Work Text:
To: Kisaragi Shintaro
From: Kisaragi Momo
we're alive. we survived the bomb. the address is on Telegraph. do not worry. survive.
The sky was dull and bland, with no sun in the sight but the heat immersing them. The cicadas were quiet or dead, and the heavy silence was broken by some distant laughter, a drunk soldier singing badly, and the constant sound of checking guns, wearing boots. But louder was the sound of anxiety, buzzing in ears and running in their blood. Smiles were thin, eyes were tired and dead, and hands were calloused and dirty from blood, dirt, even shit, no one cared anymore. No one could care when death was there, looming around and waiting for the right second to strike. Tiredness turned into numbness, and numbness turned into a distant longing for something that was long forgotten. Maybe distant memories of sunny hills with blooming trees, silent laughter, a loving caress. The longing turned into a song, hummed by soldiers, conveying every bit of the emotions they had bled out.
Shintaro read the Telegraph again, and again, and again, till words became shapes and lost their meanings to him. He touched the letters, touched his sister's name, touched the address and his name. He didn't know when he started crying, but he didn't care. No one cared anymore, they had seen things far worse than a man breaking down over a letter, a telegraph. Pride meant nothing to them, for they were stripped of it harshly, and it was replaced by numbness and a tinge of sadness.
The war was ruthless is taking things away and not giving anything back.
Depression was no stranger to Kisaragi Shintaro. More than anything, it was the familiar weigh on his chest, his heart and soul. It was the lingering sadness, the bitterness hidden inside, the hollowness that devoured everything. It began before he knew enough about the world, when he was discovering it bit by bit with the curiosity of a child, who could only see the warms and the brights. He was nine, when his best friend committed suicide by jumping from the school's rooftop. He was suddenly encountering death, the absence of a warm presence, and the hollowness of the world in front of death himself. Something bloomed deep inside, kept in a dark corner of his mind; momentary envy, a transient lingering for death that scared him. His cries turned into small sobs, and his sobs turned into silence, only observing the world with dead eyes.
1940 rolled in and took his father away, along with the promise of a peaceful future. His father was forced to join the military forces, and was killed in a span of one year. The telegraph came in with cold, emotionless words, and his mother passed out at the funeral, the empty coffin was a heavy weight on their chests. Momo was still a kid, but even her eyes were scared and empty, just like Shintaro's first encounter with death. Their condition went downhill quickly. The money they received was not enough for anything. Medicine and food became rare and expensive. Momo was growing thin, her rosy cheeks slowly sinking inside. Their mother fall sick at the end of the next year; grief and worry along with the unhealthy condition did the magic and she didn't recover for a long time. The helplessness was eating them inside. Shintaro would stay awake at nights, unable to close his eyes, and would listen to Momo's quiet cries, and their mother's coughs and painful groans. His friend would meet him at dreams, smiling with sad eyes, with tears falling down on the red scarf, asking him silently to join her. He would wake up gasping and sometimes crying, with the nothingness growing more and more inside of him.
He dropped out when he was seventeen, the nothingness making him unable to move for days. He was forced to enroll just like his father, and He couldn't even laugh at the cycle that kept repeating itself again and again, devoid of any meaning, devoid of anything. His mother cried and Momo begged him not to go, but at least the money would help them, and Shintaro was already a burden for them. He left with no smiles and no tears, with no fear and no joy. Life meant nothing to him as he starting smoking, cigarette after cigarette while the other soldiers were busy with foreign women or the unreasonable need to destroy everything, to show the world that they were here, they were here and they did nothing but ruining and taking lives, and Shintaro did nothing but smoking and looking at the stars, as his friend's presence became more prominent in his dreams, as he started wondering if shooting himself would do him any good.
The news was spread like wildfire. A bomb, a bomb that destroyed a whole town. Everyone was shocked, whispers and cries became a constant hum, along with the silent waiting, waiting for anything, a way out, a way to rewind, a way to bring back the dead and restore all the hopes. The words made no sense in Shintaro's head. All he could see was the destruction, now resuming its work in his country, just as the cycle kept going on and on. He could feel a shell, covering him as he sank deeper inside, more, and more until there was no pain and-
One word reached his numbed mind.
"-Nagasaki-"
Two other words.
"-American- destruction-"
My family.
The shell was broken, and a string of noises came inside, buzzing in his mind and screaming and scratching and he couldn't breathe-
"-Nagasaki is bombed too, and they say that the casualties are-"
My family, the sounds screamed inside, we lived in Nagasaki, and now they're dead , and Shintaro grabbed his head and curled into himself, my fault, my fault, my fault .
When he got a telegraph from Momo, about ten days later, something cold and harsh melted inside of him and he wept, he wept from happiness, from sadness and from tiredness.
