Hurricane's Eye
Something had been nagging him all morning, but, try as he might, he just couldn't put his finger on 
it. Three trips to the water fountain, two to the copy center and one to the washroom didn't seem to 
help put him any more at ease. Staring dumbfoundedly at his PC in his cubicle, his mind was just 
not in the right frame to comprehend the delicate subtleties embedded within the many "case" 
statements and "for" loops.
Disgusted with himself, he put the code module he'd been working on back into the library, 
knowing full well that looking at it more today would be of no value. Picking up his laptop case, he 
grabbed several stacks of printout he'd been wanting a quiet moment to review, and fat handful of 
colored technical pens and highlighters. Turning to his cubemate, he muttered, "If anyone comes 
looking for me, you know where I'll be." 
A rare pleasant day was slowing passing outside as he took a seat at the picnic table under the 
crabapple tree. High winds and days upon days of drifting snow made Minnesota environs 
tremendously harsh in the winter, and, after seven or so months of that, he rejoiced in the simple 
pleasure of breathing in fresh air while enjoying the shade the small tree afforded. 
Flicking an ant away so as not to crush it, he set his laptop and other burdens down and began to 
organize the rather hastily thrown together printouts. In a few moments he'd successfully duplicated 
a similar work environment to his cube inside, although he now had the added benefit of listening to 
the gentle breeze rustle through the tree leaves as he worked. 
Or tried to, anyway. His mind was still being taunted by something he'd read...something that had 
been occupying his mind for almost a full year now. His self-image had exerienced a complete 
turnaround, which he owed primarily to his involvement in the struggle of a courageous young 
woman. During that time, she'd struggled to find herself and determine her reason for being. 
Similarly, he'd seen his whole life change positively as he began to enjoy the fruits of his labors: a 
new job, consistent with his own interests and career goals; buying a house to get out of those 
heinous apartments; proposing to his girlfriend and looking forward to their upcoming wedding; a 
new group of friends, both in corporeal form and via the Internet. Thinking of these things made it 
quite hard to concentrate on C code debugging, to be sure, and after about a half an hour he leaned 
back from the picnic table to rest his head against the building's brick wall. Blowing out his breath 
so as to puff his cheeks out, he again tried to focus on the nameless bothersome stray thoughts that 
kept so effectively ruining his concentration. 

