Work Text:
Speak up
I want to speak.
Even if I can't, I want to talk.
Not because I think I have something important to say, nor because I want my opinion to trump others. I do not seek anything sophisticated, words that make the heart flutter or enlighten the mind.
I want to speak, even if I have nothing of worth to say, even if what I would say might be trivial. Stupid, the same as countless other speeches that have followed one after another over the years.
Why, do you ask? It’s not like I can’t. Every time I try, the taste of saliva soaks my lips. While my thoughts proceed in a direction, my tongue freezes, welcoming a new ice age.
My body stays still as a dutiful sentinel, incapable of articulating a meaningful discourse. Meanwhile, my soul craves for a salute, a ‘good morning’ , a ‘how are you?’
Isn’t there someone that wants to greet me? The small, insignificant me that can’t put two words together?
But silence is my only companion, solitude my best friend. No one notices me, because I don’t give a reason to. They mistake my shyness for rudeness, my incapacity for a self-conceited sense of superiority. It is natural, after all.
If you can’t believe in yourself, what are you supposed to believe in? I fear the answer. The answer I already know.
“Chika… Komari Chika?”
The morning bell has long since ceased to echo, but I can still hear its deafening noise.
Maruyama-sensei’s voice, on the other hand, is dull, devoid of emotion. He is standing near the blackboard, and points to an inscribed line on it. Despite the uncertainty due to the aged handwriting, it can be read clearly.
“Y… Yes.” I stand up, and see the eyes of my classmates pointing to me. Assailants from all sides are trying to trap me. Left alone, I can only retreat frightened by their stares, lowering my head in shame. The shame of being me.
“Care to explain to the class what is written here?”
It is an advanced level of English, yet the meaning of those words unfolds naturally before me. Each letter, composing a near-perfect mosaic, fits perfectly into a coherent, smudge-free meaning. Hours spent hunched over textbooks pay off in a single instant.
“A… According… According to…” I stumble over what I say. I know the answer, but air has become thin, and my breathing feels heavier and heavier with each passing moment. “According to the writer…”
I don’t need to look around to notice all the indifferent eyes. Bored classmates, divided between those who hold back impertinent snickers and those who are thankful that that fate has not befallen them.
For them, I am nothing. No more than an afterthought. A drop of gray in their colorful life.
“According to the writer there… There were…”
Maruyama-sensei hits the blackboard with chalk, just a couple of times, just to call attention to himself again. With a sigh, as if he had no energy left for that little effort, he returns to the desk.
“That's enough.”
He pulls out a dusty register as I return to my seat. His chalk-white hair moved by the soft wind entering through the window catches my attention. There is a certain charm in that bored fluttering of them.
“You did very well on the admission test, if I'm not mistaken.” The tone is stern, disinclined to politeness. Yet, I can hear a note of apprehension. “But that shouldn't let you rest on your laurels. Our school is not for time wasters. When the first test comes in a couple of weeks, I expect more ... encouraging results.”
“I… I understand.”
Not that a test worries me that much. A test is written, not spoken. The rush of confidence lasts only a fleeting instant, before my inadequacy reminds me of my place.
“Good. I hope we will not have this talk again.” Sensei sighs slightly, indulging in an imperceptible lip movement, resembling a grin. “Class is dismissed.”
As everyone stands up, I disappear back into my invisibility. Part of me feels contempt, contempt for who I am. Contempt for what I cannot do. And, most of all, contempt for almost finding comfort, in that moment of attention.
To have been, for a few seconds, the center of attention of those classmates of mine, who have already returned to their own lives and concerns, finding no room for me.
I remain alone, as lunchtime approaches.
Stories have a special power.
They open doors to worlds that are distant and different, but also so very close and familiar. The values they convey are universal and profound; they break the barriers of time and space in search of common ground between those who write and those who experience them.
Writers write to prove that their existence has not been unique or unrepeatable, but to seek out, even unconsciously, those who see the world with the same eyes with which they view it. And the readers read to find comfort, to break down the barriers of the years and discover that the doubts and fears, courage and emotions they feel have been shared by others who have come before them, and will continue to be rediscovered by those who will come later.
