White Lily

I Am Here

Written By | Series: Simoun

Notes and Disclaimers: In honor of the Simoun Cosplay contest being held at Yuricon’s 2007 “Yurisai”event, I present a Simoun fanfic.

The characters and situations of this story belong to Ichijinsha and Studio Deen and whoever else they belong to. I hope they do not mind my use of them.

I ought to point out that this story is *incredibly* pretentious. It is a Simoun story, after all. :-) I should also point out that it will make no sense at all unless you have seen at least up to Episode 24. Also, in case you’re just not getting it, this is Yun speaking. She was not my favorite character, but her story became my favorite as the series progressed. I just love the choice she made. So there you go.

I hope you’ll join us at our 2007 Yuricon event, where we hope to be premiering the first volume of Simounby Media Blasters!

My thanks once again to the Fanfic Revolution for their support. And once again, I ask that, if you enjoy this or any of my stories, you at least write me a nice email to say so. :-) It’s not too much to ask, I think.

 

I Am Here

 

I

I am here.

I said that, but, who is this “I” that I spoke of? I am not the “I” who arrived here; wounded, weak, wavering in my faith. I am not the child who was forced to fight, who faced death, who feared to be alone.

I am alone.

I am not the I that referred to myself as a child might, or as the man I thought I would become.

I am no longer the priestess that I was, nor am I am the eternal maiden I thought I wanted to be.

I am the one person who could rescue Onashia. I am the one person who could free her. I am the one person in the whole world who shoulder her burden.

I am the one who is here.

 

Am

I am here.

I am not here.

I am no longer. I am alive, and I am dead. I died and there is no one to mourn me, for here I stand, in the company of nothing more than the shadows of childhood that are left behind here. Cast off, they remain, while the men and women who are newly made here leave to make their lives.

Here is a womb of the unborn, the unmade, the lost, the pure. I hold them in my heart, cherishing their pasts, as they move into their futures.

I am the one who remains.

 

 

Here

I am here.

Here is an impossibility. Here is two places at once, two times happening simultaneously. There is no “here.” It is not my home; it is not part of the world at all. Here is where I must remain, even though here cannot exist.

This spring is everywhere, it is nowhere. It has power, it has none. The water is merely water. I am the conduit between Tempus Spatium and those who stand naked in the amniotic fluid of the spring, waiting to be born.

There is no here.

There is no me.

I do not exist.

Yet.

I. Am. Here.