"I'm so very proud of you. You know that, don't you?" 
He was up with a start as the young woman's voice broke him tumultuously out of his torpor. 
Embarrassed, he turned to look a the speaker, hoping it was someone he knew so as to keep his 
nodding off a secret. After a short but noticeable delay as his eyes focused and his brain registered 
who the speaker was, he found himself helpless to do anything but stare agape, his mouth wide 
open. He looked incredulously at the person standing there, realizing instantly who she was but 
knowing that, without bending a few previously unbroken laws governing the dimensia of space and 
time, this meeting *should* be impossible... 
But there she was, just the same. A young woman, appearing to be in her early twenties, stood to his 
left, casually leaning against the crabapple tree. Her raven-black hair fell loosely about her head, 
onto the shoulders of the simple teal blouse she wore. Standing with one leg bent, she was dressed 
in khaki knee-length expedition shorts and wore sandals on her feet, one of which was parked up 
flat against the tree trunk.
As she crossed her arms in front of her, her large brown eyes regarded him softly. He recalled her 
lips were usually turned up into a slight pucker; at this moment, however, her face wore a smile, 
seemingly amused at how taken aback he had been at her appearance.
Time itself seemed to stand still as he gawked at her. 
"I'm so proud of you", she repeated, apparently satisfied that the silence's poignancy had been 
effective enough.
His jaw snapped shut as he regained his wherewithal. "Thank you", he said quietly, all the time 
telling himself that this was all a hallucination; this conversation couldn't possibly be taking place. 
Could it?
All to once he began sputtering, "But how did you....how could you have possibly...what are you 
doing...why are you..." 
She tutted him as she pushed herself away from the tree and sat down beside him on the picnic 
table. "Enough", she said, holding one finger to his lips. "Those questions will all be answered in 
due time. For now, I just wanted to take the time to let you know I'm proud of you and that I'm 
pulling for you just as much as anyone else."
"You are?", he said, astonished. "Why? How can you?" 
"How can I?", she said in a amazed voice. "It's simple. You and I walk like paths, that's how. You 
and I are both peaceful warriors, journeying in parallel with one another. Your victories, your 
defeats, your growth...these are things that you and I share, and we share them collectively with the 
community of warriors with whom we travel."
He listened intently as she went on. "On the same token, you have shared my victories, my defeats, 
and been witness to my growth since before I ever existed, my friend. Your support, your empathy, 
and your dedication to the warrior's path have been just as inspirational to me as the story of my 
struggle has been to you."
"I was brought forth into this world by someone else, someone far away from us right now. That 
much is true." She lowered her head, as if composing her thoughts, before continuing. "Were it not 
for you, and for people like you...your fr---"
He blinked while she paused, and nodded, indicating his empathy and support. 
"...no, our friends, then my travels, my suffering, my struggles, all the hurt and pain and loss would 
have b-been f-f-for..." 
She choked as she stifled a sob in the back of her throat. 
"...would have been for n-nothing." A single tear ran down her left cheek. 
He realized all to once that this was a real human being he was talking to, not just a human trapped 
in a cyborg body. Her cheeks were slightly blushed by human blood pumped by a human heart 
coursing beneath human skin through human capillaries delivering oxygen to human cells. From 
beneath her eyes, for the first time in years, gone were the steel grey cygnet-heads that had come to 
be her trademark. In the whole time he had known her, he had always considered her attractive, 
though she would have been the last to admit it, but now...in that moment, she radiated an aura of 
spiritfulness and humanness unlike anything he'd ever seen before...
It was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. 
The tear traced its path down her cheek, leaving a small trail as it went. As it dribbled off her chin 
and disappeared, he realized that even this, the smallest of sentimental displays, was to her the spoils 
of the single most important victory in her life. It was that victory, the one that had allowed this 
Pinnochia to become fully human once again, that represented to him the greatest victory of all, the 
greatest accomplishment of all time. 
She had achieved the Ars Manga, that greatest of all victories experienced when one overcomes their 
karma, and begins to accept the responsibilities of one's divine appointment.
This marked the beginning of her life, living as one with God. 
The realization hit him like a freight train. 
As she stood, he stood with her, demonstrating in equal parts his solidarity with her and his desire 
for her not to leave. She drew close to him, and they embraced gently. Leaning her head against his 
shoulder, she whispered: 
"Rage...rage against the dying of the light...do not go gentle into that good night".
They gave each other a slight hug, then broke their embrace. He stood opposite from her, and found 
himself unconsciously mimicking her as she drew her fist to her breast. Pumping it twice, as if to 
resemble the beating of her human heart, she addressed him for the last time. 
"White in battle, my friend. May our next meeting find thee well." 
Pivoting on the ball of one foot, she turned and was gone. As she walked away, her image blurred, 
then faded into nothingness, as if she had been but some trick of the light.
He stood there unmoving for several minutes, then returned to his seat on the picnic table. Leaning 
his head back against the wall, he wept. 

He woke with a start, snorting as he came back to reality. His laptop still lay open on the table, but 
the breeze had scattered his printouts all over the place. Grabbing the pens and highlighters and 
jamming them back into his pant's pockets, he began collecting the papers in a rather haphazard 
manner. 
His task complete, he returned to the laptop to close it and return to his desk. Just as he reached to 
close the lid, he noticed something that he'd not noticed before. Toward the top of the keypad was 
attached a sticky note, with some writing on it. The handwriting, while he had never seen it before, 
seemed somehow familiar.
A smile came to his face unbidden as he read the note. 
Walk in faith, Mark. Walk in faith. -- A.
His heart and soul leapt as he wandered back inside. 

Copyright 1997 Mark Engels. Permission granted to distribute in any digital/binary/e-mail form; 
however, any physical printout is prohibited. Based on characters created by Yukito Kishiro. Any 
resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.