- Location
- Somewhere
Wait, wasn't the vote a tie? 3 each between here and SB.
[X] Music Theory.
[X] Yes, of course!
[X] Look through the papers.
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Drowned in Honey: Transfer School Girl Quest!
- Thread starter Guiding Bolt
- Start date
[X] Music Theory.
[X] Yes, of course!
[X] Look through the papers.
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
on second read, it was. Oops. When I was tallying, I ended up skipping over kelirapc's vote because it was a doublepost.
Won't happen again, but thanks for pointing it out.
DefRevenge24601
And 3 Years Later, He Rose Again
- Location
- FL, USA
Run that name by me again.
The one resisting the shenanigans of Miss Sakurai...
You sly dog.
It's even spelled the same way.
I SOLVED THE MYSTERY! THE ONE BEHIND THE CORRUPTION IS:
*pulls off easy-to-tear Guy Fawkes mask*
MONIKA!
*Gasp*
EDIT: This is about 90% shitpost, btw.
OR IS IT?
The one resisting the shenanigans of Miss Sakurai...
You sly dog.
It's even spelled the same way.
I SOLVED THE MYSTERY! THE ONE BEHIND THE CORRUPTION IS:
*pulls off easy-to-tear Guy Fawkes mask*
MONIKA!
*Gasp*
EDIT: This is about 90% shitpost, btw.
OR IS IT?
Opening -- 0.10
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Winning vote:
[X] Music Theory.
[X] Yes, of course!
[X] Look through the papers.
========================
I make it to my next class early and take a seat by the windows. It's storming outside, but even in the harshest storm there's beauty, and that beauty is as worthy of admiration as the beauty of the soft breeze. I stare into the raging tempest and I let everything else fall away. The crash of thunder, the pattering of the rain, the dancing light of the sun come through cracks in the storm clouds. I want to let everything slip away, to lose myself in the beauty, but I can't. I see the raindrops against the glass, and I shudder, because in that moment they aren't just raindrops.
I see my reflection in them. I see the girl I've always been, the girl on the outside of a glass window looking in on a happy world and struggling to find out what I have to do to make it through that glass pane. I see years of tears, of struggle, of pain, coming down that window like they've come down me. I see. . . I see someone else. There's someone coming for me, from the other side of the glass, a blur of shadow and storm inching closer and closer. A hand raised, stretched out, reaching towards the glass, through the glass, towards me--frantic, I look over my shoulder, look for who it is in the real world that's reaching out for me.
There's nobody there, but a girl two chairs down, utterly lost in her phone. I shake my head and when I spare a glance for the window, it's gone again. I look away.
I put the papers down on my desk when I first sat down. Calling them papers is an exaggeration, really--two sheets, some other scraps mixed in, torn from notebooks and written quickly in scribbled pen or pencil. There's a lot that I just can't read. The kanji are too blurred, the marks not clear enough for my non-native eye, but the parts that I can make out are inspiring. Well, if you consider pejoratives aimed at Miss Sakurai inspiring. There are other parts that I can tell are heartfelt, even if I can't make out the exact meanings -- little drawings attached on the sides, short symbols of encouragement, single emojis drawn out -- but the part of the papers I find to be the most important is the smallest of the torn out sheets.
It's in much neater handwriting, though the writing has a style to it that I'm not familiar with it. It's not really a message -- it's three names, sitting beside eachother, and attached with them are number. Monika -- digits. Yuriko -- digits. Mizuki -- digits. A short scribbled message thereafter. "We're here to help."
I pocket that paper and put the rest into my bag. I don't know any of them, really, and I don't want them to waste their time on helping me, but . . for whatever reason, I can't get myself to just get up and throw the slip away. Maybe I'll send them a message later, if only to thank them and let them know that I'm okay. My attention starts to drift again, and I let it, and I catch myself staring out into the storm again. I guess I'm staring out with a purpose now. I'm not just looking for the beauty of the storm, there's something else out there.
But I'm forced to admit--maybe there isn't anything else out there. I've been staring into the great tempest for minutes now, and it's just a storm. The hand, the figure, the grasp, I guess it was all just figments of my imagination. Except--there it is! I lean forward, towards the window, and I see once more the shadowy figure approach. With each moment it draws near, my heart beats faster, and I start to raise a hand out towards the window as the figure reaches a hand out towards me--
A cold hand is on my shoulder, and I almost jump out of my skin. I look back, and behind me stands Rika, her face as confused as her eyes are red and her eyes as red as my cheeks are turning. I let out a little gasp, and there's a moment where Rika just stares at me, before she lets go and breaks down into laughter. She takes the seat next to me and shakes her head, trying to cover her mouth to stop the noise but I can still hear it and I can feel the eyes of the rest of the room turning towards us and I can feel my head slumping down in shame onto the desk in front of me.
Rika's worried voice starts, some attempt at apology or badgery, but I don't listen. I try and drown out everything and focus on keeping my building frustration down, focus on holding onto that bit of happiness I had fallen into, but I can't drown it all out. I can't drown out the sound of the bell starting to ring, the door starting to slam, and I can't reasonably try. I pull myself back up, I try to pull myself back together, and I look up to the front of the room. There's a man standing and talking.
It takes a minute before I can understand what he's saying. I don't know why--his Japanese isn't bad. It's not hard to follow. My mind is just in a million places, and I couldn't put the sound I was hearing together with any sort of comprehensible language. Well, somewhat comprehensible. There's a lot of terms here that I never really thought that I'd have to know when I was learning Japanese, and while I can put some of them together from context, it's difficult to when there's entire sentences that are slipping past me.
As much as I try, I really can't make out anything for the first ten minutes of class. When he finishes, he glances around and starts to ask for questions, and I just look down. I can't go ahead and ask him to repeat everything he just said, can I? I stay quiet. He goes and sits down at his desk. Rika is trying to talk to me, and as much as I don't want to listen, I can't block out all of her words. She's apologizing again. I turn to her--oh. She's pale, and when I see that, I pale too. She hadn't meant to hurt me, and I had--I had hurt her in how I responded, hadn't I?
She's talking, but I shake my head. She stops. I manage out some words. "I'm sorry. It's all okay." It's not all okay, but maybe if I lie and say it is, she'll believe me. She seems to, the way she smiles back to me, the way her red eyes tinkle for a moment. I've been too focused on myself today, haven't I--too focused on my own issues to realize that other people are hurting too. The cheery Rika I saw this morning is gone, the gang signs she thrown at me gone, and in her place was this worried ghost with eyes as red as mine.
She nods at me and looks down. I look down too. I want to talk, but I don't know the words, and I've never been good at that improvisation thing. And in front of an audience like this, maybe it's better that we don't talk. Maybe it's better that we wait. We sit in silence, silence except for the storm outside, silence except for the storm I'm sure that was raging on inside both of us. Time passes faster than I thought possible, but at the same time, every moment of the silence drags on, growing only in its painful tenure.
Finally, she turns to me and pushes a piece of paper onto my desk. It's her number. Rika gives me a timid look, for just a moment, but it's so against her character that it stands out to me. I take it and look down at it. It's her number, and next to it, there's a scribbled note --
I don't know how long I sat there with my face in my hands and my stomach in my mouth, doing all that I could to keep myself together and keep what was inside inside. I just know that when I managed to finally swallow everything back down, the room around me was near empty, and a bell had just finished ringing. The professor at the front of the room gave me a gentle smile and nodded towards the door, and I stumbled to my feet in response. Before I knew it I was out of the room, and the door was shut behind me, and the teacher was striding off with an oblivious smile and a hummed tune on his lips.
The school day must be over. I've gotten some semblence of myself together leaning against the wall. Right. It's time to go and--
[ ] Go to Moe's club. I can't let her down.
[ ] Find Rika. She wanted to talk. I owe it to her to talk to her.
[ ] I should make sure Miss Fukunaga understands what happened in Sakurai's class.
[ ] I should go home. Today hasn't been healthy. I need some time.
While I do that, is there anything else I want to do or think about?
[ ] Text someone.
-[ ] Write-in.
[ ] Write-in.
================
meant to have this out earlier, kept getting distracted though and my head's just having a hard time writing right now. if it seems a bit jumpy, that's probably why. still, i've set the update pace, and i'd rather not change from it when i know I can work through it. This update is fairly short, but the next update will probably be one of the longest.
with that said, as always, i hope you guys enjoyed the update! thank you for reading, and if you have any questions, i'll do my best to answer them! : )
[X] Music Theory.
[X] Yes, of course!
[X] Look through the papers.
========================
I make it to my next class early and take a seat by the windows. It's storming outside, but even in the harshest storm there's beauty, and that beauty is as worthy of admiration as the beauty of the soft breeze. I stare into the raging tempest and I let everything else fall away. The crash of thunder, the pattering of the rain, the dancing light of the sun come through cracks in the storm clouds. I want to let everything slip away, to lose myself in the beauty, but I can't. I see the raindrops against the glass, and I shudder, because in that moment they aren't just raindrops.
I see my reflection in them. I see the girl I've always been, the girl on the outside of a glass window looking in on a happy world and struggling to find out what I have to do to make it through that glass pane. I see years of tears, of struggle, of pain, coming down that window like they've come down me. I see. . . I see someone else. There's someone coming for me, from the other side of the glass, a blur of shadow and storm inching closer and closer. A hand raised, stretched out, reaching towards the glass, through the glass, towards me--frantic, I look over my shoulder, look for who it is in the real world that's reaching out for me.
