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There’s a girl travelling the late-night bus. She’s quite like many other girls of her type; she’s built for the veracity of truth, a genuine spirit of kindness, and she’s rather beautiful. She is desired by the men of her age for both her feminine spirit and body. She’s outfitted with the knowledge and mind to please them since the day she possessed such comely traits. It was by life’s design that she was put under such ordinance, as there were no exceptions for the other girls. It was a mere fact that she grew up the way she was, as she was born beautiful, and in her life it was seen to it that she did not squander such beauty. Cut to be coveted, hewn to be heralded as elegant, and above all she had to be gracious for such things enforced upon her. She was built to receive favour, and she was built to be in servile gratitude for everything that had been exacted upon her.
One day that girl boarded a bus, and she didn’t come back. No ceremony was held, no reason was given - she was simply gone one day. Her friends expected to see her the next day, her family expected her to come home for dinner - she did not. What had been efficaciously built for her she alighted from one day without notice, and she would never give notice. They looked for her, but they never found her. The bus left down a long, distant highway for places she knew they would never find her.
That girl’s name is Ochaco Uraraka, and she’s missing forevermore in a place where the world will eventually forget her.
She looked out the window of the bus and watched dour, squalid streets deteriorate and vanish in the corner of her eye - she was the sole passenger. There wasn’t anyone else on this ride where she was going. The streets of the city, where all the downtrodden losers dwelled and loitered. The dreamers, the ones rapped with misty eyes with vision for their fantastical dreams that they cast out upon the streets to perish. Litter was rife, and the spirit was lacking.
In times of light, these streets almost glimmered with the once specious promise that beckoned them here, only to join the landfill of aimless wanderers with all the rest. Those eyes bespeckled with stars, she had once owned a pair that was bought for her favor. And she accepted those eyes and the sweet-tasting dreams they incited. Now she passed by streetlights, and visions of places that beckoned to her dreams, but those places were too dark to pierce and ascertain. It all just faded past her now. They still called for her in the luminous glow of dim streetlights, and she almost answered them, even if she knew the ends of where they led.
The bus took her to the one place left where she could go, and she alighted at the stop onto the abandoned street. The hours were the darkest; only shadows lurched in the corner of your eye, and it always frightened Ochaco. She feared what was in the distance, what was bereft from her across the street. She was paranoid of shadows, and what dwelled outside of the illumination of the streetlight that promised tenuous safety. Scared of shadows, in a city overflowed with them.
There was one shadow familiar to Ochaco. One shadow diluted in the darkness and swathed through until its contours degraded and its shape wasn’t so certain to her anymore. She stepped towards it regardless, still transfixed and hypnotized by this shadow. One that smiled back at her, with as much warmness that a smile like that could. The shadow was leaned up upon a streetlight, and it walked under it to reveal itself to her – as much as it could show. Her trimmed hair of a faded blonde, and a face that was too dainty and soft to believe, with that smile that always captivated her. She was slim, slimmer than the last time Ochaco saw her, and she could tell even through her heavy jacket; the colour of her clothes faded into the darkness of her environment.
“You’re here,” Himiko stated, smiling for all that she was worth. Ochaco smiled back at her, but it was clear that they were both straining themselves. “You’re pretty.”
Himiko’s smile widened, in great relief. Ochaco nodded her head – she was pretty. She fixed up her hair, painted her face in a sum of makeup, and picked out the nicest dress she had. It was short, however, and didn’t cover her legs, so she was growing cold from the bellowing wind carried from the sea.
“You look, nice,” Ochaco said, staring at her sweetheart, who found a way to widen her smile further. It mystified her how Himiko could do it – to smile at her, and to enjoy her company. She couldn’t tell if it hurt Himiko to just be here for her, or whether it was the one grace she needed tonight. Himiko was a complete, dishevelled mess. Her face was grimy, and there was bruising around the corner of her right eye. Her clothes were dirty, and her legs were shaking from the cold and from her own tired body. She was still standing, but Himiko looked like she could collapse, and all it would take was a single gust of wind to take her away.
“Thank you. You’re too nice, far too nice,” exhaled Himiko, as she stepped up closer to Ochaco. She pulled Ochaco’s hands into her own – both their hands were shrivelled, and angular. They didn’t quite grip each other like they used to, and it felt difficult to hold on. Himiko’s hands tightened, and it would take a hard whack for her to let go. She never knew how to let go willingly; there was only force for the job, and it was always painful.
“Come, come quickly, or we’ll miss it,” Himiko exclaimed as she took Ochaco by the hand, and pulled her from the street into the darkness. She ran with such vigour and such fervour that Ochaco struggled to keep up, but was still pulled along roughly. Himiko ran like she was unimpeded by the weight of the world with the same joy a child experiences when they first discover the power of their legs. Running out into the night down bounding hills that threatened to throw Ochaco’s balance, yet she was still pulled along until her feet were kicking up sand. She was glad she wasn’t wearing heels.
