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when i was small, i dreamt of meeting “the one.”
i met him in various different ways, but the one i remember most is…
i was running late to class. in my rush, i had run into someone. i fell on my hind. “oh, i’m so—“ i started, rubbing my head, looking up at the stranger.
i felt many things.
my gray world sprang to color, to life, as i looked upon this stranger. as i got older, i would imagine a girl reaching down to me. they always had a kind smile.
i don’t remember their face.
i would try dozens of combinations – friends, sometimes – just to see if i felt something. anything at all.
nothing. never anything.
they would ask me if i was okay, and i would stammer out a response and run off. i never dreamt of the bits between, but i would dream of what came after.
he would take me on dates. he would buy me flowers. he would kiss me.
he would—
he would… do. things. with my body. admittedly, i’ve never cared much for that sort of thing, but maybe that’s my condition talking.
i didn’t care what he looked like. i didn’t care what he got me. i didn’t care where he took me. i didn’t care if he hit me.
i wanted to…
i’m not a religious girl, but back then, i prayed and prayed and prayed to whatever god would listen – hell, i even prayed to the Cursed. it wasn’t something i was supposed to do, but i did it anyway.
i would damn all my friends and family to feel even a sliver of “normal”.
sometimes, sitting on my knees and begging praying to whoever and whatever would listen, i thought of a story i read when i was small that i definitely should not have read. it still sticks in my mind, these days, always lingering, tempting me.
do you know what a motherboard is?
does an ant?
if an ant were to suddenly comprehend a motherboard, to know that those strange strokes are letters and that those letters make words and that those words make meaning, to know what wires are, to know what a computer is, to know what the motherboard is used for…
and then, its knowledge is torn from it.
it’s an ant again, like nothing ever happened. but it knows, it remembers.
sometimes, hoping and praying for my “one”, who would make me feel for the first time in my life, i feel like that ant, staring up at something i have never known and knowing.
and without him – or her or them or whoever turns out to be my “one”, i would be just an ant again.
i would be… incomplete. i would be…
i wouldn’t be human anymore.
so i would do whatever it took to stay. i imagined i would beg and plead and sob, because that was something i was capable of thanks to him. i imagined i would make myself as appealing as possible to him.
(sometimes, i imagined i would kill everyone and anyone who opposed me. i faked my best friend’s suicide by throwing her off a roof by her legs, i electrocuted her, i tortured her and broke her until she killed for me, i killed her killed her killed her—)
i imagined he would reject me. i imagined he would accept me without question. i imagined i never got the chance.
when i started at CF high, i went looking for him.
when i was 14, the exact same scenario that i’d dreamed about for so many years played out with an upper classman. i had been late to class. i had been rushing. i ran into someone. i fell. he turned around and reached a hand down to me. “oh, are you okay?” he'd asked.
i looked at him. instead of my world bursting into yellows and pinks and love love love, instead of my world becoming taichi, instead of taichi becoming my everything, becoming the heart my body could not support…
nothing.
my chest remained empty where my heart should’ve been beating.
“miss?” he’d asked.
i shook myself, and put on a smile as i’d learned to do so long ago, and gave a cheery “yeah! but i’m late to class, so if i could be excused?”
“oh, of course!” he’d said. “do you need help getting there?”
no, i knew exactly where it was. some people said learning made them happy, so i memorized every classroom and the classes inside and every hallway and every door. i felt nothing.
“no, i’m alright. thank you, though!” i’d said, and then i ran off to my next class with a smile on my face.
when i was small, almost too small to remember, my mother would fret over me. we had a bird bath in the backyard, but no birds ever came to it.
i slid into the classroom with barely a minute to spare. i got to my seat as the bell rang.
i would kill them.
i got out my notebook and my pen to take notes.
i would take a knife from the kitchen – a pairing knife, usually, it was easier for my small hands – and pry them open while they still lived. they would scream and kick up a fuss.
i liked to lick the blood off my hands when i finished. it didn’t taste good; too salty for my liking. cow’s blood, or human blood, would probably be better.human blood tends to lean on the sweeter side, like candy – at least, from what i’d tasted when i was 8 and i bit my sister hard enough to warrant yet another shattering of all the glass in the house and an ER visit. i haven’t tasted other people’s blood in a while though, so maybe i’m wrong.
it’s acceptable to bite an attacker, right?
maybe i should get mugged intentionally so that i can bite them. and, if i kill them, surely the police won’t mind if i take a sample, right? as long as it’s not the brain, and i cook it properly before eating, then i should be okay. it’s just meat, what’s with all the fuss?
i can store it in my purse or something.
if i kill one person, i’m not a serial killer – that requires a three-person body count – and if it’s in self-defense, i can’t be charged for it. it’s the perfect crime.
of course, i have to make it look like i’m not looking to be mugged.
…
when my mother still cared for me, i would ask her what was wrong with me.
she would tell me she didn’t know.
nobody does. not the doctors, not the cultist, not the exorcist, not my big sister, nobody.
not my “one.”
nobody knew.
i wish i knew.
…
if i were not me, would this be easier?
if i were worse, at least i could reasonably say that i deserved it, this punishment. if i were better… well. then, this wouldn’t be happening.
i wouldn’t be so hollow.
…
late at night, when i stare up at the ceiling, i wonder.
did i die when i was born?
whoever fumika was supposed to be must have, and i’m in her place.
i want to go back.
i want the real fumika to come back so i can leave. so i can be…
happy.