Reflections of the Ego [KnK/One-Shot]

[Carol]

Reflections of the Ego;
a Kara no Kyoukai one-shot​

I am not an overtly sentimental person.

Or, at the very least, I don't think the woman Ryōgi Shiki, of who's body I inhabit, was one. It is all so strange. I should explain myself first -- if only to pass the time because I have found nothing better to do. I am an aberrant, a victim of a careless accident and even more a survivor of a two-year coma. Combing the chances of either happening, I am indeed very rare. A freak even.

Some days I feel like a different person trying to be Ryōgi Shiki; a hollow shell of a departed soul. Eh, I don't complain too much about it. Better alive then dead is my mindset thus far. Maybe that's why I don't live with my parents. I don't try to be their daughter. If Mikiya, that plain-clothed dork, was here, he would have said, "Shiki, you really should talk to them. They have done so much for you while you were away." Ha. Wasn't my idea to be hit or like this. I thank them for taking care of the body but, to me, they're nothing than strangers. And I feel no urge to make it any different. Isn't illegal to want some distance from annoyance.

As you can tell, sentimentality is not my forte.

Neither, it seemed, was dealing the sun that arched overhead. The summer heat was cooking me alive inside my kimono -- the black jacket I wore overhead didn't help matters. A clash of cultures, I know. But right now I remembered why I only like walking in the night now. Still, the beads of sweat thankfully put an end to my rant. It made me focus on the crowded streets instead. Those souls who suffered as I did.

Mifune City was alive at this time of day. Men, women, and children walked to their destinations with near mechanical speed; in their rush, the mass of humanity they formed blurred their individual selves. I became a part of it and no one seemed to care too much how I looked. Even in this Lost Decade, there were places to be, people to meet, and so on. I was as faceless to them as they were to me. Rather than alienation, I found comfort there. Busybodies are the worst. Mind your own damn business and I do the same. Too bad those superintendents never got the news.

At last, after a few more turns, I find the place I wish to be in. The office of one Aozaki Tōko. My boss so to speak. I work odd hours for her to put food on the table; she tends to speak in babble when she gives me a task. Something or another about magic or whatever. She gets incredibly annoyed whenever I say that. When she does it matches her red hair -- through I don't say it out loud. I like my head on my shoulders.

I should remind you that the unreal is very real in our world. For example, the door and building before me does not "exist" to normal people. Or, well, it does exist. Garan no Dou is a real company. Our name's on the government record somewhere: we even have the benefit of water and electricity if not the labor laws. People can see it there but their minds make up excuses to ignore it so that it might as well not be there. The directed, subconscious thoughts that make it happen are caused by my boss' handiwork. Thankfully, as an employee I get the privilege of not having my mind reworked.

I open the door that shouldn't be open. The desolate inside reflect the shabby look of the establishment. Filled with half-done walls and broken promises. Fit the aesthetic of the city's abandoned area. I quickly leave the first floor, ignore the second and third (marked private), before getting into the fourth. A television at the corner blares minute detail about this politician and that scandal. The couch facing it is occupied by a black-haired man. His face, as boring as everything else about his features, watched the show with interest. His mundane energy dropped the mystery of the room. The utter real transfixed to the very unreal; an odd mix to say the least.

"Oi," I called out. "That stuff again?" He looked back to greet me. "Hello, Shiki. And, yes, it's the usual. I like to be informed." I snort at his statement. More likely to rot than educate. The announcer on screen changed to an insipid jingle for some cars. Meet: Kokutō Mikiya. Fellow drop-out, co-worker, busybody, and somehow friend. "She here?" I asked. The immediate smoke from the desk not too far away answered me. Smelled like the usual cheap brand. Business must be booming.

Tōko finally decided to speak up. "You're early. Any reason for why?" "Faster paycheck?" I snarked. "I don't run a charity here. Go sit on the couch. I'll think of something for you later." She went back to her paperwork. A new contract probably; last three days had a drought of them. With her glasses on it must be an important one. Or a loan that needed to be paid must've come due. Neither possibility interested me as it wasn't my concern. I, after all, had my own bills to pay and I certainly don't run a charity.

Truth be told, I often come here when my apartment gets stale. A change of view I suppose. Wanderlust too. With no reason to fight back I made space for myself on the couch. Mikiya, the coward, relented without a fight. "You know, it adds on to your list of insensitivity," he said. "To the victor goes the spoils," I quoted with a huff. "Tyrants aren't remembered well," he uttered back. "So be it. I'll enjoy the temporal and leave the memorial to my children." "You're terrible." "Thank you."

"Both of you pipe down," Tōko said across from her desk. "I don't pay you to be Fry and Laurie." I looked at Mikiya. 'Who?' radiated from my face. He shrugged his shoulders. So much for being informed. We soon found our comfortable positions and hunker down to watch the television. The NHK broadcaster finally said something worth listening to. "The search for the missing children are still ongoing in Fuyuki City." Quickly images of distraught parents flashed on screen.

My eyes found themselves mesmerized. The haze of death always did that after the crash. I could perceive it. Lines and dots appeared with greater frequency -- lines and dots that tethered them to existence. If I only trace them, from start to finish, they would vanish. I felt the urge. Could I connect with "him" if I did so? It was tempting.

"Shiki..."

Mikiya's concerned voice came to me. Must've looked too hard. What a nosy friend. Still, if not for his earnest persistence, I doubt he would be sitting next to me. The line fades back as I blinked.

"Sorry."

With that minor interlude done, we went back to watching the report. The droning voice of the broadcaster mixed with the hum of the AC and Tōko's pen on paper. Times like these, with the three of us in our insular world, thoughts of being a hollow shell regressed into the background somewhat.

So passed the day in annoying comfort.

 

[DanBaque]

You get a hug for this wholesome post. Nice slice of life one-shot, thoughtful and an insight into a friendship.

 

[Dromeosaur]

It was nice. And quite good quality.

 

[Timerider]

Is this a SI, or canon Shiki?
Honestly it looks like it could be either.

 

[Carol]

Is this a SI, or canon Shiki?
Honestly it looks like it could be either.

Click to shrink...

It's Shiki. I was trying to explore her depersonalization in my writing.

 

[KChasm]

Don't jam different people speaking into one paragraph.

 

[Karen]

i liked it!

 

[Carol]

Don't jam different people speaking into one paragraph.

Click to shrink...

I could argue that formatting dialogue in an individual basis (opposed to the one paragraph style) interprets to me the flow of a natural conversation (only broken at times for narrative emphasis). But, in truth, it's mostly a stylistic choice for my subjective mind.

I did try to give each character a unique voice so it would be easier to follow. I apologize if it gets a bit confusing who's who.