Silver Bullets Short Story

Silver bullets. Glistening moonbeams. The epitome of her tears.

The rain.

It 's an ugly thing, it 's a beautiful thing, melded in a world where butterflies create hurricanes and the seagulls in the sky turn into doves. It 's ugly when she cries and it replaces them, masquerading her sadness for the cold and isolating her from the world. It 's beautiful the way it drenches her hair together to form ringlets and makes her appear like a goddess in the damp wilderness.

But he is always reminded of how her footsteps splash into the puddles, slowly rising and falling like a new born baby bird beginning to fly and watch everything in slow motion, like the moment when someone is thrown off a cliff, and the outstretched hand that nearly reaches you is

And down he tumbles, like a bird that has lost his feathers and the ability to fly, plummeting from the clouds that he dared to touch. Arms outstretched, he attempts to find- balance, land, her -something.

When had he originally fallen?

When he had first saw her- red, fresh, young, beautiful -Kairi? He had knocked Sora off the pier, just to make sure that she saw him, only him. Of course, he had later said to Sora that his hand slipped and had inadvertently pushed him off, but that was a different story.

Take my hand. He says. Do you trust me?

Butterflies and hurricanes. Castles and clouds. Magic and illusions.

Look left. Look right. Hear the cries of the seagulls and butterflies, flittering in their own little world, spinning different webs of happiness and beauty. Feel the rain that slides on your skin and through your thick eyelashes. It 's not tears. It 's not.

And so you take his hand with a soft smile, trembling as you realize that it fits like a pair of gloves.

You wonder why that frightens you so much, even though you try not to show it.

(But you should know better; he 's always been able to look through you.)

Hey. It 's okay. I promise.

… his hand is warm against your cold skin and he places it near