Chapter Text
Vacancy of the mind. An absence of all thought. A natural, biological survival mechanism designed to protect oneself from emotional distress, something no child should go through.
Yet here they are, sitting at the dining table, their eyes cast down. The softness of their cheekbones, their frail, underdeveloped body, suggests they appear to be no more than twelve. Their breath then loses rhythm, becoming uneven and shallow. The pounding in their ears grows louder, and only the noise of their now erratic respiring fills them. As the situation caves in, the iron-like smell becomes more foul.
They should've been more aware. They should've questioned the unexplained source of their income, questioned the strange, demanding men who visited weekly, and questioned why they kept asking for more and more. But they didn't. And so, the ones they once held so close have reaped what they sowed. Even without grasping the sense of grief or despair yet, their pupils still dilated as their gaze finally ripped away from their knees, only to land on the motionless figures sprawled against the floor, staining the floor in fresh crimson hues that still glistened under the moonlight spilling through the window.
The faint glimmer in their eyes dissipates, and so, with their heart devoid of all sentimentality, a permanent fog settles into their head, aching for a cure.
your culpability
does not belong in this reality
so do not fret, absconder
retain what little you harbour
flee this wretched place
reject all embrace
With their ragged winter coat, worn down by years of wear, and their tight sneakers that were unfit for the cold, their trembling legs carry them past the gateway of their sanctuary, one of both comfort and despondency. Disappearing into the darkness of the nox-kissed sky, leaving nothing but unanswered questions behind.
1ST OF MARCH 2019 (3 MONTHS AND 2 DAYS BEFORE PETRIFICATION)
“Gosh, are you even human?” Human? Human. Her words echo in their mind like a rhythmic drumbeat. Her lips purse in a snobby way as she stares them down, as if they were nothing more than filth that should be eradicated from this world. The snickering of her three other friends, all seemingly part of her social circle, surrounds them. Their gaze remains glued to their own thighs. Hands curled into fists. Despite this, their face doesn't reciprocate their body language.
“I'm sorry.” They reply, voice low, with superficial softness.
“For what?” She leans forward, eagerly waiting for their answer, like a predator waiting for its prey to snatch the bait. Their eyes lift, meeting the girl's glare with indifference, and the other three return the look, colder. They pray, quietly, that the hesitation does not surface, that their facade holds, that the faint sheen on their skin goes unnoticed. The mischief of the grins of the four grew ear to ear the more they waited.
“...I don't know.” They answer with a shrug.
-
Soft hisses of pain ripple against the cold tile walls of the restroom as they wipe the trickle of cerise-coloured body fluid oozing from their nostrils, stuffing it with wads of toilet paper. Looks like the nurse will have another visit once again. Would those people have liked them more if they had feigned another persona instead of one so apathetic? The cold water splashes onto their exhausted face, stirring them barely. With the echoing brittle click of the rusted faucet knob, the flow of water halts, and the question ceases alongside it. The last remnants of red swirl down the drain as the door swings closed, leaving none to witness the sounds of water droplets hitting the sink. The faint look of vulnerability in their eyes disappears as both of their feet are back in the noise-filled hall, their posture stiffening.
Some now cast curious, brief, uncommitted gazes at the strange-looking person walking down the corridor.
“They look like a walrus...” Quiet snickers fill the air. These whispers don't matter as much, it doesn't bother them. Or so they tell themself.
As they weave past the whispers, the laughter, and the conversations of others that they aren't meant to be a part of, the voices still linger. “Then he...” “Did you see that new...” “Oh my gosh, when I was...” “When conducting the modification of bacteria, I need to...” Even while their desire to be deaf increases tenfold, their gaze remains fixed ahead; it doesn't falter one bit, even with every step, even as though unseen hands have fastened leaden weights to their ankles.
All sounds then muffle as their peripheral vision fades into irrelevance. With their half-lidded eyes and the awkward swaying of their body, they force themselves to move; blood loss will do that. Faces and eyes were confusing; how could they read them if they didn't have any words? The question crosses their mind. The tremors of their body didn't reflect their inner state. Gaze now dropping downwards at the ceramic glazed tiles, how come they look so clean when dozens of people walk these very corridors every day? Why is everything so tiring all of a sudden? Why does the buzzing of the lights override the chatter of students? Thoughts fog up, yet they never settle. The fluorescence sterile-like lights don't soothe the onslaught of enquiries.