A painting that is enriched each time with a new brush, a new figure, a new interpretation; never finished and yet never incomplete.
“Komari-chan, what are you reading?”
Everyone needs an oasis. A special place they can call home. It is not a given, finding something that can make you feel at peace with yourself.
The literature club room is my treasure, found after much effort and much searching. Here, my silence is not disturbing. My uncertain words are not squeaks of fear, but precious gifts that are heard and made valuable.
“It.. It is a story advised to me by Tsukinoki-senpai.”
The boy in front of me arches an eyebrow, puzzled. He looks at me with eyes widening in astonishment, and I wonder if I did the right thing in revealing my weakness to him.
“Is it interesting?” His question is devoid of any prejudice. There is no judgment in him. Nothing to suggest that his opinion of me could change for so little.
“V… Very.”
“Would you advise me to read it as well?”
I feel my cheeks blush at that innocent question as I rush to work out an excuse.
“No... It is not your genre, Tamaki-senpai. It is... It is very romantic.”
He smiles softly as his expression soothes.
“Oh, I see. It's that kind of story," his embarrassed laughter echoes like a familiar tune that, no matter how many times you've listened to it, never gets stale. “You're right. Well, is there anything else you'd like to recommend?”
The archives of my memory stretch out into infinity. There is so much I would like to talk to him about, so many books I would like to have him read, and so many stories I would like to share. How many worlds can two people live in together? When I am with him, the excitement of knowing the answer makes me restless, but happy at the same time.
“The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai is… is a great work,” mustering undiscovered energy, I find the courage in myself to answer him. “I think you would like it.”
If I could, I would tell him more. My thoughts are undefined chaos, lost in a churning sea of contradictory emotions. Yet, it is a small victory.
A pathetic sentence like that is a titanic accomplishment for me.
Have no pity on me.
“Oh, I think we have it here.”
Tamaki-senpai approaches our library, and picks up a book on one of the shelves. Only at that moment do I realize the huge mistake I made. I try to stop him, but someone else is already ahead of me.
“Stop right there, Shintaro!”
The early afternoon light reflects off a pair of stylish glasses. A girl with beautiful violet hair places her hand on Tamaki-senpai's with enviable naturalness.
I feel my heart stop at that interaction, but I ignore it. It is simple friendship, I convince myself. There is nothing more, I repeat again.
“Koto...don't tell me...” Tamaki-senpai brings a hand to his face, sighing wearily. “I told you to replace this stuff, if I'm not mistaken.”
The girl, Koto Tsukinoki, assumes a mocking, confident air. Her thin lips sharpen like a blade forged by the most skilled of craftsmen.
“Silly Shintaro...” She shakes her head, snapping her fingers with a fast movement. “Do you know what the greatest tragedy in modern history is?”
He pauses for a moment, trying to find something sensible to retort.
“The great economic differences between rich and poor?”
“Censorship!” Koto-senpai retorts triumphantly. “Shintaro, we are custodians of knowledge! As members of the literature club, it is our sacred duty to preserve the works of human intellect, to hand down to posterity the revolutionary writings of those who fought to be able to express their beliefs. Only in this way can we prevent ourselves from sinking into a new dark age, where anyone who strays from the paths of normalcy is prevented from being able to voice different ideas.”
The passion with which she allows herself to be carried away is enthralling. The same one that convinced me to join the club at the beginning of the year. Tsukinoki Koto is a woman who is never afraid to express her opinions, no matter what others think of her.
She shines with a light of her own that I cannot help but admire, feeling jealousy over that splendor.
Tamaki-senpai, however, has a different view on the matter.
“Don't you think you are exaggerating the importance of the boys' love genre?”
“On the contrary. There is no love more pure than that between two men. Already the ancient Greeks understood this. Would you perhaps want to erase centuries of culture on a whim?”
“Uh, I think we'll be in trouble if we get caught.”
