If you've already stopped in at the bookshelf page and read my Whisper of the Heart review, then congrats! This is the whole-ass novel that movie inspired me to write. It's still not finished, but this is the prologue. I submitted it for my literature class creative writing task, and it got full marks. LOL
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The view was mesmerising.
Ritsuko could see all the way down the street to the park at the end, and past the houses opposite her all the way down to the river. Blue water opened up in front of her, boarded either side by overcrowded bushes and spindly trees growing on the shore. A little further along was a tall, rocky cliff; in front of it lay large expensive boats and sleek yachts asleep at their buoys, rocking slightly with the waves. A ferry, too far away to make out its passengers, made a slow, looping curve before disappearing around the bend of the river, trailing white froth and little rolling waves in its wake.
On the opposite shore sat countless houses; or rather, mansions. They seemed tiny from this distance, like dollhouses piled on top of one another with little trees made of paper placed between them. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows and glass balcony railings caught the afternoon light and colourful paint jobs made a scarce few stand out amongst the whitewash of the others. Ritsuko watched as all of the trees she could see swayed out of sync with each other in the evening summer breeze. Her skirt caught the edges of the wind, lifting the hem slightly. She turned back slowly to gaze unseeing at the movement of the frills, resting her head heavily on the railing next to her where she sat by the edge.
Tears blurred her vision— the blocky, flowery, faded pattern of the balcony tiles beneath her smudging and the colours meshing together as she hugged her knees tighter.
The breeze came again, colder and more forceful this time, making her short hair dance gently in front of her face. She brushed it aside, silent tears now rolling down her pink cheeks, but a few strands came loose as she tucked it behind one ear to continue their dance with the wind.
She let her hand drop, but shuffled slowly backwards until her back was leaning on the glass of the door and she was safe from the wind. She let her legs drop to one side as she looked up.
There was another girl in the opposite window.
Ritsuko’s grandparents’ house was perhaps the smallest on the street, but its neighbour was the— if not one of the— largest in the neighbourhood. It was old, the paint yellowed and peeling, but it had too many archways and the balustrades on any of the three balconies were intricately detailed and smooth.
One of the balconies faced the one where Ritsuko was crying, and on that balcony was a girl around Ritsuko’s age with dark braided hair and thick, round glasses holding open a glass sliding door, her lips parted in surprise.
Ritsuko blinked.
The girl seemed to remember herself, and shut the door behind her hurriedly. She then dashed over to lean excitedly on the railing. ‘Is that you, Ritsuko?’ the girl asked.
Ritsuko blinked again in surprise, then quickly wiped her eyes of tears and stood up. She walked over slowly, emerging into the sunlight, staring up at the girl. Her balcony was a little under a metre higher than Ritsuko’s own.
Ritsuko nodded in response to the girl’s question.
The girl seemed to take that to mean she could continue asking questions. ‘Why are you crying?’
Ritsuko shook her head. ‘I’m not,’ she answered, her voice squeaky.
The other girl leaned out further, her glasses slipping down her nose. ‘You are.’
Ritsuko shook her head again, blinking back more tears. They didn’t go away, however, and she rubbed her eyes again to rid herself of them.
When she opened her eyes, it took a moment to process what they were seeing.
The girl from the balcony opposite had taken a running leap, launching herself over the balustrade. For a single, heart-stopping moment, she seemed about to fall— it was as if time had stopped and suspended her in mid-air, long braids swinging out behind her.
But she made it.
Her hands grabbed for the railing of Ritsuko’s flowery-tiled balcony, and she clutched it as her feet hit the rooftiles. She slipped, but lifted herself up and put her weight on the railing before she could fall.
Her feet dangled in the air above the tiles and the thin metal balustrade wobbled slightly underneath her.
Ritsuko hesitated, heart in her throat, but dashed to the girl’s side, and together they pulled her over the railing and to the safety of the balcony.
The two of them stood and stared at each other for a long moment, Ritsuko with an expression of horror and the girl with dark hair and thick glasses with a big, contagious smile.
Then they burst out laughing, the two of them, on Ritsuko’s balcony, and didn’t stop even when Ritsuko’s grandmother came upstairs to see what all the noise was about, and found a young girl who had definitely not come through the rest of the house to get there, and whose only other option of entry had about two or three metres of empty air beneath it.
‘You come through the front door next time, young lady,’ the old woman said, and the two girls laughed even harder, Ritsuko’s tears long forgotten.