There's nobody there, but a girl two chairs down, utterly lost in her phone. I shake my head and when I spare a glance for the window, it's gone again. I look away.
I put the papers down on my desk when I first sat down. Calling them papers is an exaggeration, really--two sheets, some other scraps mixed in, torn from notebooks and written quickly in scribbled pen or pencil. There's a lot that I just can't read. The kanji are too blurred, the marks not clear enough for my non-native eye, but the parts that I can make out are inspiring. Well, if you consider pejoratives aimed at Miss Sakurai inspiring. There are other parts that I can tell are heartfelt, even if I can't make out the exact meanings -- little drawings attached on the sides, short symbols of encouragement, single emojis drawn out -- but the part of the papers I find to be the most important is the smallest of the torn out sheets.
It's in much neater handwriting, though the writing has a style to it that I'm not familiar with it. It's not really a message -- it's three names, sitting beside eachother, and attached with them are number. Monika -- digits. Yuriko -- digits. Mizuki -- digits. A short scribbled message thereafter. "We're here to help."
I pocket that paper and put the rest into my bag. I don't know any of them, really, and I don't want them to waste their time on helping me, but . . for whatever reason, I can't get myself to just get up and throw the slip away. Maybe I'll send them a message later, if only to thank them and let them know that I'm okay. My attention starts to drift again, and I let it, and I catch myself staring out into the storm again. I guess I'm staring out with a purpose now. I'm not just looking for the beauty of the storm, there's something else out there.
But I'm forced to admit--maybe there isn't anything else out there. I've been staring into the great tempest for minutes now, and it's just a storm. The hand, the figure, the grasp, I guess it was all just figments of my imagination. Except--there it is! I lean forward, towards the window, and I see once more the shadowy figure approach. With each moment it draws near, my heart beats faster, and I start to raise a hand out towards the window as the figure reaches a hand out towards me--
A cold hand is on my shoulder, and I almost jump out of my skin. I look back, and behind me stands Rika, her face as confused as her eyes are red and her eyes as red as my cheeks are turning. I let out a little gasp, and there's a moment where Rika just stares at me, before she lets go and breaks down into laughter. She takes the seat next to me and shakes her head, trying to cover her mouth to stop the noise but I can still hear it and I can feel the eyes of the rest of the room turning towards us and I can feel my head slumping down in shame onto the desk in front of me.
Rika's worried voice starts, some attempt at apology or badgery, but I don't listen. I try and drown out everything and focus on keeping my building frustration down, focus on holding onto that bit of happiness I had fallen into, but I can't drown it all out. I can't drown out the sound of the bell starting to ring, the door starting to slam, and I can't reasonably try. I pull myself back up, I try to pull myself back together, and I look up to the front of the room. There's a man standing and talking.
It takes a minute before I can understand what he's saying. I don't know why--his Japanese isn't bad. It's not hard to follow. My mind is just in a million places, and I couldn't put the sound I was hearing together with any sort of comprehensible language. Well, somewhat comprehensible. There's a lot of terms here that I never really thought that I'd have to know when I was learning Japanese, and while I can put some of them together from context, it's difficult to when there's entire sentences that are slipping past me.
As much as I try, I really can't make out anything for the first ten minutes of class. When he finishes, he glances around and starts to ask for questions, and I just look down. I can't go ahead and ask him to repeat everything he just said, can I? I stay quiet. He goes and sits down at his desk. Rika is trying to talk to me, and as much as I don't want to listen, I can't block out all of her words. She's apologizing again. I turn to her--oh. She's pale, and when I see that, I pale too. She hadn't meant to hurt me, and I had--I had hurt her in how I responded, hadn't I?
She's talking, but I shake my head. She stops. I manage out some words. "I'm sorry. It's all okay." It's not all okay, but maybe if I lie and say it is, she'll believe me. She seems to, the way she smiles back to me, the way her red eyes tinkle for a moment. I've been too focused on myself today, haven't I--too focused on my own issues to realize that other people are hurting too. The cheery Rika I saw this morning is gone, the gang signs she thrown at me gone, and in her place was this worried ghost with eyes as red as mine.
She nods at me and looks down. I look down too. I want to talk, but I don't know the words, and I've never been good at that improvisation thing. And in front of an audience like this, maybe it's better that we don't talk. Maybe it's better that we wait. We sit in silence, silence except for the storm outside, silence except for the storm I'm sure that was raging on inside both of us. Time passes faster than I thought possible, but at the same time, every moment of the silence drags on, growing only in its painful tenure.
Finally, she turns to me and pushes a piece of paper onto my desk. It's her number. Rika gives me a timid look, for just a moment, but it's so against her character that it stands out to me. I take it and look down at it. It's her number, and next to it, there's a scribbled note --
i'm sorry. i really am. i didn't mean to offend you!! i'm just,,
it's been a really long day for me, and i guess i didn't really notice
i don't know if you want to forgive me but please i'm better than
this,,
just Text Me later. if you want. or find me after school. i really want
to make this Right with you but i don't know if i can right now
I look down at it and swallow. I try to look at Rika, try to make eye contact, but she's just looking down. I swallow again, but it's not staying down. I don't know what I have left in me that can force itself out, but I can feel the tears starting to come, and I can feel the rawness of my throat, and I can feel the growing emptiness inside me as everything pushes towards the surface. I stare down at the wood grains of my desk and choke, and swallow, and choke, and shudder, and swallow, and choke, and shake, and--and--it's been a really long day for me, and i guess i didn't really notice
i don't know if you want to forgive me but please i'm better than
this,,
just Text Me later. if you want. or find me after school. i really want
to make this Right with you but i don't know if i can right now
I don't know how long I sat there with my face in my hands and my stomach in my mouth, doing all that I could to keep myself together and keep what was inside inside. I just know that when I managed to finally swallow everything back down, the room around me was near empty, and a bell had just finished ringing. The professor at the front of the room gave me a gentle smile and nodded towards the door, and I stumbled to my feet in response. Before I knew it I was out of the room, and the door was shut behind me, and the teacher was striding off with an oblivious smile and a hummed tune on his lips.
The school day must be over. I've gotten some semblence of myself together leaning against the wall. Right. It's time to go and--
[ ] Go to Moe's club. I can't let her down.
[ ] Find Rika. She wanted to talk. I owe it to her to talk to her.
[ ] I should make sure Miss Fukunaga understands what happened in Sakurai's class.
[ ] I should go home. Today hasn't been healthy. I need some time.
While I do that, is there anything else I want to do or think about?
[ ] Text someone.
-[ ] Write-in.
[ ] Write-in.
================
meant to have this out earlier, kept getting distracted though and my head's just having a hard time writing right now. if it seems a bit jumpy, that's probably why. still, i've set the update pace, and i'd rather not change from it when i know I can work through it. This update is fairly short, but the next update will probably be one of the longest.
with that said, as always, i hope you guys enjoyed the update! thank you for reading, and if you have any questions, i'll do my best to answer them! : )
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Do we have Rika's number? Cause that will... I won't say it'll end better talking over text, but it would probably be less painful for both of them at least. Rika looks to have it bad as us in her own way, just looks like she copes with some drugs and such. Well, nothing too hard anyway at least.
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Yes. Rika gave you her number in this chapter at the same time she gave her note.
[X] Go to Moe's club. I can't let her down.
[X] Text someone.
-[X] Rika
[X] Text someone.
-[X] Rika
- Location
- Somewhere
[X] Go to Moe's club. I can't let her down.
[X] Text someone.
-[X] Rika
[X] Text someone.
-[X] Rika
Opening -- Final
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Winning vote:
[X] Go to Moe's club. I can't let her down.
[X] Text someone.
-[X] Rika
===================================
Right. I pushed through. I made it through the day, and the one thing that let make it through was the promise I made to myself--the promise that I wouldn't let Moe down. I pulled myself up from the wall and started forward. The sounds of the storm, the idea that I had made it, the idea of seeing Moe again, of being a part of some club--it was thrilling. It was everything I wanted. But it couldn't be real, could it? Not after the rest of today. I'm lying to myself if I'm telling myself this will all go well. Something will go wrong. Something has to. It's the only consistent rule of my life.
Would she have even invited me now, after the display she saw in Sakurai's class? Would she still have taken me out to lunch? The moment with the rocks, her hand on mine, I . . I don't know what Moe wants from me. Is this a trap? Is she drawing me forward, pulling on my heart and soul so that she can cut them down? No. She wouldn't do that. She's too kind. She's too kind, I tell myself, but I've only known her for a few hours. People are more than their first impressions. I don't know who Moe really is, do I? I just know the show she puts on, the happy face she gives, the shoulder she's provided for me to cry on.
I warned myself about Tatsuya. I remembered, when it was him, those words of wisdom -- never confuse kindness shown in general for kindness shown for you. Wouldn't Moe have done the same thing to anyone Kaida had offended? I am just a victim of circumstance, thrown into a playing field I don't understand and grasping at any far flung hope. If I wasn't so stupid, maybe I could see a better way, maybe I could understand. But instead, here I am, drifting forward into certain shock and misery, that same shock and misery that has dominated all of my life.
