Fading Planet

CLAMPraven

Author’s notes:

Oh, gosh, I haven’t been to Fictionpress in ages. But it’s nice to revisit! I used to think of it as a place to put down stories that I’d completed for school assignments and the like (which was essentially what “The Propaganda License” was), but nowadays I’m starting to get the feeling that it might be an unfair arrangement for readers, to have to review my second hand stories. Hence, a brand new story, written purely for the purpose of posting on this site.

Yes, it’s shoujo, and though I don’t plan for it, it is definitely in danger of becoming unreasonably angsty. With a name like “Fading Planet”, I think it was pretty much asking for it. The story, though, is a touch weird. Take a while to get used to it. Feedback is useful...even flames, actually, are more useful than silence, so I welcome them. Bring it on! *fighting stance*

The first chapter of “Fading Planet” is essentially, a dog story. I don’t like dog stories too much; hence, this won’t last for a long time. But, please, do give it a chance, because I wouldn’t introduce a relationship like this in the first chapter unless it was truly invaluable for future chapters. In fact, the relationship between my two primary characters so far (Shiraho and Inu-Youjinbou) defines them both, because they’re so gosh-darned alone in the world that they cannot have much in the way of personality without their love for each other.

I promise not to spawn Mary Sues or Marty Stus. I think...I can promise that much. Oh, but if I don’t deliver on that promise, I want someone to tell me. Seriously. Please.

I’m stopping myself here. My author’s notes are always in danger of becoming uncannily long, so, no. Stopping. Right. Now. Make your own conclusions about the plot. And have fun, of course!

CHAPTER ONE – PART ONE

“Guardian”

When Kaiki Shiraho was five years old, her father bought her a dog. He was a painfully scrawny thing, with large sad eyes, as though he had become so accustomed to maltreatment and misery that its face had frozen into perennial mourning. He didn’t even bother to wag its tail when he first saw his new master; whining low, he found itself a bare patch of tile on the kitchen floor and seated himself, like a battered but proud samurai.

He was from the animal shelter. His ribs jutted out from either side of his belly; when he walked, rolls of skin shivered in unison, a pitiful sight. He reeked of rotten sour pickle and he hadn’t had his shots.

But Shiraho was happy, because she couldn’t see his ugliness, couldn’t see the limps in his walk and the despair in his old eyes. Her father was always reading stories to her about the kindness of animals, cats and dogs that would sit on your lap and unconditionally, wordlessly, make you smile and hold them tight.

Shiraho was blind.

And in her mind, she weaved beautiful images of this four-legged guardian angel long before he showed up at her doorstep. Even the thought made her laugh. If she could only make this dog happy, she would stay by his side forever. She’d promise him forever until the words wouldn’t come out anymore. She would never again feel alone, never again feel unloved.

-

When she walked towards him, leaning on her cane, he raised his head in bitter anticipation of a cold kick, perhaps a taunting rope or a sharp poke in the eye. He eyed the cane warily; it was a sharp stick, a heavy stick, and even a little girl – if she knew what she was doing – could easily break his back with one mighty swing.   

When she held out morsels of her leftover angel cake in her hand, he drew back from the hand, backing up into the wall sharply. Shiraho didn’t move; she caught whiffs of dog breath, knew he was still standing there, apprehensive and afraid.

No one could take this animal’s pride away from him. He shrunk away, refused to take it, terrified that it might have been a trap, unwilling to trust this girl who shielded her pale eyes with tinted glass.

And Shiraho waited, her hand held out, her arm outstretched, kneeling down and eyes unseeing, hoping that perhaps he would let her pet him, let her hold him as she had never been able to hold a friend before. Her arm became sore quickly – she had never been very strong - but still she refused to leave his side. 

A minute passed, two minutes, five. Exhausted from crouching, she stood up wearily, sad and discouraged. She dropped the angel cake crumbs onto the floor, in case he would want it later. She picked up her cane and walked unsteadily away, her heart broken.

Imagine the smile on her face when her father saw her but a moment later, and told her that her dog, her guardian angel, was trotting behind her!

-

She named him “Inu-Youjinbou”, her dog bodyguard. Often, in the privacy of each other’s company, he was just “Inu-wan”. She loved him more dearly than any other friend, and in his own quiet way, he loved her, too.

It wasn’t until a month later that Inu-wan was sent off to training school, after Shiraho’s father deemed him loyal enough to his daughter to become her seeing eye dog. After all, she was going to have to go to kindergarten eventually, and he couldn’t be with her constantly anymore. He was told that all of the other blind children at the special school had seeing-eye dogs, and his daughter, he decided without so much as a blink, would not be outdone in that department if he could help it. 

Though Shiraho didn’t truly understand the process of seeing eye dog training, nor did she know just how difficult it would prove to be for Inu-wan, she knew that it would prove to be a test of faith. That is, for Inu-wan – who had not been raised as a seeing eye puppy, who hadn’t had the full range of required skills for basic obedience and who was deemed too elderly to be trained – as well as for herself.

For almost an entire year, she was unable to see him, save on odd weekends and holidays. He was a scarred old dog, weaker than thoroughbred dogs built for the very purpose of guiding the blind. No one, not even the truly optimistic – and even Shiraho’s father, after a while – thought he would pass the program.

When other dogs trained at his time were dispatched to be with their owners once more, he was still there, learning to pull the harnesses, fighting as he’d not fought since he...he didn’t remember. 