Please , the sounds kept screaming, I just want to go home .
The war was over. The bombing had its effect; with fear and sadness spreading between people and soldiers, with the base cities being completely gone from the map, Japan had no way but to retreat and mourn the loss of pride, lands and people. Songs were made for people who were gone, for the injured pride and injured country. The sounds never left Shintaro, along with the loud noises of radio and soldiers and people, and as the scratched at the back of his mind, he started scratching his arms, his scars, his body until the sounds would bleed out, until the sounds would become distant murmurs and silent sighs. He looked at the changing landscape and felt no joy from going back home, no regret for a futile war, no humiliation for the defeat, no grief for the dead. Just the intense longing to be home and be warm and loved again.
To be numb and cold and useless again , the sounds clawed his mind.
The bus stopped by a cliff near Nagasaki, and Shintaro looked at the ruins from far away, looked at the mess of a land that was once full of activities and love and warmth, smelt death and rotten meat and greed, felt the presence of his friend, saw her standing at the top of the school, smiling at him with tearful eyes full of fear and sadness and burden, and the whole town burst behind her, flames engulfing her small figure.
Shintaro scratched himself hard, deep red blood oozing out of his bandaged arm.
Momo and his mother told him their story with shaky words, shaky hands. They were away from the house, because Momo was tired, and they were both shaken from the Hiroshima accident, and wanted to forget the war, forget Shintaro fighting in a foreign land, forget the pain and death. But they were mere ten feet away when Momo heard the planes, and they both saw the flash of light, and a moment of never-ending silence, the silent breath of death laughing in their faces and the world holding its breath, the momentary suspension in which no one knew if they were dead or alive.
"I still hear it," Momo whispered to him, on the first night, holding each other like they didn't believe that they survived, that they're alive. "The silence, resonating inside me, beating just like my heart. I feel it inside my body, my bones, my blood. At that moment, and the moment of utter silence, either it became one with me, or I was born from it. I can't shake it. My thoughts reek of it, my pulse, my pulse whispers silence. Do you understand?"
He could not understand, but he shared a similar pain, for he was one with the sounds, with the screams and with the pain. Death had two sides, the crushing silence and the devouring screams. For the survivors, there was no way to escape.
The sounds suddenly came back, a huge wave of screams and shouts and cries, and the unbearable heat, and a wave of shock, of force that ruined everything, that destroyed buildings and killed men and women and crying children who had no idea what was happening, and everything hurt and they both screamed and hang into each other, crying and shaking.
They were lucky, because they turn out to be alive and nothing serious happened to them, except for a permanent burn mark on Momo's cheeks, and the loss of their house, their peace, and their sanity. They didn't know what to do. They just sat there and cried, and then started searching, for anything that would help them, that would give them a sign of life, that would help them to survive. They walked toward the end of the city, for there was nothing to go back for. Momo found a girl that was crushed under a building, with high-tops and a yellow headphone, music still buzzing through. They cried and Momo puked as they took the high-tops, because Momo’s shoes were ruined and she couldn’t walk anymore. Before leaving, Momo took the headphone and a simple-looking notebook, hoping to find the girl’s family or friends. What saved the Kisaragi family, was a simple note, written in haste on the first page of the notebook Momo took, and was found out several days later, when they could move no more and Momo’s infection was getting worse and worse.
I’m leaving this notebook here on purpose. I know you would never come and visit me, and I can imagine you sputtering and trying to ignore it. Anyway, I put this in your hands, so you’d have to come and give this back. You know well that this one is a personal favorite, and I’m sad that I had to leave it behind. So please, double my happiness, one by returning my notebook and two, by coming here and spending some time with me. I wrote the address behind the notebook.
Say hello to your dear grandmother. Come soon, before I die from boredom and loneliness here.
From your airheaded friend,
Kokonose Haruka
Shintaro walked. The sky was dull and bland, cloudy with thoughts and sorrows, and he felt strings, tied around his wrists, his arms and his heart that pulled him, that whispered sweet words in his ears, healed his wounded heart for a short moment, and sparked a long-forgotten feeling.
Family, love, home , they caressed his mind and soul.
The Kokonose house was like a red shell, with beautiful carvings and hidden smiles, in the middle of a vast green field, full of trees that murmured long-forgotten songs. It was breathtaking, it was full of fears unbeknownst to Shintaro, and as he stood there, he watched the house, and read Momo's telegraph again, and again, and again until he heard shouts and someone barging through the door and hugging him tightly, Momo , his mind registered rather slowly, and then two warm arms circled around his shoulders and he knew the scent of his mother, the scent of cinnamon and warm eyes and silent pains and he started crying, clinging to them like anchors and they all fall on the ground, sobbing and crying and calling each other, I missed you, I missed you and I'm glad you're back, I was scared, I was so scared , and you're safe now, you're with us , and Shintaro didn't even know who was crying and who was not, and he didn't care, he just sobbed and hid in his mother's embrace, like when he was a child, encountering death for the first time.