I couldn't think like this. I couldn't doubt Moe. She had to be good. She had to be an angel. I've based too much on my belief that she is for her to be anything other than that. She was the belle of the game, the target of heart's desire, the beautiful princess locked away without savior. But she was more than that. She wasn't just a pretty and kind face. She was the knight in shining arms, the voice who had stood up against Kaida's dragon, the figure that for a moment tricked me into thinking that I could be someone's belle.
I had to doubt Moe. She was too good to be true. I shouldn't even be going to this club today. It's too soon. The club will still be there tommorow. She'll understand that I've had a rough day. She said she'd understand. I could go and help someone instead. I could make things right with Rika instead. No. I couldn't make things right with Rika. Not today. I needed time. I needed time not to think, time to sleep, time to pull everything back and rebuild my walls and rebuild who I was. What impression would I make, staggering into the room? Hi, it's me--yes, I look like I could scare a ghost out of undeath, it's who I am beneath my makeup every day. What would I even say to Moe? What did I want Moe to say to me?
It was a club. They'd be there to be happy, to have fun, to do theater. Was I in any state to play in a theater club? They'd call an icebreaker. An improv game, and I'd stagger to the stage, and I'd make an even bigger fool of myself. If Moe liked me now, by the time she was done watching that, surely she'd realize her mistake. I was shaking again. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. I couldn't think about what I knew was going to happen. It was better to focus on those good moments before it all inevitably came crashing down.
I had finally reached the door to the theater and started to open it when a voice interrupted me.
"Miss Irvine! I didn't know you were planning to join us in my club today." Miss Fukunaga's voice was curious, but welcoming. I dropped my hand from the door and swallowed. I was going to have to talk, if this was a theater club, if I wanted to make a good impression for Moe. And Miss Fukunaga wasn't someone who it was difficult to talk to.
"I . . I had a few friends who said that it was a good club and that they'd be here. I was, um, hoping I could just watch today, though--" I start to trail off, but Fukunaga is smiling to me. She takes a step forward and opens the door to the theatre.
"The club is actually in my classroom, but I've got a few things I need to grab from inside here if you want to come with me." I step through the door after her, carefully closing it to avoid the sound of it slamming behind us. After a moment, the main lights of the theater room kick on. It's a lot larger than I expected it to be. There's a small tech room to my left as we enter, and inside of it I can see a grand piano, well-maintained and covered in a very thin layer of dust.
Because I never really got into sports, and because I never really had trouble in academics, I had a lot of free time to myself to build, invent and work. It's why I ended up reconstructing and working on a lot of the appliances in our old home. Dad never really appreciated that side of me, though, and he had always tried to get me to go into music instead. Staring at that grand piano reminded me of the lessons I used to go to, to the hours of work I put into fingering and into memorization and into acquiring that ear for music. I wasn't a prodigy, but it became one of those ways I could escape.
I hadn't played a piano since Dad left. I couldn't play one at home before, and god knows we couldn't afford to own one at home now. Besides, it was an apartment--there's rules against playing loud music all throughout the night like I used to. It's something that I guess I had forgotten, though, a part of myself that I didn't like to think about because of how intertwined it was with him. Miss Fukunaga's voice pulls me away from my thoughts, though--she's standing at the stage, glancing at me with some light worry.
"Something catch your eye, Nellie?" She's sitting on the side of the stage now, a small bundle of goods next to her. I blush and shake my head. She waves me down to her, and before I know it, I'm down there sitting next to Miss Fukunaga on the stage. She pulls her hand forward and gestures out to the stage in front of us.
"A few years ago, we used to put on six shows a year. We'd fill the entire theatre, and we'd have people sitting in foldout chairs in the aisles. With Kaida, Tatsuya, Ryu and Mizuki as our stars, we were the highlight of the school." Her voice turned more wistful as she spoke and her face became a little more weary. I guess most people wouldn't have noticed the change, but it was an expression I'd seen on Momma's face more times than I can count. "Then Ryu and Mizuki graduated. Kaida and Tatsuya stepped up to take on their leading roles, and some of our other fabulous cast members stepped forward to take on the other roles. I tried to keep everybody in line, but I guess there was something between Kaida and Tatsuya that I had never noticed."
Miss Fukunaga looked down. I looked down, too. I wanted to reach out to her and try and comfort her, but she was my teacher. It wouldn't be proper, would it?
"The two of them started to fight. It was distracting from their performance. Tatsuya was the last of the real old guard--Kaida was, by all means, a prodigy. She had been on cast with the rest in her freshmen year. I told them to keep it out of practice. I started talking with them outside, trying to work out solutions, but I never really understood why they were fighting." She takes a long breath and shakes her head. "I made the greatest mistake of my career. Kaida rallied the new students against Tatsuya and delievered a petition to my desk. It was an ultimatium -- remove Tatsuya, or they would all leave. I . ." Miss Fukunaga looked at me and I looked back, and though the eye contact we shared was short, I could feel the pain in her.
"I caved in. I couldn't lose Kaida and all of the new talent. I talked to Tatsuya, showed him the petition, and--he left. I should've said no to the petition--it should've ended there--but I was too worried about the immediate pain to worry about my integrity, about the integrity of the program, the integrity of the school. Tatsuya's father was on the schoolboard. It wasn't a sudden change, but in every year since, we'd have had our funding stripped. Our number of shows stripped. A reclassification--we're a club, now, not a class, not a program."
"My greatest regret isn't that I let this program fail, though. What I regret most is that I let this program destroy the friendship that was once there between those two stars. I let their rivalry turn to bitterness, to hatred, to rage, and it destroyed all of us." She turned to face me completely, then. "I want you to understand that I won't let this happen again. Drama used to be a family, and that I let it be torn apart is unforgivable." I hesitate. I still don't really understand why she's told me any of this, but I nod to her. Maybe having someone to say this to helps her, even if it doesn't really help me.
She got up and hopped off the stage. I stood up, too, and helped her grab the two bundles of supplies. Our walk up the pathway was quiet, and I could tell Miss Fukunaga was deep in thought. I tried to focus on the task in front of me and push out my worries. It wasn't working, but it was better then letting the tide of regret wash completely over me. If I could just keep lying to myself that it'll all be okay, maybe one day I'll believe it. We leave the theater behind us, and I'm careful to shut the door such that it doesn't slam.
Outside of the theater, I can hear the sounds of the storm again. It strikes me that I never notice those times that the storm isn't there, only those times that it is. Miss Fukunaga is leading me to her classroom, still silent, and I am doing my best to follow along with her. There's sounds of laughter down distant corridors, sounds of talking in different clubs, an American voice giving the opening narration to the film as we pass by another closed door. I want to say something, but I've never been able to find the right words to say.
Eventually, we make it to her classroom. She pulls open the door and calls out: "Hello hello! Welcome everybody to another year of excitement! Of fun! Of theater!" There's some hollers in response. I slip out from behind her, glancing throughout the room for somewhere to sit. I catch Moe's eye and she smiles at me. There's an open spot next to her, and I make my way over to it as Fukunaga continues her opening. There's others in the room that I recognize as well. Kaida is sitting next to Moe. Aku is sitting near the front, eyeballing me as I head to the spot. There's a few others who I've seen but don't know the name of, scattered across the room.
I take a seat. Moe looks at me for a moment and smiles again, but then her attention is on Fukunaga. Right. I spare her a glance for just a moment, but I turn my attention back to the front.
It's been a long day for everybody, so she's not going to go through the normal improv games or the normal icebreaker show. There are a few disappointed murmurs from the crowd at this news, but Fukunaga silences them and continues. Everyone will still be going through and introducing themselves, and if they wish to step forward and lead further games they are welcome to, but they won't be required today. As she's talking, one of the students has passed out small brochures. The inside of the brochure is full of names of past shows, of schedules for club meetings and of potential fundraiser activities that we'd be doing throughout the year. It's all very normal and impersonal, and something about that hurts.
I don't really pay all that much attention during the introductions until it gets to the cluster I'm sitting by. Kaida introduces herself, a curt introduction that is layered with the air and idea that everybody already knows her. Moe gives her quick and cheerful introduction, saying that people have probably met her before if they're in track or tennis. It's more humble then I expected it to be. It gets to me, and I open my mouth to speak, but the words get choked up in my mouth and I wince.
I had one job and I'm failing it. "Nellie. But you can all call me Nell, um." The words fall out of my mouth. That they're in order is a miracle. "This is my first year here. I transfered from Clemson. That's in South--America." I'm getting weird glances. I wince. "It's in South Carolina. Which is in America. The United States of. I mean." My heart is pounding. I quickly look down and hope that they move on. Someone else is talking. I close my eyes and everything is red and everything is pulsing to the pounding in my chest and I can feel my heart squeezing and convulsing and I can feel--I can feel--
I can feel a hand on my hand. A firm, but gentle squeeze tightening around my palm. I open my eyes and my heart pounds faster. Moe is looking at me, her face worried but caring. The look in her eyes tells me it'll all be okay. I tell myself to believe her lie. The pounding is still going on, but it's different, and the talking is still going on, but it's further away and I'm too distracted to translate what it means. Moe squeezes my hand again and releases me. I choke on my feelings and force myself to look away from her gentle eyes and her soft stare.
I try to ignore the pounding inside me and listen to the words. It's all gibberish, though. I can't make out the names from the rest of the words. My mind must be tired. None of this is too hard to understand but I can't understand it. Something is just tearing me apart and making me incapable of this basic task. Maybe the language doesn't matter. If it was English, I doubt I could understand it even then. Eventually, the meaningless conversations end and Miss Fukunaga is sitting down in her desk in the front of the room. There are softer conversations now. I let out a deep breath.