“Don’t you worry,” Tsukinoki-senpai hits Tamaki-senpai with a slap on the shoulder. “If things get turbulent, I'll handle it. And Komari-chan will be here to help me.”
Upon hearing my name spoken, I realize that I am also there physically, not just a mere ethereal presence in their lives.
“Y… yes.”
I return to reality, thinking if I am just an extra in their life. My eyes do not close when I observe them, but each time it seems to me that I am waking up from a long dream, where what I have experienced, and what remains now blur together; a lingering uneasiness and awareness, leading my subconscious to search for something of which I am not even aware, and which, worse than anything, can be forgotten at any time.
“Stop, Koto. You don't want to infect her even more with your ... passions?”
“Don't underestimate her, Shintaro. Komari-chan is a first-rate connoisseur, though unfortunately not always capable of seeing the true light.”
Incorrect. But I can’t correct her mistakes. Not right now.
“Komari-chan, don't listen to her.” Tamaki-senpai pats my head gently. “Don't ever become like this rotten woman.”
“Would you rather she read isekai for virgins like you?”
"Don't make me change my mind about the fate of your beloved books."
"And you stop touching her grossly, as if she were a little dog."
“It... It's not a problem.” My voice stops them, preventing them from locking themselves up again in a world that is just for them. A dimension where there is no room for little me. “Tamaki-senpai, I... I am grateful for the time spent here.”
I want to speak.
Then, perhaps, I will be able to shape these feelings that are inside me. So, perhaps, when I see Tamaki-senpai's smile light up not only his face, but everything my gaze can grasp, I will be able to be able to thank him for all he has done for me.
Some would call this incessant throbbing just love. More than that, it is gratitude, for lending an ear to my whispers, for continuing to hold out his hand to someone who was too afraid to grasp it. If even someone as small as me can produce such intense earthquakes when we are together, there must be something more to this.
“And we are happy to have you here with us, Komari-chan.” This time it is Tsukinoki-senpai who encourages me, resting her hand on my shoulder. “We don't deserve such lovely kohai. Especially Shintaro.”
“I'll play it cool this time, especially since I have to agree with the first part.”
Outside, I can endure being battered by everything. As long as I can stay here, I know one day I will find my voice.
Things change quickly. Most frighteningly, so many events can concentrate in whole segments, insignificant portions of an individual's life, that they can disrupt a hard-earned routine.
“Nukumizu-kun, Yanami-chan, Yakishiko-chan ... So many additions in such a short time. We won't have to worry about the fate of the club anymore.”
Tsukinoki-senpai is finishing putting away the paperwork for the completed memberships, while a summer breeze sways her braids. She elegantly sips a cup of coffee while I watch her closely.
Of the newcomers, none particularly stand out. Nukumizu has an unremarkable personality and reeks of someone who has never interacted with a woman until the previous week.
Yanami and Yakishiko are undoubtedly very pretty, but their interest in books is... fluctuating, to be generous. In a few weeks' time, they will have already forgotten that they are members of the club.
It wouldn’t surprise me to see the club return to being a place for just the three of us soon.
“Are you... Are you sure about the new members?”
Nukumizu aside, the two undoubtedly beautiful girls will start buzzing around Tamaki-senpai. It's petty, but I can't help being irritated by it all.
“Of course. And, I mean, it’s not like we are spoiled for choice.” Tsukinoki-senpai’s imperturbable smirk cannot be disturbed by something so trivial, I realize. “It will be fine. Don’t worry. Rather, what do you think of the trip?”
Making arrangements with my grandmother will be especially difficult, but I cannot keep myself from participating.
“It will be… a good way to bond together, I think. And… and to get good materials for the club.”
Tsukinoki-senpai’s smile widens, her amethyst eyes sparkle with strange vitality. “Komari-chan, you already have a draft, or something like that, am I right?”
“M…Maybe.”
“Ah, if only I were as good as you. Such talent is wasted on someone who pictures Mishima as top."
