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You’d been, what, ten? A trip to the Tokyo Skytree — one of the few things from that part of your childhood that hadn’t dissolved like chalk in water. Everyone had been equally excited outside the entrance, some acting with bravado, others simply looking forward to seeing the view. You specifically remember one boy who was really excited to try out his grandpa’s camera — even referred to it as his ‘treasure’ or something.
A lot of that faded once you all reached the observation deck, though. It was so high, and you all were so small at that time, and looking through the glass railings to see how the windows curved under the deck made everyone feel very small indeed.
Some tried to hide it. Not you, of course, you just stayed quiet; but others wanted for everyone to see how very not scared they were, by trying to clamber over the railings and walk on the curved glass floor. Understandably, they were restrained and told off, threatened to have
parents called, etc., etc.
And then you remember one girl, worried for her more foolhardy classmates' lives, asking one of the tour guides whether the glass would break if someone were to step on it. She was told no, probably not, it had to be structurally sound enough to withstand high winds and vibrations from earthquakes. Best not to test it, of course, but it was safe. In theory.
‘But I thought glass breaks easily?’ She said.
‘Not all glass,’ the tour guide had replied with a warm smile, ‘Some glass is stronger than others.’
Strange that you find yourself drawn to that memory all these years later.
You have, admittedly, had a few nightmares of somehow ending up on the wrong side of the glass, and when it inevitably started to crack as it would do in a nightmare, running a lap around the Skytree in a futile attempt to get away from the expanding hole nipping at your heels. Interestingly, you never seemed to ever reach where you started, despite running for what felt like decades. Interestingly, even in a dream, you couldn’t run forever.
How strong was the glass under your feet now, you wonder.
After all, you hadn’t stopped running since that day, in one way or another.
Could that glass support your weight? Was it special, made specifically for people whose burdens are as heavy as yours?
Do you really deserve such preferential treatment?
You’re just running from the pain, after all. Just like anyone would.
Just like anyone as weak as you would.
Someone strong, like Shu, like Rin, like the Chief, even your old classmate Kazuo — they would all face — they had all faced — what they’d been running from. They didn’t need to worry about the glass cracking under their feet. Their feet were firmly planted on the ground now.
But for someone so weak, you have to keep running on the glass. Regardless of the cracks forming behind you.
But for someone so weak, those cracks would catch up to you eventually, wouldn’t they?
And you’d fall.
And you’d fail.
And every single step you took up until that point would be wasted.
And every single person who put their faith in you would be let down.
And there’s nobody tall enough who could catch you from that height, is there?
Even if there was, nobody would want to catch someone as weak as you, anyway.
But there is someone, isn’t there, Yuma?
And because of him, you keep running.