that a caesar salad was on the way. Haruka liked salads. The waitress thought she was a boy, maybe that was why the wind had stirred through her and urged her to get away. Come outside, come run. She followed where the breeze blew her short tousled hair. When the music from the square nearby caught her, though, Haruka was transfixed. A violin, playing a lilting classical tune she recognized but could not name. As if caught in a net, she lifted her head and stared at the young musician playing on the corner. It was just a young girl, good but not prodigal with her insturment playing to the evening out of love. A tremor went though the boyish woman standing in the shadows, as the music and the wind spiralled together and almost shuddered her into another lifetime. She leaned against a wall, dizzy. Wordless questions piled into her mind. Who am I? Why am I... why do I feel like I?m on the edge of something? She pulled her rough calloused hands out of her pockets. Stubby, strange hands she thought. her fingers itched to reach out and touch the music or the wind. Who am I? Fifteen years old. Not a boy and not a girl. her hands felt heavy, her body felt wrong. This is not who I am. She looked up at the sky. Though the street was dark, sunlight still gilded the tips of some buildings. Gold... She wished she could dissolve into golden wind and just be something, nothing, pure. Something true that didn?t have to be a boy or a girl or a race car driver or a pianist or whatever else she was. Just a spirit, free in the wind. Haruka opened eyes she handn?t even realized were closed and held back tears. Straightening her shoulders, she walked forward again, up a set of stone steps. The stairs beneath her seemed almost unreal, translucent. She shook her head and looked at the violinest again. A sense of dissapointment she couldn?t fathom-- what could she have been expecting?-- spread through her at once. She couldn?t see the girl?s face, hidden as it was by her black hair. What was I expecting, she wondered. What? The wind shifted through her hair, and unsease flooded through her. Turning her face to the sky-- not boyish or girlish or anything in between-- Haruka whispered silently to the heavens. ?What do you want from me? What do you want? What am I for?? She felt like a folded knife, some kind of tool for the wind or the world or whatever else was out there to use on a whim. And she didn?t like that one bit. The wind was cool against her, but that was all right. She didn?t need warmth or love or... why am I thinking these things? A group of girls walked by, laughing about something. She looked at them almost abstractly, fascinated by the curve of breasts and the waterfalls of hair. She stepped backward, slipping on a step and knocking her head against the wall. The pain brought Haruka back to the world she knew. Something was wrong. This was not her own life. What do you want from me, wind? She got up, ran. Ran into the wind and away from teh music. Running was one thing she was still sure of. Back to the cafe, back to living normally for now. She did like salads, after all.