“That's the only thing that makes sense,” I retort. “I am sorry, senpai, you cannot embrace the vision. However… However, my writing skills… don’t compare to yours."
This is not false modesty.
Someone like me can only pick up a pen and hope that what I cannot put into words will acquire meaning once I read it. Ink is the blood I pour, the distant realities I mold the only concrete thing left of a passed dream.
However, what I lack is experience. My style is a pure imitation of what others have already read, a clumsy replication of others' talent.
“No need to lower yourself. And, the way I see it, it is you that teaches me a lot when it comes to the craft. Anyway, I can’t wait to see your completed work.”
“I… will do my best.”
“Great. And don’t worry. With me by your side you will be able to make friends with others.” She reads me like an open book. “And as for the boys, Nukumizu-kun seems harmless to me. Shintaro... Shintaro wouldn’t dare do anything.” Tsukinoki-senpai raises her arm to the sky, as if she wants to show me that she will protect me from any harm.
“I am not worried about Tamaki-senpai. In fact, I feel safe when I'm with him.”
“Oh...of course. That amoeba couldn't hurt a fly, you're right.”
I want to speak.
To ask her if Tamaki-senpai is just a friend to her. I want Tsukinoki-senpai to cheer for me, to support my pathetic being.
I want my whispers to have the force of thunder, my voice to capture the attention of all those around me with its force. Instead, it remains sluggish and dull. Devoid of vigor, devoid of beauty.
The fire of a candle already consumed, no longer able to illuminate anything. What use is there in a light that cannot brighten anything?
“Senpai... Senpai is always good to me...”
Compared with Tsukinoki Koto, Komari Chika is hopeless. If I were to disappear, would anyone miss me? If I were gone, would anyone cry for me?
She would, because she is my friend.
The friend who, most of all, I want to be recognized by. If we are rivals in love, taking things seriously is also a sign of respect for her.
“Of course.” She hands me her coffee cup, her soft smile infusing me with courage .
The drink is now cold, yet I don't mind. I feel the energy flowing into my body as the rays of the sunset touch my face.
“Thank you.”
My feelings are no less sincere, only because they have been cultivated for a shorter time. Does an intruder in an already written love have a chance to win? I look at Tsukinoki-senpai and realize that I want to win against her.
To make my feelings real, I can only imagine them as sentences in a story, the acts of something already written. Even if you can guess the ending, is that a good reason not to go all the way to the end?
If you could speak, what would be the chosen words? Great words, dense with meaning? Something simple, simple enough to break down the distance between our feelings?
Maybe just…
“Tamaki-senpai, I love you!”
The moon shines high in the sky.
Supreme star of dream and mystery, torch destined to illuminate earthly nights, always its charm attracts gazes and thoughts.
It seems that reigning over the empire of quiet, of peace, is more mysterious, more solitary than any other kingdom; its icy white light always returns to renew the first impression. It remains in the mind while representing the night itself.
I close my eyes.
And listen.
What do I hear?
Absolute lack of sound or noise. Silence. The same silence I used to call my friend now assumes the dress of a scary enemy.
The shadows around me utter something indistinct, something I cannot grasp. They acquire human form only when my head regains coolness.
I have spoken.
Sometimes an instant is enough. An instant to give you the courage to express what you had failed to communicate in weeks.
My heart gave what it had to give. It is a strange feeling of lightness.
Some people say that everyone's life is just a dream.
Maybe I am still dreaming, and waiting to wake up after a long day.
For once, it's up to me to wait for an answer. For once, I am the one in front, who can watch others from afar.
A few seconds pass, as the world around me shatters. For those who are small and insignificant, any amount of time can seem enormous.
What response do I expect?
I look at Tamaki-senpai, who cannot find the right words. For once, it was me who left someone breathless, in turmoil. Then I look at Tsukinoki-senpai, who approaches him, to accuse him. I see the pain on her face, and the anger on his.
At this moment, I realize that my love is over. As everyone goes their separate ways, I am left alone. Looking at the sky, I realize that the moon is really beautiful tonight.