Himiko led her into the night and out onto the beach where the waning moon was their only guide of light, and that too was soon to fade into the horizon. Himiko ran as if she was clear of sight, and both listened to the soft, gentle undulation of the tide sipping away at the shoreline as they ran. Ochaco could feel the stream of wind past by her face, and the saltiness of her tongue, as the only taste of the night and of this city.
“Come, come. Don’t fall behind,” called Himiko as she pulled and tugged at her hand. Himiko pulled her along the beach and guided her down to the water where the tide collided with their feet and kicked up a spray of water on their clothes. Ochaco yelped, and Himiko laughed. And Ochaco remembered the picturesque vista of two lovers on the beach she saw on Saturday night TV, as the greatest pleasure of her week back in her old town. Two lovers laughing in unison as they ran across the beach. The strong, impregnable man gripped his woman’s hand, who was to be kind to him for however long their love would last. And that was the dream as simple and unambiguous as it could come. It was her wholesome dream, but this was the only hand she could take a grip of, and it held her for dear life.
“Don’t trip over now, you don’t want to ruin that dress!”
It was a cold day she met the girl. She stood across the street from her, and you could always pick the ones that spelt you trouble. But she was drawn to her regardless, for however clearly and emphatically disaster was written upon that smile. It was one hell of a smile; it’s one that paid mind to you alone and made you feel like you owned someone’s raptured attention and admiration in either your moments of beauty or ugliness. The smile of someone who knew hard times through and through. And scintillating through the dirt of their sullied past came the knowledge and sight to appreciate both the beauty and spirit of a girl that they desired.
On all bases, Ochaco should have picked anyone but her. There are plenty of boys out for her, who could treat her as their one and only darling that was the light of their life. But Ochaco only liked it when it was from Himiko, and while fitting bachelors lined in swarths for her hand, she placed it in the hand of the pariah – the poor decision. And she would have known love infallible if she had offered it to another, but the simple fact was that she didn’t, and that was all there was to say.
You could tell the world that birthed this girl. The world of delinquents and racket boys, pugnacious and looking to exact unrighteous justice against life. She wasn’t a violent girl, at least of the same breed as her contemporaries. She’d bruise herself up every so often from a brawl downtown in that corner store where the delinquents dwelled and lived their unfortunate lives, but you knew she wasn’t all for that life. But she still was leading the same unspoken, bleared crusade without conquest, and only for their right to survive.
Himiko would bloody herself, and the stains just didn’t wash off at times. She’d come to Ochaco late at night and in her room and she washed Himiko’s face of the blood. She went through many towels, and many sponges, and even still a little would remain that didn’t wash off so well. Himiko held back a single tear as she showed Ochaco a note, for a sum of fifty dollars – it was low for what she had just done. And she only ever came to Ochaco with money when blood was on her face, otherwise she was empty-handed. And with sadness in her eyes, she’d always promised Ochaco she’d buy her a nice dress that she could wear every day and that was all she needed. That was what she promised her.
They tightened up their grip on villains in their town. It was broadcasted on a Friday night, in all its flaming destruction that they nailed the Boss in his own home. Death was broadcasted on the news in all its contemporary novelty for the general consumption of families to morbidly marvel at death and disarray, filled with names of all those delinquents that only Ochaco now knew. She was afraid to watch that broadcast. But she didn’t see her bloodied face or hear her name, and she thanked the Lord for the delay of judgement.
Himiko came to her house the next day, with two tickets for something specious in her hand and telling her all the great things that awaited them in the city beyond. A place where lovers could escape, and find a life built only from their work and labour. A place where they wouldn’t be found and could vanish so easily into.
Himiko would be pulling out all the stops; all the blood cleaned up into a decent sum of money that could rent a dingy apartment and the tickets to reach it. She promised her that it was life anew and that they would live without fear or reproach, and honestly in turn. Ochaco followed her dream with Himiko, as she didn’t want to see her crash and burn, but also because she believed her, simply because she wanted to. Himiko said that she’d have enough money left to buy her a dress once they got there.
The day they arrived they were unwelcomed in the city, and it felt inimical to be anywhere you didn’t belong. People on the street would leer at you as they walked past, and chortle to themselves at your oblivious nature. The streets weren’t as safe as you wanted them to be, and the promise wasn’t as fruitful once they realised honest work was a modicum rather than something attainable through honesty. One had to fight tooth and nail for it, and fight even harder than that if one truly wanted it. But they treated you like a petulant child for even kicking up the will to fight – still hung up on a dream. They acted like you didn’t know, and when you asked them, they’d turn their heads towards the casinos that were barely standing on their own two feet, and they would laugh. Places of sin and repudiation of the spirit is what the city was fighting and living for, while dirtied hands tugged at the strings in the dark of the depressing buildings. If you weren’t a part of the city’s lifestyle, you were nothing but an unwanted outsider that was in over your head.