No one, not even Shiraho, who prayed for her success whenever thoughts of him came to her mind, had thought he would work so hard and so relentlessly for her sake. But somehow, he knew. He knew, if only because his master wanted him to know, on those rare weekends and holidays, that she still loved him, that time and place were inconsequential...that he should’ve gone home earlier, needed to go home.

Nine months passed, and go home he did.

No one was happier than he was. He was to be relied on, now more than ever. When the door was opened for him on Christmas Eve, he jumped out of the instructor’s van, ran through the biting cold without hesitation and jumped, like a foolish puppy, into Shiraho’s waiting arms.

-

Inu-wan wanted to show Shiraho the world.

After a month of training to walk the streets with his master – who was taller and stronger than he’d remembered, to his utmost surprise – he wanted to take her everywhere. Into the park, through the subway tunnels, across the bustling bridge...he recalled all of these places, knew how to get through and how to protect her for the first time in his life. And he wanted her to know that he could do all of these things, could be her bodyguard.

Together, they watched the bright songbirds return to the Shukkeien* in the early months of spring. Together they ran through the winding rain-soaked streets of Hiroshima.

Neither could remember being so happy. Because of their time apart, they were now closer than ever before. Inu-wan was no longer hesitant or doubtful of his master’s good intentions. Shiraho became stronger every day. She went to school and worked extremely hard, but always came back to Inu-wan’s side at the end of the day. In her eyes, he was her most treasured friend, and she could not have loved him more if he were a human being.

In fact, he was better than a human being. No one else she knew could do the things he could. No one else could fetch her shiny baubles from off the street, could rush to her aid in a lightning fast instant if she called. To her, he was incredible. A true superhero.

-

And one day, Inu-wan spoke to her.

-

Shiraho was ecstatic! Surely, her dear Inu-wan was the only dog in the world – in the entire universe – who could speak like a human being! Hearing his voice at her side shocked her, but somehow, somehow she wasn’t surprised. But at the age of seven, it was hard to be concerned.

And now that he could speak to her, they could do so much more! He could tell her about his day, the squirrels he’d chased down and the people who’d fed him on the street. He could tell her what he thought of her, how she looked that day, whether she’d worn her shirt backwards by accident. Instead of giving her shirt a tug or two, he could actually tell her when he needed to be let out, when he wanted to eat, where he wanted to go.

But she was careful not to speak to him in public, and him was careful not to answer back in public. But all the same, she was so pleased! Finally, they could understand each other. Finally, she could hear him say he was her friend, that he would protect her.

“How did you get to talk, Inu-wan?” She asked him one day as they were walking home from school, after bidding farewell to her friends. They had chosen a secluded alley, over the years; no one could intrude. “Were you always able to talk?”

“No, I couldn’t,” she heard him answer back. His voice was low, even in human speech, slow and ponderous. “I could never talk to you before, no matter how much I’d wanted to. I wanted to say so much to you, and I did. But it was not up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t speak to you and have you understand me, Shiro-oujosan**. Before you started believing that I could be your best friend, I couldn’t do it. But then you began to believe that I was special. You thought that I was a guardian, a superhero. I could tell. You thought I was different than any other dog. But these were your thoughts, your beliefs.

“It was not up to me,” he repeated patiently.

He’d said it in plain words. But all the same, Shiraho couldn’t understand.

-

Additional notes:

* Shukkeien: A famous stroll garden near Shiraho’s home. As is revealed in later chapters, Inu-Youjinbou and Neko-Keigo’s secret meeting place is underneath a large ginkgo tree in Shukkeien. It is also the place where Shiraho will meet an important secondary character. It’s actually a real place that suffered under the effects of the atomic bomb in WWII.

** “White lady”, or “Miss White” a pun on Shiraho’s name (see below). After Inu-Youjinbou starts to speak, this is the affectionate name he assigns Shiraho.

Shiraho’s name means “white sails”. (“White” is a theme colour in this story, probably because it’s the colour with no characteristic...or, complete emptiness, if you will). Her last name, Kaiki, means “total eclipse”. Shiraho’s father is named Kaiki Amagi (“Amagi” means raincoat; I think it’s somewhat symbolic of the nature of his relationship with his daughter, but real Japanese natives will probably laugh themselves silly).

No. I won’t tell you where her mother is. So ha. *Clears throat awkwardly*

The Kaiki household is situated in the city of Hiroshima, capital of the Hiroshima prefecture in the Chugoku region, which is located in western Japan. They live in a stretch of city close to the Ota river. And in the department of additional information you don’t really need to enjoy the story (but which I kind of do need to flesh out my characters), our heroine’s father works as a technical writer for a firm near Peace Park. Their house is a detached town home, with two bathrooms, two bedrooms, and a small barren rectangular garden out back. The special school for disabled children is about five blocks away.

Knowledge is invaluable. *nodnod* If I’ve made a mistake anywhere (grammatical ones, too), please let me know! *begs*

End note: This segment doesn’t do anything more than skim the mystery of the story’s plot, for good reason. The first chapter is divided into two (hence, clearly labelled, “Parts One and Two” *wink*), for the convenience of those who might be intimidated by the length of the chapter and therefore not want to read on.

Oh, but it’s going to be long anyway. *evil smile* Ohohoho...

For the real conclusion, read the next chapter, then decide whether you want to continue. Because the real plot hasn’t even been introduced yet. That’s my fault, actually. *coughs* This fic became more complicated than meets the eye.