DUSTY DEATH		

I remember the hospital room. Clean, white walls loomed on all sides,
pressing in on me. Flowers sat nearby, fresh and vibrant. Sitting by the
bed and holding a withering hand, I remember the tangy smell of
anticeptic. 

I remember dust. The taste of grit in my mouth against my teeth. I
remember reaching up to take the hand that swung below the black gi
sleeve, the feel of rough fingers warm and sweaty from the heat. 

I remember the heat and the solemn voices. There was movement from the
fingers that automatically clenched. And from the long black legs behind
which I had tried to shade myself from the dust. They moved, taking me
with them, my small legs hurrying, hurrying, forever moving forward. Did
he not realize that so close to the ground there was so much dust
swirling around? Squeezing my eyes shut, I ran to keep up.

"Run little one," Mother had said. "Run like Goldilocks chased by the
three bears." 

I remember being lifted into the car. It was black and shiny like the
all rest of them, all in a row. I let my feet swing off the seat, too
short to touch the ground, wiping gritty hands on my black, cotton
skirt. I tried to take off the black jacket which was covered in dust,
but father stopped me, his hand ever so pale, his face like a cloud with
its shadows.

"Look Mother, it's a beetle."

"Ah ha, so it is. Always remember, beetles bring luck."

The car crawled, its mournful pace too slow for a breeze. Pressed
against the glass, I watched the temple pass us. I remember incense,
more overpowering than the dust.

"Man came from dust," she had said.

I watched as the homes and the children went pass us. I saw an elderly
woman in her garden stare solemnly at us, hedge-clippers in hand, old
enough to appreciate the spectacle, old enough to fear the black beetle
cars. I stared at her, turning myself till the very last view of blue
nylon frock and hedge clippers had disappeared from sight.

"I believe roses are the souls of angels," Mother had said, "And birds
the souls of children."

No birds cried now, only father. I tried not to notice as I watched his
reflection in the window. I looked as we passed trees, expecting bears
at every trunk. My sisters sat next to me in stony silence, tears
glistening on their faces leaving silver trails.

These images went away, leaving only dirt and dust. A large rectangular
stone had sprung up, with its strange inscriptions. I remember walking
to the hole, ever so deep. I remember the roses scattered, and saw
Mother's soul in the roses. I remember the handfuls of dirt scattered,
creating dust.

"Man came from dust," she had said. 


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AUTHOR'S NOTES
If you are having trouble understanding what this is about, it's about
the death of Akane's mother. The little girl is Akane, although that is
not very clear. I feel that she was the one least affected, as her
mother had died when Akane was very young. 

I know the flashback gets a little confusing at times, but I felt that
it gave the story a nice touch. The title sucks, so someone pls give me
some suggestions on what I should change it to. This is my 2nd fic so
don't kill me just yet. C&C is always welcome.



-- 
     ("`-/")_.-'"``-._                    SIMBA      
      . . `; -._    )-;-,_`)        gomen@bigpond.com 
     (v_,)'  _  )`-.\  ``-'             
    _.- _..-_/ / ((.'         If you aim low, you'll always succeed
  ((,.-'   ((,/