Various Vocaloid One-Shots

The Bridge

Type: Miku x Kaito
Done by choice
Author's Note: This is the first of THREE one-shots that I am writing by choice (i.e., that are NOT REQUESTS) that are really precious to me. As such, I spent a fair bit of time on them (not really for rewriting, but just because they're so long). I will note the next two when I publish them and I hope you enjoy this one.
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"You remember this bridge, don't you?"

I say the words softly as I peer down, the toes of my Mary Janes pressed against the bridge's dull grey, stone parapet. They've replaced the flat railing with a curved one. It's not ideal for sitting on anymore. I gently run my fingers along the curved, cool stone. You're all I can think about when I come here. The wind echoes my thoughts and caresses the fine strands of my teal locks. It's shorter than it was, once upon a time. My hair is tied up in a bun, as opposed to the twin tails or braids I used to keep it when when we came here, to this bridge.

The air is crisp and cool. The trees around the area, kissing both sides of the slow running stream below, are daubed with shades of reds, oranges and yellows. As they dance gently in the breeze, their reflections across the water tremble. They look like flames against curved glass. There are so many colours that I could go on about them forever, just naming the shades.

Scarlet. Mahogany. Burgundy. Carmine. Apricot. Peach. Salmon. Tangerine. Buttery yellow. Lemon. Saffron. Amber. Gold.

I repeat the colours in my head. Do you remember what you said that day? Before that day? I would hope so.

It was the autumn of ten years ago and our small town was even smaller. The annual harvest festival was only a few days away and I was still the new girl. My mother was still working full time, trying to make ends meet. After my father left us and we moved to this little town in an attempt to move on, I never really got to spend much time with her. I was alone when we moved. I was alone on the day of the festival.

You remember this, I'm sure. How everyone teased me and pulled my hair and clothes. I cried everyday but I never told my mom. She had enough on her plate and I was only a fourteen year old girl, the girl with the 'weird blue hair'.

Remember how the leaves looked that day? We weren't standing together but they looked a lot like they do today. You probably took note of the beautiful colours. I think it was one of those things we both really liked.

"Eww!" Someone giggled and I felt a hand pull at my hair.

I spun around, crying out in surprise as a small blonde girl cackled and walked away. I didn't cry because by then I had gotten used to it. I just thought to myself how her hair was just about as long as mine. The colour was different, that was all.

"Look at her clothes," someone snickered as they passed. I glanced down at my outfit, which consisted of a black shirt, a beige, cream-coloured cardigan over it, and a bright yellow skirt that reached to the middle of my calves. That morning, I had actually thought it looked sort of cute, but now I wasn't so sure.

I clenched my fists and slowly walked towards a food stall. The adults were much nicer than the teenagers. At least they didn't openly offer negative comments about my hair.

"Could I have a caramel apple?" I asked once I got to the stall.

I had that little black clutch with me, the one you complimented when we first met, later that day. I pulled out fifty cents and handed it to the man in the stall. His eyes were crinkled from age and the irises were a sparkling grey hue. With a kind smile, he handed a wooden stick with a candied apple on the end.

I smiled and walked through the dry grass. I could smell corn being roasted and some children younger than me were running around, eating peanuts. I wondered if they teased each other. I had never been made fun of before I moved to this town, but I assumed that such people were everywhere.