Tales of Future Not Quite Past

By SenritsuBaroness

Author's Note: Italics are thoughts, bold type is flashbacks, and ~* indicates shift from one person to another. ^_^ Also, sorry I haven't updated, but I have no Internet at the present time. L

          Chapter Three: The Present Into The Past

          Song-Mei went to the movies, just like her mother had told her to do. She went to see one of those wartime cartoons. It was a cartoon which featured a Hitler duck, a Mussolini goose, and a Hirohito duck. The Hitler duck had the same brown hair and mustache like the real Hitler; the Mussolini goose had the ridiculous hat that Mussolini sported; and the Hirohito duck had glasses and a huge grin plastered across his face. Song-Mei narrowed her eyes angrily; she hated the way the American propaganda cartoons portrayed the Japanese. Japanese people aren't always grinning like that, she thought. The cartoon ended with the Hitler, Mussolini, and Hirohito birds being shot and becoming decorative mantelpieces, and a message: "If you would like for this to happen, support our soldiers and BUY WAR BONDS!"

          Song-Mei rolled her eyes as she left the theater. I don't know what's worse: American or German propaganda. It's not like Stalin or Churchill are saints, either, or Jiang Jieshi (Chiang Kai-shek).

          "World powers," she grumbled to herself. I guess I'd better enjoy my last day in my world, because I don't plan on coming back for a while, Song-Mei thought. She had come to the realization that the whole war itself was simply overwhelming. Even though America could not accept her, she did maintain a small sense of patriotism, and she couldn't wish for anything more than for the Allies to be victorious. However, she was tired of being bombarded with the Germans' atrocities. It was true the Germans were doing bad things, but Song-Mei believed that not all the Germans were bad and that the blame should not be placed on the entire race itself, but the people in power, mainly Hitler and his cronies, especially Heinrich Himmler. She tired of rations; of hearing boys talk of joining up; of constantly looking to the sky for star-adorned planes; of air raids, war news, D-Day, and almost all connotations with present-day civilian life.

          She walked into a local restaurant to splurge on a greasy burger. The price of meat had soared since meat was now rationed as well. But it had been so long since she had tasted any meat other than pork, she felt it was worth the few extra cents. She squirted ketchup onto the greasy meat and slapped the soggy bun back down onto it. It might just be me, but service seems to have gone downhill since the war, she thought as she took a big bite. None of this would have happened if we hadn't blamed Germany in the First World War.

          She finished her meal and left abruptly to go home and pack. She wanted to take with her at least a few modern provisions. She thought to stop and buy some bubble gum and chocolate when she saw some in the local grocery store; after all, candies had become a rare delicacy since they, too, went to the soldiers. Mulan probably would like chocolate and bubble gum, too, so she bought two packs of gum and two bars of chocolate.

          She started on her way home, but not before she was stopped by a classmate.

          "You haven't been to class lately," the red-haired girl said.

          "Um . . .yeah," Song-Mei replied, smelling alcohol on the girl's breath while searching her memory for the girl's name.

          "Want some?" the girl held out a dark brown glass bottle, which obviously contained beer.

          Song-Mei shook her head. She'd drank alcohol before and it had a most unpleasant taste and odor. She'd promised herself she'd never drink beer again.

          "Aww, come on," the girl taunted.

          "Ah, no, that's quite all right," Song-Mei replied, getting onto her bike and pedaling away as fast as she could.

          When she arrived home, she grabbed a large suitcase and began cramming in whatever she could. Her winter uniform, school uniform winter coat, school sweater uniform, school uniform hat, a blue skirt, a long-sleeve light blue blouse, a hairbrush, hair ribbons, underwear, socks, extra shoes, a block of cheese, some canned corned beef, a can opener, cans of soup, a bowl, a fork, a spoon, a knife, and whatever else she could think of. She then tiptoed to her father's room and carefully took the shotgun, ammunition, and handgun.

          She then went to the bathroom and shook down her long hair. She took out a jar of her father's hair gel and carefully, with her hair brush, began brushing her hair up in a circular motion, from left to right, to her scalp, using the hair gel to keep it in place. When she was done she looked like she had close-cut hair. Next, she took bandage tape and began wrapping it around her breasts in an attempt to flatten them and appear masculine. She then changed into her brother Hans's boy's uniform. With that done, she took her things and got onto her bicycle and headed for Chinatown. As she rode, she found it very unusual not to feel her ponytails flapping in the wind behind her. She wasn't used to feeling the wind rush against her bare neck.

          "Goodbye, San Francisco," she said as she rode up to the Chinese Tea Garden. Of course, she now had a teeny-tiny problem: the garden was closed; its gates were sealed and locked.

          Great. Just great. How in blazes am I supposed to get my bicycle over that gate? The gate stood about a foot above Song-Mei's head, and Song-Mei was only five feet eleven inches tall.

          Well, Hans would just throw the bicycle over the gate. But I'm not as strong as Hans is. She stood there pondering about what to do.

          "Oh, what the heck," she muttered to herself as she gripped the bicycle's steel frame and hauled the bike over her head. Mustering up all her strength, she tossed the bicycle over the top of the gate, where it landed with a loud crash on the concrete. Song-Mei winced and hoped no one had heard.

          Next was her bulging suitcase. Gripping the suitcase handle, she tossed it over the gate, where it landed with a thud.

          Lastly was herself. She reached one ivory hand up to the very top and grabbed hold, feeling her toes lift off the ground. She hoisted herself up and scooted until she was seated on the very top of the gate. She then did a graceful flip down to the ground, landing on her feet.

          "I can't see a thing," she grumbled, fiddling in her pocket for her flashlight.