Finally my heart is slowing down. I can start to understand the words around me. People are having side conversations. I look over to Moe, ready to ask her about her day, ready to ask her anything to try and become closer to her--but my words get caught in my throat. My heart gets caught in my throat. I choke on my emotions and my thoughts and everything in the world as I look at Moe. She's not facing me. She's turned away from me, her fingers intertwined with Kaida's, her face against Kaida's, her lips intertwined with Kaida's--
My world shatters around me.
I see two girls at a pond, tossing stones into the distance. I see two girls sitting down on a blanket, facing eachother and smiling as one does the other's makeup. I see two girls laughing together, dancing together, spending their lives together. I see two girls at a musical, watching together, their heads leaned against each other. One of the girl's is Moe. But no matter how much I wanted the other girl to be me, it never will be. I choke a little bit more and I force myself to look away. I force myself not to see.
I don't understand. I just wanted Moe to be my friend. This doesn't change that. This doesn't change anything. So what if she--so what if she and Kaida--
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone, skipping across the water. One bounce, then two. I see a girl's hand on another, squeezing gently, the fingers entwined, the calluses of an athlete rushing against the gentle skin of a pianist. I see two women sitting next to eachother, talking about something that I can't understand in a language that isn't mine. I see two girls at a musical, asleep in their embrace, letting the world pass them by because it isn't what they're doing that matters, it's who they're with, and Moe is there and with Kaida and I am not there and I am not a part of their world and I choke and I shake and I don't understand.
I don't understand. I know I'm stupid, but I didn't think I was this stupid. I just wanted a friend. I didn't want these feelings. Moe was supposed to be my angel. If I made it through the day, she was supposed . . she was supposed . . but I know that isn't fair. I know I can't think that. I know I don't deserve that.
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone, bouncing up from the pond. The third bounce, then the fourth. I see a girl sitting alone at the piano, playing until her fingers are raw, playing until the night is done, and I see two red eyes staring at her from the dark, watching and waiting. I see a hand reaching from the storm, reaching for the glass, reaching forth to pluck that last part of her from the world. I see a man looming over her, lecturing her, pounding into her heart and mind the basics of a concept I still cannot comprehend. I see a girl struggling in the dark as the world breaks down around her, teaching herself physics from old tomes, teaching herself Japanese from old textbooks, rebuilding that which her drunken mother tears apart in her maddened stupor because the love of her life left her and I choke and I shake and I understand.
I understand that that is my place, that that is my purpose, that that's all that I will ever be. That it's stupid to want to be something that I'm not. That I should stop pretending. Moe will never be my angel. All the angels are dead, and we killed them. Kojii was right. My father was right. I deserve this.
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone bouncing from the pond. T̷̤̄h̷̛̳ȩ̶͘ ̵̭͋f̶̲͒ĭ̸͇f̶̲̀ẗ̴̯h̶͔̾ ̶̡͆b̶͉̑ò̴̯ů̶̹n̶̒ͅc̶̮̅ḛ̷͝.̷̭̾. Ţ̶̨̛͎͖̯̗̳̒̊͂̆͋̽̐̏̋͆̈̎̿̈̔̈́͊̕͝h̶̡̡̢̭͙̟̲̤͎̖̜̲̜̫̤̞́͛͋̑́͜ͅē̷͎̺͉͚͙͇͐̾̃͋͋̑͛̋̊̈̚͠͝͝ ̸̢͇̖̤͈̺̠̻̇̂͊̐̇́̉͜s̴̢̧̡̼͉̹̦̤̜̺̘͙̠͓͚̟̲̙̤̙̻̯̣͛͗͋̐̄͛i̴̛̗͙̘̤̯̫̭͔͔̼̫͍͇͕̖͉̻͇̅̾̐̇̍́̋͑̂̋̽͛͋̾̀̾̀͛̕͘͘̕͘͜ͅx̵̨̡̛̞̭̮̖̮͇̬͇͉̝͉̠͎̣̓̀͛̏͗̏͑̽͊̂͒̾̀̀̽̕ͅţ̸̧̪͍̲͎̪͖̭̳͖̼̻͆̓̅͑̈́͆̐̆̉̏͌̇͐͜ͅh̶̢͔͔̥̮̺̟̺̥̭̘̣̼̩͚̓̇̽̀̈́̓͊͂̓̃͗́̈̄̓́́̊́̂͐͘͝͝.̶̨̭̤̗̺͙̺̹̠̼̣̪̑̓̐͆̇̉̂̃͒̂̓͋͆͑͒̽́͑̇̋̚͘͜͝͝
I see a girl standing on the edge of a bridge, staring into the water and seeing the murky dark beneath it. I see the stupid girl looking around for aid, looking around for a reason not to join the darkness that has called to her her entire life, and finding the world wanting. I see the ripples of the water as it shakes, the ripples of the fabric of her shirt as she takes that step forward, as she goes to take that final step forward. I see her hesitate. I see her tremble on the precipice. I see her look back, and behind her stands the ghost of the storm, behind her stands the beast of her nightmare, behind her He stands and reaches out to grab her. And I see her hesitate no longer. I see her jump and I choke and I shake and I remember.
I remember those parting words my dad said to me. I remember those aching screams of my mother when he left. I remember how he called us his experiment, I remember how he said he would be back. That we should be ready. That we could always call. Momma never stopped calling and he never stopped ignoring her.
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone bouncing across a pool of blood, dripping down from a wrist cut open. T̸̛̥͍̰͉̠̤̳̓̃̃͊͐̈̈́̄̈̅̿͂͛͌͐͐͐́͆̓̌̒̈́̆͑̂́̅̿̀̉͌͝͠͠h̵̨͚̮̳̱̻̙̻͙̱̪̲̜̼͔̥͓̺̰̻̪̰̭͆͂͌̔̔͒̉̈́̇̀̆̓̉̾̔̍͘͜͜͝é̵̢͈͔̣̖̤͍̙̜͙̤̬̯̗̠̼̒̏̑̑͊͂͛̅̌̍̓́̂͜͠ ̵̢̛̛̘̩̼̟̱̺̩̳̥̰̗̳̜̖͚̰̣̤̽̎̀̎̾̃͐͐͒͌͂͊͊̈̈̿̈̏̆̃̌̈́̎̋͆̉͌̈̄̎̂̈̂̔̚͘͘̕̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅͅs̵̨̨̧̢̝̘̩̹̳͇̹̣̪̦̗̦͔̐͆͂̎̑̽̿̎͋̈́͂̈́́͂̈́͆̕ͅë̷̡̨̛͉̝̠̤̜̣̘̘̲̥̤͚͎̝̬̱̝̼̹̰̱̬̮̹̪͓͈͉͓͙͎̙͇̹̞͍͎̼̙̤̯̼̥̻̘̤͇̰͖́͋̀̐̌̿̽̆̆̇̑̒̿̊̒̔̽̽͆̎̊v̸̡̢̧̡̨̛̺̰̩̘͔̠̬̭̹̮͙̬̲̜̤̘̟͉͈̮̤͙͔̳̠̖̪̘̙́̄͑͐̃͌̏̌̄͑͛̑͆͌̄͐̈́͐͐̆̿̃̌͛̕̚͠͝͠ͅę̴̧̧̨̺̝͇̹̜͍̼̦̟̤̦̯͚̙̮̹̠̺͚͉͖͔̮̩͍̤͖̮̂͛̄̄̆̃͆̈͌̽͠ͅͅń̷̢̧̨͇̭̜̞̲̺̻̼̱͓̯̘̝͇̫͍̳̅͌͐͆̈́͐̈́͊̽͗̂͗̑͆̇͒̇̑̊̇̎̅̚͠͝ͅt̴̢͇̝̱̺̱͍̠͇͎̻͙̜̮͔̲̝̋̈́̉͗̇̏͑̌͊̊̍̎̉̏͝h̵̢̢̛̥̪̰̲̮̤͎̥̲̭͈̖̝͉͙̼̰̣̪͚̫͔̗̪͙̮͙̗̟̲̱̩̤͉̣̩̞̼̗̲͎͚̠͙̠̐͊̈́̆͂̌̑̒̏͒͋͗̉́͌̊̆̑́̇́͐̀̉̑͌͠ ̵̢̣̙̙̺̝̭͚͖̰̼͖̖̤̬̲̘̯̗̹͔͎̋̐̀̈́̓̑͌̒͑͋͋͛̚b̸̨̙̻̬̥̗͈͈͇͇̪̜̳͇̉̈́̌̅̈́͆̓̆̈́̒̿̈͒͐̄͐̆̑͛̍̀̚̚̚͜͠͝͝ơ̶̱͓̖͙̟̺͔̹̌̒̅̂̾̐̔̊̇̇͗͆̉̾̀́̏̏́͗̈́͘͘͘͝ȗ̵̡̨̧̡̗͙͕̜͍̠͇̬̟̱̰̹̟͙̩̰̳͎͈̙̻̣͈͈͚͙̹̿̀͒́̌̿̔̔́͜͜͠ͅnc̵̡̨̢̢̢̨̖͙͓̲̻͍͇̤̗̖͖̱͇͚̖͓͙̪̯̮̖̜̜͉̲̺̼͔̟̣͖͎̜̼̭̉̆̆̓̾̉̅̂͆͋̃͊́̚̕͘͝ͅͅę̵̙̼̞̪̯̱̞̫͓̬̯͓̬̃̅̔̉̽̆̈́͌̃͗͗͛̇̎̋͊̏͐͗͐͗̄͋̿̉̊̋́̚͘͠͝͠͠͝͝͝.̶̢̡̧̧̮͍̘͎̣̲͔̱͎͙̠͇̦͚͇͎̘͙̭̮̲͖̺̠̻͚̯̘̆͑̍̐͐̈́̈́̾̀̆͊̆́̃̀̉̋̌̓͛̇̃̐́̄̆́̈́̐̐̾͐̔̽͒̽̚̚̚͜͝͝ I see the cracks in the fake smile she wears. I see the truth that she knows in her eyes, no matter how much she denies it. The truth that she doesn't belong. That Kaida was right. That her father was right. That her mother was right. That they were always right. That the world would be a better place if she simply stepped forward and embraced it.