He could swear that he saw a blurry figure, looking at them by window, eyes full of sorrow and longing, it's the young master, he's sick but he helped us, he let us live here , and he started crying again, this time not knowing why, heart full of holes and tiredness etching in his mind.
There was something in the house. Something blank, something empty, like a void, looking at everyone and weighing down on their thoughts and chests.
"Young master is sick."
Hearts were heavy, minds were dark and sorrowful. The void was sitting there, eating up the emotions, the sounds and the sorrows, the thoughts and the acts, and bottling them into a black cube, of silence and scream synchronized together, like the beginning and the ending of an eternal spiral.
Reunion felt nice for a while. Living in Kokonose household was nice. Sleeping in a bed, bathing freely, being taken care of, being loved, being important was nice. Not seeing the young master, avoiding the embarrassment and the shame was nice. But life had proven to Shintaro, over and over, that nothing nice is eternal. The only thing that lasts is the pain, is the hollowness in heart and fakeness in smiles and death housing in his mind, resonating in every cell and in every vein. Something new was forming inside him, something as bitter as his pills and as destructible as his own hands with a gun, something dirty and dark that would leave slick trails all over his mind, his thoughts, his body.
"Where are my pills?"
The cheerful chatter and the warmth in the room suddenly died. Momo and his mother looked at him, with confusion. Shintaro felt the painful twist in his guts. They were able to heal, they were healing, while Shintaro was there, suffering and struggling with days and remembering, with nights and nightmares, with his life and death and his sanity slowly giving away and the sounds, and he was dependent on his pills and he couldn't find them and without them he couldn't live, he couldn't breathe and he couldn't stop scratching himself.
"I said, where are my pills?"
The old western clock showed 10 pm, and panic settled down and something violent and slick rose up in his heart and mind and burst into flame, consuming his rational thoughts and his control over his body, and it woke up the sounds, the sounds that hadn't left him, always there, always watching.
Why can't I heal like them? They wailed.
"Why don't you answer me?"
The shout surprised him, but it felt like a relief, like a way to escape. This time fear replaced the momentarily wonder in their eyes, synchronized, like they were one and the same, as one soul in two bodies and Shintaro was there, an outsider, a stranger that should be feared, someone whose envy would burn the precious bond between them and where were his pills?
Why can't I be with them? They cried.
Shintaro threw the first thing he could reach, a delicate vase with black snakes embracing it and looking at him with cold, humiliating red eyes. Momo half-choked a scream and her mother- their mother , the sounds screamed- hugged her tightly, defending her from a fearful stranger.
You are a stranger.
Shintaro threw the table, broke a paper door, snatched Momo's small backpack from her room and threw everything out, searching frantically, the sounds eating him, crawling, hissing, and his anguish made him scratch his wrist so hard that it bled, and it was numb, so numb and the sounds were painful.
You're not like them.
"You took them!"
He screamed and attacked the old maid who had done nothing but showing kindness to these strangers, to Shintaro, but he couldn't feel, and he needed his pills, teeth chattering and tongue bit. The woman screamed, and Shintaro could feel the detachment, like he was looking at the world from far away, his mind and body away from him, as he floated in a dark pit, where there were no sounds, no emotions and no bodies and no Shintaro.
You're a monster.
"Please!" his mother flung herself at him, throwing her arms around him to stop him, "Calm down!"
"Is this your way of gratitude?" the maid screamed, "you have no place here!"
"Shintaro!" Momo cried, "This is not you!"
His reflection was looking at him with cold, dead eyes. he talked with no sound.
A monster.
Shintaro punched the mirror, punched it until the shattered pieces were everywhere, on the floor, in his fist, in his veins, in his throat, in his mind.
Monster! The sounds screamed, scratching his mind and soul, drawing deep dark blood from every crack, taking his feelings out and filling it with nothing, nothing, nothing -
The next thing he felt was a cool hand, cool touch and cold water flowing down his aching throat, like he was screaming all the time, like he ate all the shattered pieces of mirror.
"Take this," a calm voice demanded and Shintaro had no energy left to fight the bitter pill on his tongue.
The girl was standing there, smiling with bruised arms and blood dripping from her facing, seeping into her red scarf, and the sad, sad smile and wobbled on her feet.
"Please," Shintaro sobbed as he reached for her, "Take me with you, don't leave me here. Save me, I beg you!"
And he saw a kind smile like hers, warm eyes like hers before the world became black and numb.