They eventually arrive in front of the nurse's office, with a brief sigh and tightened fingers against the cool metal, the door slides open. Already expecting the expression that will be displayed on the nurse's face.
“You again?” The lady with prescription rimless glasses asks just as she adjusts them. “Enter.” The professional tone in her voice always caused people to tense up; usually, nurses are supposed to be kind and comforting. Although this was much more preferable for them. As she didn't pry, didn't ask unnecessary questions, nor provide any small talk. Her name, they don't bother to remember; it isn't pertinent. All they know is that she minds her own business, and they appreciate it, in their own way. Maybe someday they'll say thank you for everything.
The edge of the bed then sinks under their weight. She slides closer in her swivel chair, tilting their chin upward between her fingers, leaning in to inspect them closely, to stare, to watch, to observe... and to dissect them with just her unwavering cold eyes. Sweat droplets start to build up on their forehead, too close—too close for comfort, even though they know it's only the procedure, even if they know it's not personal, to assess and give them the proper treatment, it still sends shivers down their spine. And then, so like the others, she also looks away when done. Their breath hitches as the cold bag seeps into their palm.
“Now get to class.” A suggestion and not an order from her, because she doesn't order around what she assumes is a delinquent. After all, she doesn't pry or ask unnecessary questions; she only assumes. And those who don't argue back are simply too weak, or have already accepted who they are. In which they are somehow neither.
-
“You know the rules here at (Hiromatsu) Hirosue High School, all of the student body must participate in after-school club activities. You are one of the few who still haven't joined one yet. Choose now before I pick one for you. You don't want to be a part of the kitaku-bu, do you?” Their homeroom teacher scolds them as he gives a gentle whack on their head with a rolled-up newspaper. They sigh, glancing at the teacher's desk, their hand randomly pointing to one of the club application sheets. "The Science club it is." The teacher jots down their name and hands it to them. "Have fun, kiddo." They nod politely before stepping out of the teacher's office, a bored look on their face as they climb up the stairs to find this so-called science club.
The upper hallway floor was crowded. They take a moment, in front of the sea of people, before walking in. Shouting cuts through the air.
“Hey, watch where you're going!” “Sorry.” “Ouch! What the hell!?” "Pardon me.” “You're in my way!” “So are you.” Gritting their teeth as they kept pushing through, their heartbeat starts pounding. The physical contact, the harsh tones, the annoyed glares, something familiar, something endured, yet it still stings every time.
do you continue to isolate
even with so many around you still feel desolate
selfish, you do not cherish
because it's the only way to stay safe
so you don't feel betrayed
Heaving and panting, they finally approach the science club room. Their pulse takes a few before returning to its usual beat. The itchiness of their palms and their damped fingers makes the bile in their throat accumulate. Their grip tightens, wrinkling the paper in their hands. 'That nauseous feeling...' The door glides with a screech, making a thud as it hits its frame, catching their attention. A club member is surprised by their presence in front of the entrance. His name is not important enough to retain.
“Hello! Sorry, if you're here to see someone we currently can't—Oh!” His hurried rambling comes to an abrupt halt the moment he notices the application form in their hands. “This is great! Having new members is always fun! By the way—you're that new transfer kid that came a week ago, right?” He says with a friendly smile, but they don't answer anything, replying with only a curt nod, instantly making the interaction awkward. “I uh... anyways, I'll be sure to give this to our club president!” The boy attempts another optimistic approach, giving a thumbs-up. Maybe they were just shy. As the boy finished his sentence, the footsteps were already at a distance, moving away. Causing the member to stare at the back of their head, confused.
“Hey Taiju, who are they?” Another head peeks through the door, briefly catching sight of the person walking down the stairs. Her voice is soft and pure.
-
Shallow eyes stare back in the water-stained mirror. Once more, they are back to their place of comfort, not the most ideal place, but it's a respite for them. A scowl etches their face as they glance at their trembling fingers. Gagging sounds filled the room, hunched over the sink, saliva drips down. Swirls of emotions boil, too many they can't name. Agitation finally seeps in; this one is more familiar. So why do the other ones feel so hazy? Finally, frustration takes over, with a grumble, the mirror cracks under the pressure of their fist. The incapability of understanding or expressing inner thoughts makes them mad beyond comprehension.
The restroom door shuts once again; this time, the faucet remains on—where the water can't wash away the drops of blood on the counter.