I remember the words of my father. I do not know how I could ever forget. I was never human. I never should've thought that I could pretend to be human. I was a weapon, a tool, something to be used to fight the coming darkness, and I needed only to be broken open enough that he might use me. I remember him dragging the knife across Momma's skin. I remember his promise, his flesh and blood promise, that he would back for what is his. I remember my Momma's screams. I remember the drugs I got for her.
I remember the stitchwork I did for her. I rebuilt half the appliances in my home. I rebuilt my mother. I dragged her out of her addiction from my father. I gave her something else to live for, but I made her work for it. Her life's ambition was no longer in the hands of a man. It was in the bottom of a bottle. And she just had to find the right bottle. I remember the nights I cared for her, the nights I hid from her, the constant fear and paranoia I felt within my own home, under my own roof.
I remember when she threatened Felice. I remember when Lilly stood up to my mother. When she told me I had to choose, that I had to side with someone, that I had to make my mother understand that the life she was living wasn't a life worth living. I remember the broken xpression on my mother's face. I remember seeing the gun she slept beside every night, every night after she had collapsed from an overdose of my medications or from drinking too much. Too much? If it let her sleep without screaming, then it wasn't too much.
I remember when Lilly left me to my fate. I remember when she told me that if I couldn't see past my blood, that I couldn't see past my mother's failures, that I was no better than my mother. She was right. Lilly was always right. I am a monster. Everything I touch comes to ruin. Everything I hope for is false. I demand too much of others. A girl shows me a shred of kindness and I latch onto her, thinking her my messiah. But I am too far gone to be saved. I will always be this monstrous shell of a woman.
My world shatters around me.
I see a girl reaching out to me. A girl sleep deprived, who sees me and flashes the only thing she knows of America to me. It is violent. Her whole life has been violent. But I smile and I laugh. It is a joke to me. She keeps on her kind face and keeps away the sadness and I am too blind to see, even though I've always tried to do the same thing. I see another attempt. An offer for lunch. A way to help us both. And I refuse. I have a better offer. I have an angel to be with, an angel to drag down to hell with me. And I see the hurt in her, the dejection in her eyes, the warble on her lips, and I ignore it. I tell myself that her problem can't be near the same as mine.
I see the girl struggling. I see a note written out to me, a scribbled cry for help. A summons that I'm too blind to see. A summons that I ignore for my angel. I can't be rude to her. She matters to me more than I matter to myself. She matters to me more than the world around me ever could. Finally I see a stone come and land in the blood that has pooled around her, come to bounce an ę̷̡̛̛͎̩͙̫͌͊̇͐͊̏̽̊͌̆͘͘͘͠i̴̧̛̛͔͙͙̻̺͙̗͙͕͎̱͙͖͙̼̣͕͓̠̳̦͔͇̼̥̙̳̗̥͈̝̖̜͕̫̩̼̫̲͈͎̪̺̭̲̫͕̊̒̾̌̒̊̊̇̋̊͋͑̂͒̓͋̐͒̅̅̅̇̀͐̈̓̍̉̑̈́͗́̊̇̀̈̋̓̅̃̌́̀̆̂̌̇͐̽̇́̉͛̓͗̽͗̚͘̚̕̕͜͝͝͠ͅg̵̢̡̢̬̗̣͚̰̪͓̪̲̭̬̼̬̱͔̼̣̖͈̠̺͔͎̭̩͉͈͎̥̞̻̱̭̊̅̎͆̍̇̊̎͋̑̃̂̽͆̊̌̆̊͐̔͛́̓͂̓̏͐̇̕̚ḩ̴̡̢̝̖̟̯̭͔̣̘̫̗̟͉͍̟̦̩̲̭͇̱̻̖̘͍̞̞̟͙̻̳̟̥͕̠̭̒̒̄͊́̓̆͗̾̀̑̈́͋͆͒̏̋͆̄̅̅̿͒̐̏̈́̋̀̑̑̂͊̌̄̌̀͛̐͊̍͛̉́͑̒͘̕͜͝͝ͅt̴̨̡̢̛̛̛̼̠̲̻̣̳͙͙̘̱͍͚̯̮͇̣̳̞̞̩͇͎͍̦̣̘͙̣̭͉͚̙̃̄̈́́͛̆̅̏͐̒̀̀̐̎̓̆̔̈̆͐̈̅̄̑͂͋͊͒̋̚͘̚͜͜͝ͅh̵͉̰̤̲̰̺̳͈̥̱̰̦̥̏̈͂̒́͒̓͜͝͠ unholy time. It crushes her, all of that girl I left to the side, all of that girl who had reached out to me for help that I had turned away.
I will always be a monster. I see myself turn away from the death. I can't afford to watch it. I can't afford to face the storm inside of me. I can't afford to take the time I need for myself, to give away the time that others need for themselves, because in the moment, it will keep me from my goal. It will keep me from my angel. My angel that will . . my angel that will never . .
My angel that will never be mine.
The world shatters around me, and I grab the cracks and try to pull them together. But all I do is cut my hand, and now my blood is mixing with that of my failures, with that of the girl I left to die, with that of my mother I left half dead, with that of the world in tempest around me. The world quakes, and it screams, and in its unholy wrath I hear my father calling. I hear him speaking to me, his words as clear as crystals, his words a summons that booms within my brain. A promise to take the pain away. A promise to make it all go away.
The shattered shards of my world have cut through my hands and I can feel myself bleeding out. I can see my father now, the hand of the storm stretching out from him, reaching out to become one with my grasp. I want to scream but their is blood in my mouth, blood in my throat, blood in my lungs, and I am choking on it, and I am gagging on it and it's all I can do not to die on it and all I want is to die from it and all I can do is pray that I will die from it and I shake and I shudder and I choke and I--I--
The world shatters around me. My fingers are mine again. I have but moments. I text for help. From anybody. From Lilly. From Rika. From Moe. From Tatsuya. From Monika. From anyone that might answer but the only answer I get is a voice that I hate, a voice that I fear, the voice of my father come forth from hell once more. He can take the pain away. He can make it all go away. He can make it all turn back to what it once was, to the world I want to live in, to the perfect future that I do not deserve.
I need only let him in, and my world will no longer be shattered.
[ ] Save me.
[ ] No.
[ ] Write-in.
====================================================
Sorry for the late update! Would've been out earlier but I decided to take a break and play with my dog for a while during the middle of it. Might give y'all a bit of a longer voting period for this one, unsure though. As always, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask -- will always answer questions covered in the story material. As this is the end of the prologue, I will also answer three questions that aren't already covered in the story, provided that they're not too story-defining of secrets.
Thank you reading and I hope you enjoyed the update! : )
[X] Go to Moe's club. I can't let her down.
[X] Text someone.
-[X] Rika
===================================
Right. I pushed through. I made it through the day, and the one thing that let make it through was the promise I made to myself--the promise that I wouldn't let Moe down. I pulled myself up from the wall and started forward. The sounds of the storm, the idea that I had made it, the idea of seeing Moe again, of being a part of some club--it was thrilling. It was everything I wanted. But it couldn't be real, could it? Not after the rest of today. I'm lying to myself if I'm telling myself this will all go well. Something will go wrong. Something has to. It's the only consistent rule of my life.
Would she have even invited me now, after the display she saw in Sakurai's class? Would she still have taken me out to lunch? The moment with the rocks, her hand on mine, I . . I don't know what Moe wants from me. Is this a trap? Is she drawing me forward, pulling on my heart and soul so that she can cut them down? No. She wouldn't do that. She's too kind. She's too kind, I tell myself, but I've only known her for a few hours. People are more than their first impressions. I don't know who Moe really is, do I? I just know the show she puts on, the happy face she gives, the shoulder she's provided for me to cry on.
I warned myself about Tatsuya. I remembered, when it was him, those words of wisdom -- never confuse kindness shown in general for kindness shown for you. Wouldn't Moe have done the same thing to anyone Kaida had offended? I am just a victim of circumstance, thrown into a playing field I don't understand and grasping at any far flung hope. If I wasn't so stupid, maybe I could see a better way, maybe I could understand. But instead, here I am, drifting forward into certain shock and misery, that same shock and misery that has dominated all of my life.
I couldn't think like this. I couldn't doubt Moe. She had to be good. She had to be an angel. I've based too much on my belief that she is for her to be anything other than that. She was the belle of the game, the target of heart's desire, the beautiful princess locked away without savior. But she was more than that. She wasn't just a pretty and kind face. She was the knight in shining arms, the voice who had stood up against Kaida's dragon, the figure that for a moment tricked me into thinking that I could be someone's belle.
