[isti/rosa] salvation

People might say, books are a gateway to escape. They might also say that it only applies to fiction books, but in reality, non-fiction books are also a gateway to escape from reality. You lived to see someone else’s perspective. You peered to listen on someone else’s lives that you might not know. Books are, all of book types, is somewhat stranger than reality, and all the books is acceptable as a place to forget.

The turquoise bear had read enough through both to compare that very point, though she would prefer escaping things through reading detective fiction.

One also say, that bookworm’s actual heaven is inside the room, reading something, yet this bookworm also digressed that point; as now she is outside of the building, one of the abandoned but usable base at some vantage point, reading to pass time.
There was no one to bother her as the two people she knew whom could be a candidate to steal her precious time were busy at the moment. It was a perfect choice to stay in the shade, picking one read that she has yet to finish because of packed schedule, then sometimes looking up to the sky for breeze or birds chirping.

Except, the day has been so shiny to her liking, clouds moving slowly as there was no wind, and there she was partway to the book with her favorite brown-furred teddy bear by her side.

Sometimes, she wondered why she picked up someplace high to be alone, resting her back far from the other ends of the railing, sitting with knees to her chest and book open close to her nose. Sometimes, she wondered why she didn’t pick a corner at the unused supply room with air conditioner instead. Sometimes, she wondered why she felt the urge to look below from the heights, look below her feet, while knowing that the gravity may call her forth and she might fall.

Fall. Fall. Fall.
Not a mere teddy bear.
But a living bear.
Fall. Fall. Fall.
To the death’s embrace.

Istina closed her book, massaged her temple as sudden dizziness washes over her. She didn’t want to extend her feet to where the sun bathed the stone rock building, she merely trembled on her own grim.
Her ears picked up faint pairs of footsteps, closing in to the door that leading to that area. She remained calm, poised, book clenched on her lap.

“Anna, are you here?”

Her monocle flickered over the sight of white. The owner of that soft voice crafted in manners has always been clad in white and is furred white. Her posture would be impeccable, so is her beret and her javelin. Yet that day, the polar bear walked to the sun with bare hands, her smile came easy but empty at the same time.

“It’s rare for you to seek for me, Natalya.”

Natalya—Rosa, she is known as Rosa now—simply beamed at Istina’s neutral reply. She walked slowly to her way, hands on her back.

“Can I sit here with you?”

“Sure.”

She blinked to the presence of brown-furred teddy bear, waiting.

“Um, did I bother you and your teddy?”

Istina chuckled at that, “Of course not.” She picked up the plush bear away and patted on the available space. “Go on.”

When Rosa settled herself primly beside Istina, their shoulders touching and the polar bear picked up her posture to gather her knees up to avoid sunlight, Istina spotted the red handkerchief on Rosa’s wrist. As though knowing where her eyes landed, Rosa regarded her with another smile – this time, her eyes looked sad.

“That handkerchief. It’s Zima’s right?”

“Ah,” those eyes squared, the question seemed to take her aback more than Istina thought. Or, Rosa was thinking whether I would go straight to ask about what’s beneath it. “Yes, she … she saw me doing it.”

If Istina remembered correctly there was a few of it beneath. Clean slits, almost identical for each of the line. Istina ever saw it when Gummy tried to patch her once for first aid after she finished with a reckon mission. But then, Gummy wasn’t one to inquire how the wound is formed.

“Is it healed now?”

“I think so.”

It’s not like for every time she saw Rosa, her interest would be piqued, like a detective in a sniff of clue. Yet, Istina would implore, and Rosa never seemed to mind. Perhaps, it was apparent on her eyes and how she acted that they are but the same, while it might be different from the surface.

Death as salvation. But death is not their salvation. They saw death. They committed the similar branch of sin.

Istina unwrapped the stained handkerchief from Rosa’s left hand, finding the fresh slit overlaying the rest on the pristine white skin. As expected, there’s no sign of furs growing back there on that wrist, clean cut. No blood remained, all sapped to the fabric. The wound is closed, maybe not too deep to dry under two hours.

“Have someone said to you of how stupid you are?”

“Zima had.” She chuckled. “And you, maybe. If we stayed on this conversation.”

“Natalya, you-“

“But you’re the same, Anna,” her eyes darted to the other side of the railings. “Aren’t we stupid to be gnawed by our past and wanted what they had—salvation?”

Death won’t come to take them yet, not yet; not until the debt is paid.

Istina clasped on that open palm, feeling the coldness of Rosa’s hand. Rosa has colder hands, unlike Zima or Gummy. Even though it may bathed in her own stain of red most of the time, it is still cold.

It was a fine, sunny day, not to mention she was holding Rosa’s hands on hers. Then again, it is still a big mystery to her as why she has yet to make those hands raise in temperature.

“You’re warm, Anna.”

Istina lighted up, briefly. She watched as Rosa’s cheeks colored, followed by a crisp, embarrassed-sounding laughter of hers. The one that mysteriously would creep deeper to her heart.

By then, she would place the cold hands to her cheeks, letting coldness battling with her heated face.

“Adorable.”

“Stop that, Natalya.”

“Oh, but I won’t.”

[The hurt, the scar, the heights, the book – it’s a fine day, they deserved to forget about things for a while and find salvation at each other.]