That Avalon sunrise on the beach wasn’t as nice as the first time they saw it. But they still came to the beach and ran along the shore to chase it, as the hope still lived that it could cure their wounds and heal their spirits. Himiko still ran with fervour and life while Ochaco was pulled along with her, and she didn’t have the strength to take her hand away.
There was always a fight going on in this city. A brawl out on the boardwalk, a gun firing off in a lonesome alleyway, and it kept going without warrant remittance or end. Nothing but constant war, nothing but constant killing; Heroes and Villains fighting out on the streets until death claimed them, and you’d be scared that you’d get caught in the crossfire. If you did, there’d be no one left to pick you up. And in these streets straight down in the belly depths, you’d be scared to whether God could even hear you, or that he’d even want to answer your cry for help. It’s why Ochaco was still gripping the one hand she knew would be there, and no matter how deathly cold that hand was, she was afraid to lose it.
Himiko pulled her to the edge of the shore, where the streetlights of the city were beginning to dim down in the distance and where the shadows didn’t seem so deadly anymore. Out on the sand, they sat with each other and looked out onto the dark water that flowed with tempered serenity, leading out into a vast, endless ocean. They sat there for an interminable amount of time, simply staring at the one grace granted to them tonight. It’s where they placed their tired, beaten bodies to surrender to the sand and the ocean if it were to ever reach them. It frightened Ochaco a little, but Himiko’s serenity calmed her as she continued to look towards the sky.
“I haven’t found anything,” Himiko said, still looking up to the sky. “I was close, but it fell through.”
Ochaco downcast her head but she wasn’t surprised. There was only so much surprise she could take against odds hopelessly stacked against them, so she only leaned her head into Himiko’s shoulder. It was just another dead end in the city that led to nowhere, and they were trapped in it. Everything always fell through one way or another, at one point or the other. And there wasn’t enough luck or pity in this world that could save that fact.
Ochaco was growing hungry, and her legs were shaking from the cold. Himiko noticed and undid her jacket. She put it over Ochaco’s legs and pulled her close. The night almost seemed warm in this moment even if Ochaco knew she’d be cold again.
“What now?”
Ochaco’s question permeated the air and twisted with the wind to be carried far away. Himiko heard her, but her eyes seemed too pained to answer her question. But she did.
“There was, there was one other thing. Last night I met with someone. He’s got something I can do for him, and he’s promising that it pays well. It’s for my talent, the thing I do well. I’m going to bring back something nice for you.”
Ochaco investigated Himiko’s eyes and could see how tired they were. Nothing but tiredness, and redolent longing for the sun to come when now it seemed like such a long time away. Eyes that just wanted to rest, just wanted a single break when they couldn’t get any relief. And that was the moment that Ochaco began to cry. It welled up inside her until she couldn’t stomach it any longer, and she cried into Himiko’s shoulder while she waited for the sunrise to come. She knew she was tired; she knew she couldn’t take anymore, but she wanted to beg her to take it. To endure it all, just for a little longer. Just for a single moment more to withstand it, and she wouldn’t mind if her dress dirtied. Just anything to keep her here, to keep this moment with each other in fear that they’d have it no more.
Ochaco feared for the place that Himiko was going. You could never come back quite the same, that is if you came back at all. And through it all, what cut down Ochaco the most was that she still desired to escape. She still desired to be taken by the hand, to places where they could wash themselves clean, and to make it there in one piece. She didn’t want Himiko to leave her again – they were meant to be together. She didn’t want her to go to the place she was headed, but she knew there was nothing for it. All she could do was cry in futility.
Himiko turned to Ochaco, and cusped her face in her hand, and it felt warm to her. And she said to her, “I’m coming back. I’ll come back; I know I’ll come back. You’ll wait for me, won’t you? Wait for me to come back?”
Ochaco nodded her head without hesitation. She’d wait for however long it would take for them to meet again – she promised to herself that she’d never leave until she came back. She would wait through the entire night, and all through the next day. And she would be there, wearing her nicest dress, and her hair done up pretty. That was just the way Himiko liked it – she wanted to see Ochaco at her nicest. And Ochaco knew she would smile her happiest when her girl arrived to take her away, and she didn’t quite know where she’d take her next.
“I’ll be with you, just wait for me. Wait for however long it takes.”
Himiko pulled Ochaco into a kiss, and the sun began to rise in the distance. The sand seemed to glitter in resplendent gold, and the beach was warm. They started to feel warm themselves.
The night was cold, and Ochaco was waiting near a bus stop at the beachside. She looked at the time on her watch and stared off into the distance where the sun was to arise. She looked around her, but there weren’t any shadows, just an empty street. She saw the sun begin to rise in the distance; the shadows were cleansed from the street and vanished with the night. There was no one here on this abandoned street but Ochaco, and she began to cry. She cried, but she waited. She waited throughout the night, throughout the morning and the afternoon until night came again. The late-night bus arrived, and its doors opened to her – the last bus for tonight. Ochaco stared down its open doors and then watched as its taillights vanished down the street.
Another day to wait didn’t sound all too bad.