I had to doubt Moe. She was too good to be true. I shouldn't even be going to this club today. It's too soon. The club will still be there tommorow. She'll understand that I've had a rough day. She said she'd understand. I could go and help someone instead. I could make things right with Rika instead. No. I couldn't make things right with Rika. Not today. I needed time. I needed time not to think, time to sleep, time to pull everything back and rebuild my walls and rebuild who I was. What impression would I make, staggering into the room? Hi, it's me--yes, I look like I could scare a ghost out of undeath, it's who I am beneath my makeup every day. What would I even say to Moe? What did I want Moe to say to me?
It was a club. They'd be there to be happy, to have fun, to do theater. Was I in any state to play in a theater club? They'd call an icebreaker. An improv game, and I'd stagger to the stage, and I'd make an even bigger fool of myself. If Moe liked me now, by the time she was done watching that, surely she'd realize her mistake. I was shaking again. It didn't matter. None of this mattered. I couldn't think about what I knew was going to happen. It was better to focus on those good moments before it all inevitably came crashing down.
I had finally reached the door to the theater and started to open it when a voice interrupted me.
"Miss Irvine! I didn't know you were planning to join us in my club today." Miss Fukunaga's voice was curious, but welcoming. I dropped my hand from the door and swallowed. I was going to have to talk, if this was a theater club, if I wanted to make a good impression for Moe. And Miss Fukunaga wasn't someone who it was difficult to talk to.
"I . . I had a few friends who said that it was a good club and that they'd be here. I was, um, hoping I could just watch today, though--" I start to trail off, but Fukunaga is smiling to me. She takes a step forward and opens the door to the theatre.
"The club is actually in my classroom, but I've got a few things I need to grab from inside here if you want to come with me." I step through the door after her, carefully closing it to avoid the sound of it slamming behind us. After a moment, the main lights of the theater room kick on. It's a lot larger than I expected it to be. There's a small tech room to my left as we enter, and inside of it I can see a grand piano, well-maintained and covered in a very thin layer of dust.
Because I never really got into sports, and because I never really had trouble in academics, I had a lot of free time to myself to build, invent and work. It's why I ended up reconstructing and working on a lot of the appliances in our old home. Dad never really appreciated that side of me, though, and he had always tried to get me to go into music instead. Staring at that grand piano reminded me of the lessons I used to go to, to the hours of work I put into fingering and into memorization and into acquiring that ear for music. I wasn't a prodigy, but it became one of those ways I could escape.
I hadn't played a piano since Dad left. I couldn't play one at home before, and god knows we couldn't afford to own one at home now. Besides, it was an apartment--there's rules against playing loud music all throughout the night like I used to. It's something that I guess I had forgotten, though, a part of myself that I didn't like to think about because of how intertwined it was with him. Miss Fukunaga's voice pulls me away from my thoughts, though--she's standing at the stage, glancing at me with some light worry.
"Something catch your eye, Nellie?" She's sitting on the side of the stage now, a small bundle of goods next to her. I blush and shake my head. She waves me down to her, and before I know it, I'm down there sitting next to Miss Fukunaga on the stage. She pulls her hand forward and gestures out to the stage in front of us.
"A few years ago, we used to put on six shows a year. We'd fill the entire theatre, and we'd have people sitting in foldout chairs in the aisles. With Kaida, Tatsuya, Ryu and Mizuki as our stars, we were the highlight of the school." Her voice turned more wistful as she spoke and her face became a little more weary. I guess most people wouldn't have noticed the change, but it was an expression I'd seen on Momma's face more times than I can count. "Then Ryu and Mizuki graduated. Kaida and Tatsuya stepped up to take on their leading roles, and some of our other fabulous cast members stepped forward to take on the other roles. I tried to keep everybody in line, but I guess there was something between Kaida and Tatsuya that I had never noticed."
Miss Fukunaga looked down. I looked down, too. I wanted to reach out to her and try and comfort her, but she was my teacher. It wouldn't be proper, would it?
"The two of them started to fight. It was distracting from their performance. Tatsuya was the last of the real old guard--Kaida was, by all means, a prodigy. She had been on cast with the rest in her freshmen year. I told them to keep it out of practice. I started talking with them outside, trying to work out solutions, but I never really understood why they were fighting." She takes a long breath and shakes her head. "I made the greatest mistake of my career. Kaida rallied the new students against Tatsuya and delievered a petition to my desk. It was an ultimatium -- remove Tatsuya, or they would all leave. I . ." Miss Fukunaga looked at me and I looked back, and though the eye contact we shared was short, I could feel the pain in her.
"I caved in. I couldn't lose Kaida and all of the new talent. I talked to Tatsuya, showed him the petition, and--he left. I should've said no to the petition--it should've ended there--but I was too worried about the immediate pain to worry about my integrity, about the integrity of the program, the integrity of the school. Tatsuya's father was on the schoolboard. It wasn't a sudden change, but in every year since, we'd have had our funding stripped. Our number of shows stripped. A reclassification--we're a club, now, not a class, not a program."
"My greatest regret isn't that I let this program fail, though. What I regret most is that I let this program destroy the friendship that was once there between those two stars. I let their rivalry turn to bitterness, to hatred, to rage, and it destroyed all of us." She turned to face me completely, then. "I want you to understand that I won't let this happen again. Drama used to be a family, and that I let it be torn apart is unforgivable." I hesitate. I still don't really understand why she's told me any of this, but I nod to her. Maybe having someone to say this to helps her, even if it doesn't really help me.
She got up and hopped off the stage. I stood up, too, and helped her grab the two bundles of supplies. Our walk up the pathway was quiet, and I could tell Miss Fukunaga was deep in thought. I tried to focus on the task in front of me and push out my worries. It wasn't working, but it was better then letting the tide of regret wash completely over me. If I could just keep lying to myself that it'll all be okay, maybe one day I'll believe it. We leave the theater behind us, and I'm careful to shut the door such that it doesn't slam.
Outside of the theater, I can hear the sounds of the storm again. It strikes me that I never notice those times that the storm isn't there, only those times that it is. Miss Fukunaga is leading me to her classroom, still silent, and I am doing my best to follow along with her. There's sounds of laughter down distant corridors, sounds of talking in different clubs, an American voice giving the opening narration to the film as we pass by another closed door. I want to say something, but I've never been able to find the right words to say.
Eventually, we make it to her classroom. She pulls open the door and calls out: "Hello hello! Welcome everybody to another year of excitement! Of fun! Of theater!" There's some hollers in response. I slip out from behind her, glancing throughout the room for somewhere to sit. I catch Moe's eye and she smiles at me. There's an open spot next to her, and I make my way over to it as Fukunaga continues her opening. There's others in the room that I recognize as well. Kaida is sitting next to Moe. Aku is sitting near the front, eyeballing me as I head to the spot. There's a few others who I've seen but don't know the name of, scattered across the room.
I take a seat. Moe looks at me for a moment and smiles again, but then her attention is on Fukunaga. Right. I spare her a glance for just a moment, but I turn my attention back to the front.
It's been a long day for everybody, so she's not going to go through the normal improv games or the normal icebreaker show. There are a few disappointed murmurs from the crowd at this news, but Fukunaga silences them and continues. Everyone will still be going through and introducing themselves, and if they wish to step forward and lead further games they are welcome to, but they won't be required today. As she's talking, one of the students has passed out small brochures. The inside of the brochure is full of names of past shows, of schedules for club meetings and of potential fundraiser activities that we'd be doing throughout the year. It's all very normal and impersonal, and something about that hurts.
I don't really pay all that much attention during the introductions until it gets to the cluster I'm sitting by. Kaida introduces herself, a curt introduction that is layered with the air and idea that everybody already knows her. Moe gives her quick and cheerful introduction, saying that people have probably met her before if they're in track or tennis. It's more humble then I expected it to be. It gets to me, and I open my mouth to speak, but the words get choked up in my mouth and I wince.
I had one job and I'm failing it. "Nellie. But you can all call me Nell, um." The words fall out of my mouth. That they're in order is a miracle. "This is my first year here. I transfered from Clemson. That's in South--America." I'm getting weird glances. I wince. "It's in South Carolina. Which is in America. The United States of. I mean." My heart is pounding. I quickly look down and hope that they move on. Someone else is talking. I close my eyes and everything is red and everything is pulsing to the pounding in my chest and I can feel my heart squeezing and convulsing and I can feel--I can feel--
I can feel a hand on my hand. A firm, but gentle squeeze tightening around my palm. I open my eyes and my heart pounds faster. Moe is looking at me, her face worried but caring. The look in her eyes tells me it'll all be okay. I tell myself to believe her lie. The pounding is still going on, but it's different, and the talking is still going on, but it's further away and I'm too distracted to translate what it means. Moe squeezes my hand again and releases me. I choke on my feelings and force myself to look away from her gentle eyes and her soft stare.
I try to ignore the pounding inside me and listen to the words. It's all gibberish, though. I can't make out the names from the rest of the words. My mind must be tired. None of this is too hard to understand but I can't understand it. Something is just tearing me apart and making me incapable of this basic task. Maybe the language doesn't matter. If it was English, I doubt I could understand it even then. Eventually, the meaningless conversations end and Miss Fukunaga is sitting down in her desk in the front of the room. There are softer conversations now. I let out a deep breath.
