A subtle familiarity tugged at the edge of her mind as she peered around the alley, a tide of panic beginning to rise as her memories flooded back into her mind.  In an instant, she was at full attention, her ears straining for hints of danger through the rain, every shadow holding a potential horror, her heart racing as she peered into every one.  Slowly, she began to relax, her fear turning to worry as she tentatively called out a name, in vain hope for a response.

“Sakura…?”

Only the sound of the rain, now a light drizzle, reached her ears. They’d been separated in the chaos, and now she could be almost anywhere.  The realization struck her like a physical blow, but, before the tears could even begin to well, the rain suddenly increased, seeming to pour down by the gallon, flattening her copious, spiky black hair, soaking her shirt and jeans.  A discarded jacket caught her eye; shrugging it on, she took stock of herself and the alley one more time as she zipped up the jacket and turned up the collar, as much to conceal the large scar across her left cheek as to ward off the cold rain.  She dipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans, sighing in relief upon feeling the small metal case, somehow still unusually warm in spite of the rain.  For a moment she just held it, feeling it, feeling that familiar temptation, the siren song of power, pulling at the edges of her consciousness, before shaking it off.  Touching her waist lightly, she nodded to herself; old habits die hard, but she pulled her jacket down to guard against prying eyes.

She furtively glanced around the alley, looking for any trace of her presence.  Above her unfortunate resting place was a smear of blood on the wall, a brick cracked and chipped where she’d hit her head.  With a quick, furtive glance, she covered the blood with her hand, and then quickly hurried out of the alley, leaving behind no trace but a charred spot on the wall, steaming in the rain.

She darted from shelter to shelter along the unfamiliar streets, finally pausing under the awning of a coffee shop. A newspaper stand that evidently doubled as an impromptu ashtray for the shop patrons offered the day’s serving of dull factoids and morbid voyeurism.  Crouching in front of the machine, she peered through the once-transparent window, concentrating on the bold headline that touted the paper’s centennial.

Finally, the familiarity made sense, and after a few moments to dry herself a bit, she again set out, without direction or purpose beyond the deeply felt need to keep moving, lest her thoughts catch up to her.

Three streets later, she paused again, this time at the window of an appliance and electronics shop. Several TV’s were displayed invitingly as the security cameras watched over them, Disney’s animated Pinocchio playing on a loop to put a ‘family-friendly’ face forward. As she watched the blue fairy transform Pinocchio into a real boy, the cold glass eyes of the cameras scrutinized her, their finely tuned monochromatic view indifferent to the tears mingling with rain on her cheeks.