Finally my heart is slowing down. I can start to understand the words around me. People are having side conversations. I look over to Moe, ready to ask her about her day, ready to ask her anything to try and become closer to her--but my words get caught in my throat. My heart gets caught in my throat. I choke on my emotions and my thoughts and everything in the world as I look at Moe. She's not facing me. She's turned away from me, her fingers intertwined with Kaida's, her face against Kaida's, her lips intertwined with Kaida's--
My world shatters around me.
I see two girls at a pond, tossing stones into the distance. I see two girls sitting down on a blanket, facing eachother and smiling as one does the other's makeup. I see two girls laughing together, dancing together, spending their lives together. I see two girls at a musical, watching together, their heads leaned against each other. One of the girl's is Moe. But no matter how much I wanted the other girl to be me, it never will be. I choke a little bit more and I force myself to look away. I force myself not to see.
I don't understand. I just wanted Moe to be my friend. This doesn't change that. This doesn't change anything. So what if she--so what if she and Kaida--
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone, skipping across the water. One bounce, then two. I see a girl's hand on another, squeezing gently, the fingers entwined, the calluses of an athlete rushing against the gentle skin of a pianist. I see two women sitting next to eachother, talking about something that I can't understand in a language that isn't mine. I see two girls at a musical, asleep in their embrace, letting the world pass them by because it isn't what they're doing that matters, it's who they're with, and Moe is there and with Kaida and I am not there and I am not a part of their world and I choke and I shake and I don't understand.
I don't understand. I know I'm stupid, but I didn't think I was this stupid. I just wanted a friend. I didn't want these feelings. Moe was supposed to be my angel. If I made it through the day, she was supposed . . she was supposed . . but I know that isn't fair. I know I can't think that. I know I don't deserve that.
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone, bouncing up from the pond. The third bounce, then the fourth. I see a girl sitting alone at the piano, playing until her fingers are raw, playing until the night is done, and I see two red eyes staring at her from the dark, watching and waiting. I see a hand reaching from the storm, reaching for the glass, reaching forth to pluck that last part of her from the world. I see a man looming over her, lecturing her, pounding into her heart and mind the basics of a concept I still cannot comprehend. I see a girl struggling in the dark as the world breaks down around her, teaching herself physics from old tomes, teaching herself Japanese from old textbooks, rebuilding that which her drunken mother tears apart in her maddened stupor because the love of her life left her and I choke and I shake and I understand.
I understand that that is my place, that that is my purpose, that that's all that I will ever be. That it's stupid to want to be something that I'm not. That I should stop pretending. Moe will never be my angel. All the angels are dead, and we killed them. Kojii was right. My father was right. I deserve this.
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone bouncing from the pond. T̷̤̄h̷̛̳ȩ̶͘ ̵̭͋f̶̲͒ĭ̸͇f̶̲̀ẗ̴̯h̶͔̾ ̶̡͆b̶͉̑ò̴̯ů̶̹n̶̒ͅc̶̮̅ḛ̷͝.̷̭̾. Ţ̶̨̛͎͖̯̗̳̒̊͂̆͋̽̐̏̋͆̈̎̿̈̔̈́͊̕͝h̶̡̡̢̭͙̟̲̤͎̖̜̲̜̫̤̞́͛͋̑́͜ͅē̷͎̺͉͚͙͇͐̾̃͋͋̑͛̋̊̈̚͠͝͝ ̸̢͇̖̤͈̺̠̻̇̂͊̐̇́̉͜s̴̢̧̡̼͉̹̦̤̜̺̘͙̠͓͚̟̲̙̤̙̻̯̣͛͗͋̐̄͛i̴̛̗͙̘̤̯̫̭͔͔̼̫͍͇͕̖͉̻͇̅̾̐̇̍́̋͑̂̋̽͛͋̾̀̾̀͛̕͘͘̕͘͜ͅx̵̨̡̛̞̭̮̖̮͇̬͇͉̝͉̠͎̣̓̀͛̏͗̏͑̽͊̂͒̾̀̀̽̕ͅţ̸̧̪͍̲͎̪͖̭̳͖̼̻͆̓̅͑̈́͆̐̆̉̏͌̇͐͜ͅh̶̢͔͔̥̮̺̟̺̥̭̘̣̼̩͚̓̇̽̀̈́̓͊͂̓̃͗́̈̄̓́́̊́̂͐͘͝͝.̶̨̭̤̗̺͙̺̹̠̼̣̪̑̓̐͆̇̉̂̃͒̂̓͋͆͑͒̽́͑̇̋̚͘͜͝͝
I see a girl standing on the edge of a bridge, staring into the water and seeing the murky dark beneath it. I see the stupid girl looking around for aid, looking around for a reason not to join the darkness that has called to her her entire life, and finding the world wanting. I see the ripples of the water as it shakes, the ripples of the fabric of her shirt as she takes that step forward, as she goes to take that final step forward. I see her hesitate. I see her tremble on the precipice. I see her look back, and behind her stands the ghost of the storm, behind her stands the beast of her nightmare, behind her He stands and reaches out to grab her. And I see her hesitate no longer. I see her jump and I choke and I shake and I remember.
I remember those parting words my dad said to me. I remember those aching screams of my mother when he left. I remember how he called us his experiment, I remember how he said he would be back. That we should be ready. That we could always call. Momma never stopped calling and he never stopped ignoring her.
My world shatters around me.
I see a stone bouncing across a pool of blood, dripping down from a wrist cut open. T̸̛̥͍̰͉̠̤̳̓̃̃͊͐̈̈́̄̈̅̿͂͛͌͐͐͐́͆̓̌̒̈́̆͑̂́̅̿̀̉͌͝͠͠h̵̨͚̮̳̱̻̙̻͙̱̪̲̜̼͔̥͓̺̰̻̪̰̭͆͂͌̔̔͒̉̈́̇̀̆̓̉̾̔̍͘͜͜͝é̵̢͈͔̣̖̤͍̙̜͙̤̬̯̗̠̼̒̏̑̑͊͂͛̅̌̍̓́̂͜͠ ̵̢̛̛̘̩̼̟̱̺̩̳̥̰̗̳̜̖͚̰̣̤̽̎̀̎̾̃͐͐͒͌͂͊͊̈̈̿̈̏̆̃̌̈́̎̋͆̉͌̈̄̎̂̈̂̔̚͘͘̕̕͘͝͝͠ͅͅͅs̵̨̨̧̢̝̘̩̹̳͇̹̣̪̦̗̦͔̐͆͂̎̑̽̿̎͋̈́͂̈́́͂̈́͆̕ͅë̷̡̨̛͉̝̠̤̜̣̘̘̲̥̤͚͎̝̬̱̝̼̹̰̱̬̮̹̪͓͈͉͓͙͎̙͇̹̞͍͎̼̙̤̯̼̥̻̘̤͇̰͖́͋̀̐̌̿̽̆̆̇̑̒̿̊̒̔̽̽͆̎̊v̸̡̢̧̡̨̛̺̰̩̘͔̠̬̭̹̮͙̬̲̜̤̘̟͉͈̮̤͙͔̳̠̖̪̘̙́̄͑͐̃͌̏̌̄͑͛̑͆͌̄͐̈́͐͐̆̿̃̌͛̕̚͠͝͠ͅę̴̧̧̨̺̝͇̹̜͍̼̦̟̤̦̯͚̙̮̹̠̺͚͉͖͔̮̩͍̤͖̮̂͛̄̄̆̃͆̈͌̽͠ͅͅń̷̢̧̨͇̭̜̞̲̺̻̼̱͓̯̘̝͇̫͍̳̅͌͐͆̈́͐̈́͊̽͗̂͗̑͆̇͒̇̑̊̇̎̅̚͠͝ͅt̴̢͇̝̱̺̱͍̠͇͎̻͙̜̮͔̲̝̋̈́̉͗̇̏͑̌͊̊̍̎̉̏͝h̵̢̢̛̥̪̰̲̮̤͎̥̲̭͈̖̝͉͙̼̰̣̪͚̫͔̗̪͙̮͙̗̟̲̱̩̤͉̣̩̞̼̗̲͎͚̠͙̠̐͊̈́̆͂̌̑̒̏͒͋͗̉́͌̊̆̑́̇́͐̀̉̑͌͠ ̵̢̣̙̙̺̝̭͚͖̰̼͖̖̤̬̲̘̯̗̹͔͎̋̐̀̈́̓̑͌̒͑͋͋͛̚b̸̨̙̻̬̥̗͈͈͇͇̪̜̳͇̉̈́̌̅̈́͆̓̆̈́̒̿̈͒͐̄͐̆̑͛̍̀̚̚̚͜͠͝͝ơ̶̱͓̖͙̟̺͔̹̌̒̅̂̾̐̔̊̇̇͗͆̉̾̀́̏̏́͗̈́͘͘͘͝ȗ̵̡̨̧̡̗͙͕̜͍̠͇̬̟̱̰̹̟͙̩̰̳͎͈̙̻̣͈͈͚͙̹̿̀͒́̌̿̔̔́͜͜͠ͅnc̵̡̨̢̢̢̨̖͙͓̲̻͍͇̤̗̖͖̱͇͚̖͓͙̪̯̮̖̜̜͉̲̺̼͔̟̣͖͎̜̼̭̉̆̆̓̾̉̅̂͆͋̃͊́̚̕͘͝ͅͅę̵̙̼̞̪̯̱̞̫͓̬̯͓̬̃̅̔̉̽̆̈́͌̃͗͗͛̇̎̋͊̏͐͗͐͗̄͋̿̉̊̋́̚͘͠͝͠͠͝͝͝.̶̢̡̧̧̮͍̘͎̣̲͔̱͎͙̠͇̦͚͇͎̘͙̭̮̲͖̺̠̻͚̯̘̆͑̍̐͐̈́̈́̾̀̆͊̆́̃̀̉̋̌̓͛̇̃̐́̄̆́̈́̐̐̾͐̔̽͒̽̚̚̚͜͝͝ I see the cracks in the fake smile she wears. I see the truth that she knows in her eyes, no matter how much she denies it. The truth that she doesn't belong. That Kaida was right. That her father was right. That her mother was right. That they were always right. That the world would be a better place if she simply stepped forward and embraced it.
I remember the words of my father. I do not know how I could ever forget. I was never human. I never should've thought that I could pretend to be human. I was a weapon, a tool, something to be used to fight the coming darkness, and I needed only to be broken open enough that he might use me. I remember him dragging the knife across Momma's skin. I remember his promise, his flesh and blood promise, that he would back for what is his. I remember my Momma's screams. I remember the drugs I got for her.
I remember the stitchwork I did for her. I rebuilt half the appliances in my home. I rebuilt my mother. I dragged her out of her addiction from my father. I gave her something else to live for, but I made her work for it. Her life's ambition was no longer in the hands of a man. It was in the bottom of a bottle. And she just had to find the right bottle. I remember the nights I cared for her, the nights I hid from her, the constant fear and paranoia I felt within my own home, under my own roof.
I remember when she threatened Felice. I remember when Lilly stood up to my mother. When she told me I had to choose, that I had to side with someone, that I had to make my mother understand that the life she was living wasn't a life worth living. I remember the broken xpression on my mother's face. I remember seeing the gun she slept beside every night, every night after she had collapsed from an overdose of my medications or from drinking too much. Too much? If it let her sleep without screaming, then it wasn't too much.
I remember when Lilly left me to my fate. I remember when she told me that if I couldn't see past my blood, that I couldn't see past my mother's failures, that I was no better than my mother. She was right. Lilly was always right. I am a monster. Everything I touch comes to ruin. Everything I hope for is false. I demand too much of others. A girl shows me a shred of kindness and I latch onto her, thinking her my messiah. But I am too far gone to be saved. I will always be this monstrous shell of a woman.
My world shatters around me.
I see a girl reaching out to me. A girl sleep deprived, who sees me and flashes the only thing she knows of America to me. It is violent. Her whole life has been violent. But I smile and I laugh. It is a joke to me. She keeps on her kind face and keeps away the sadness and I am too blind to see, even though I've always tried to do the same thing. I see another attempt. An offer for lunch. A way to help us both. And I refuse. I have a better offer. I have an angel to be with, an angel to drag down to hell with me. And I see the hurt in her, the dejection in her eyes, the warble on her lips, and I ignore it. I tell myself that her problem can't be near the same as mine.
I see the girl struggling. I see a note written out to me, a scribbled cry for help. A summons that I'm too blind to see. A summons that I ignore for my angel. I can't be rude to her. She matters to me more than I matter to myself. She matters to me more than the world around me ever could. Finally I see a stone come and land in the blood that has pooled around her, come to bounce an ę̷̡̛̛͎̩͙̫͌͊̇͐͊̏̽̊͌̆͘͘͘͠i̴̧̛̛͔͙͙̻̺͙̗͙͕͎̱͙͖͙̼̣͕͓̠̳̦͔͇̼̥̙̳̗̥͈̝̖̜͕̫̩̼̫̲͈͎̪̺̭̲̫͕̊̒̾̌̒̊̊̇̋̊͋͑̂͒̓͋̐͒̅̅̅̇̀͐̈̓̍̉̑̈́͗́̊̇̀̈̋̓̅̃̌́̀̆̂̌̇͐̽̇́̉͛̓͗̽͗̚͘̚̕̕͜͝͝͠ͅg̵̢̡̢̬̗̣͚̰̪͓̪̲̭̬̼̬̱͔̼̣̖͈̠̺͔͎̭̩͉͈͎̥̞̻̱̭̊̅̎͆̍̇̊̎͋̑̃̂̽͆̊̌̆̊͐̔͛́̓͂̓̏͐̇̕̚ḩ̴̡̢̝̖̟̯̭͔̣̘̫̗̟͉͍̟̦̩̲̭͇̱̻̖̘͍̞̞̟͙̻̳̟̥͕̠̭̒̒̄͊́̓̆͗̾̀̑̈́͋͆͒̏̋͆̄̅̅̿͒̐̏̈́̋̀̑̑̂͊̌̄̌̀͛̐͊̍͛̉́͑̒͘̕͜͝͝ͅt̴̨̡̢̛̛̛̼̠̲̻̣̳͙͙̘̱͍͚̯̮͇̣̳̞̞̩͇͎͍̦̣̘͙̣̭͉͚̙̃̄̈́́͛̆̅̏͐̒̀̀̐̎̓̆̔̈̆͐̈̅̄̑͂͋͊͒̋̚͘̚͜͜͝ͅh̵͉̰̤̲̰̺̳͈̥̱̰̦̥̏̈͂̒́͒̓͜͝͠ unholy time. It crushes her, all of that girl I left to the side, all of that girl who had reached out to me for help that I had turned away.
I will always be a monster. I see myself turn away from the death. I can't afford to watch it. I can't afford to face the storm inside of me. I can't afford to take the time I need for myself, to give away the time that others need for themselves, because in the moment, it will keep me from my goal. It will keep me from my angel. My angel that will . . my angel that will never . .
My angel that will never be mine.
The world shatters around me, and I grab the cracks and try to pull them together. But all I do is cut my hand, and now my blood is mixing with that of my failures, with that of the girl I left to die, with that of my mother I left half dead, with that of the world in tempest around me. The world quakes, and it screams, and in its unholy wrath I hear my father calling. I hear him speaking to me, his words as clear as crystals, his words a summons that booms within my brain. A promise to take the pain away. A promise to make it all go away.
The shattered shards of my world have cut through my hands and I can feel myself bleeding out. I can see my father now, the hand of the storm stretching out from him, reaching out to become one with my grasp. I want to scream but their is blood in my mouth, blood in my throat, blood in my lungs, and I am choking on it, and I am gagging on it and it's all I can do not to die on it and all I want is to die from it and all I can do is pray that I will die from it and I shake and I shudder and I choke and I--I--
The world shatters around me. My fingers are mine again. I have but moments. I text for help. From anybody. From Lilly. From Rika. From Moe. From Tatsuya. From Monika. From anyone that might answer but the only answer I get is a voice that I hate, a voice that I fear, the voice of my father come forth from hell once more. He can take the pain away. He can make it all go away. He can make it all turn back to what it once was, to the world I want to live in, to the perfect future that I do not deserve.
I need only let him in, and my world will no longer be shattered.
[ ] Save me.
[ ] No.
[ ] Write-in.
====================================================
Sorry for the late update! Would've been out earlier but I decided to take a break and play with my dog for a while during the middle of it. Might give y'all a bit of a longer voting period for this one, unsure though. As always, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask -- will always answer questions covered in the story material. As this is the end of the prologue, I will also answer three questions that aren't already covered in the story, provided that they're not too story-defining of secrets.
Thank you reading and I hope you enjoyed the update! : )
I know what these mean in context, but...
Also, we probably did have something to do with the storm. Course I guessed that back when it appeared first off anyway.
Get some spite girl. Play the piano for yourself so he can't taint it.
Although considering the end of the update...
Well, I coulda guessed she was being mind-fucked, but not that hard. Scarily attached to Moe to, I'm not sure if that's regular human obsession or if she's... something as well.
And here I thought we were going to be getting transformed into a monster (of the week maybe).
[x] No.
It got a little too weird to be able to really make a write-in there, but general sentiment is of course going to be some variation of "No" because fuck that guy.
Mundane mind-fucking + magical mind-fucking is a bad thing. Who woulda though?
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DefRevenge24601
And 3 Years Later, He Rose Again
- Location
- FL, USA
Man,Dad is a real douche, eh?
[X]Save Me How about no, fuckwad?
[X]
For those not looking at the front page between updates. (Probably should have checked that more often come to think of it).
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Yeah. Hopefully it isn't too heavy to be readable, though. The quest has been on a fairly dark spiral lately, but I don't want to give off the impression that it will always be grimdark and agony. There's a lot of fluff and happy pieces that I want to write in this world, too.
I don't... think it does. It gives more than enough hints that something fucky is going on before it spirals into all but explicit (magical) brainwashing and mindfucking. Someone might skip it before that point pops up, but all the zalgo text should be a clue to keep reading I would hope.
I really was thinking we'd be Random McJane until we got turned into a Monster
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Okay. Not calling the vote now, but it seems like it's pretty clean cut what y'all are going for. Update will be sometime tomorrow night, going to be busy with some school-related errands tomorrow morning.
- Location
- Somewhere
[X] No.
Nopenopenope.....
You get the idea.
Nopenopenope.....
You get the idea.
