god of spades;
edge
Nagisa muses that he probably shouldn't be too surprised about waking up in a five by five meter cell everyday by now. He sighs and glances up at the ceiling above him. There's a single light bulb hanging loosely by a string and he starts counting the amount of cracks in the walls and pretends that's the amount of day's he's been locked up.
Because that's the only way he can keep sane in this godforsaken hell hole.
And this is part of his every day morning ritual.
After spending around an hour or three mulling about how long he's been here or how much longer he's going to be here, would hell be similar to all this or maybe if all he's thinking everyday is just a verbatim of all the gone yesterdays and whether there's a possibility of him committing suicide.
Of course, he'll only contemplate about Nagisa's 101 ways of committing suicide when he's tried all the doors, poke at the rusted window locks and lie on the floor, pressing his ear against the water pipes and hoping for a fragment single human soul.
And there are times when he really really craves for human warmth (the guards don't count) he settles with pressing his face against the cold window bars and pretend that he can see the occasional human walking past.
Too bad it's a shame he still hasn't learned to be more realistic after all these months..or years…or decades. Probably around a year or something.
When Nagisa asks the guards for a date, he'll receive a short, clipped reply of something like, "Fifth of June." That's doesn't satisfy him though. He need to know what year is was dammit. On those more unfortunate, more likely outcomes, he'd receive a boot to his stomach and sedatives because "the monster has spoken."
There was this one quote by Nietzsche (Friedrich Nietzsche, you uncultured swines) wasn't there, Nagisa thinks, peeking through his eyelids at the blade of sunlight that cut into his cell.
.
「 He who fights with monsters should be careful, lest he thereby becomes a monster」
.
Or something along those lines. There's hardly a point in over thinking about philosophies when one would be jailed for around the next five years or something, providing that he didn't die from haemorrhage or diarrhea of some sort.
So Nagisa decides to lapse back to being a waste of space and oxygen (of being a freelance assassin who failed at life and got his sorry ass landed in jail.)
Apart from staring at the ceiling all day, there were, of course, other agendas in Nagisa's everyday life, which consisted of pulling the lever of the dumbwaiter everyday at around noon and evening (at least, according to his internal clock and what little he could deduce from the sunlight) and having a quite, undisturbed meal of things that tasted uncannily like cardboard and lint.
And then after dinner, he'd take a shit in the toilet. What a privilege it was, Nagisa bites back his sarcastic remarks during his morning piss, lest the guards thought he was talking to himself and going insane, to not have to piss into a hole.
Although a toilet was technically a hole. Just a more sanitary and eloquent one.
Then there were times like this when he took a longer piss, the guards would bang on his cell door and threaten to sedate him, so taking a shit was usually limited to five minutes or less. Oh the woes.
But to be honest, on a second note, Nagisa could probably get out of his cell quite easily, despite it being mostly underground with the highest security measures and all. And then it'd most likely end up with a fucking massacre on his hands and being hunted again.
Plus, it's not like he's got anything better to do outside the confinement, because the world has probably moved on without him, so he settles with being cooped up here.
It takes what Nagisa assumes to be around forty six minutes (according to his internal clock), for the lunch to deliver. The light on the dumbwaiter glows and he yanks down the opening for a very badly arranged meal.
A meal of what he assumes to be a piece of beef, chicken, fish, pork, or something not from one of the above glares at him unwelcomingly. There's egg spilling off the plates and some orange juice.
He opens the orange juice and it burns his tongue like acid. It takes his all to not let his grimace show through on his face. This is just reassurance that he is alive and he isn't dead and in hell yet. (Although this was a pretty close intimidation of hell save for the flames)
There's some clanking and dragging of footsteps outside his cell, where Nagisa can't see at all. He's tried staring into the darkness once, trying to make out the blurry silhouettes of whatever demons were lurking outside.
But more realistically speaking, it was probably the guards changing shifts.
His internal clock whispers that it's probably around two-thirty and the guard that always sleeps on duty is coming right now. The snoring never really bothered Nagisa. Instead, it gave him some sort of sick reassurance that he wasn't the only one in this world.
Just as Nagisa expects, the snoring comes not long after the shuffling of feet stop and the creaking of the wooden chair where the guard sit fall silent.
And since everyday is no different than the other, hell, Nagisa could be stuck in a time loop for all he knew, like, remembering that he thought about killing himself yesterday, this morning, and tomorrow.
So he lapses back into the rituals that he's so familiar of.
Five minutes after the guard starts snoring, he'll begin to start talking to Korosen.
Of all the things Nagisa could have chosen for an imaginary friend, he chooses a three meter tall yellow coloured octopus, with the name of Korosen.
Koro (殺)– for kill.
Sen (千)– for thousand.
For the thousands of people he's killed.
When he greets Korosen, he starts off with reciting the names of every single person he's killed in chronological order. Sometimes, he trips over his words and grips his fists tighter when he spits out a more horrifying title, or soften his voice and hold back his tears when some other names jump off the tip of his tongue.
"So, what's up today, Nagisa-kun, Nurufufufu," the familiar mocking green striped smile appears and the looming figure has to crouch to prevent from banging his head against the ceiling.
Nagisa turns in his bed and decides to face the ceiling, staring up at Korosen. "It's pretty pointless if you ask that same question every day. You know that nothing interesting ever goes on in here, Korosen."
"I can read you a story if you want," the octopus offers and it takes Nagisa his all to not roll his eyes at him.
"If you mean reciting the Holy Bible out, then no thanks. I think I've had enough of that story for a life time."
"I can read you something else if you want. Something like, Frantz Fanon's Wretched of the Earth?"
Nagisa nods and he tries not to look bored when Korosen picks up the book from his desk.
(Because Korosen was still part of himself and how interesting could it be, telling a story to yourself?)
"So what do you think about Fanon's opinions?" Korosen asks when the sun starts to set and the eventide colours spill in excess into his cell. Nagisa's internal clock mumbles that it's six thirty. The story took four hours off his life.
Nagisa fidgets a bit, running his fingers through the hem of his shirt. "Hmmm, it's okay," he replies, a little half assed, a little feeling of déjà vu building up in the pit his stomach.
It's almost natural, almost unwaveringly flowing, the way Korosen manages to hold a conversation with Nagisa. But it is still, nonetheless, always the same.
By seven, the light on the dumbwaiter glows again and Nagisa knows it's time for another tasteless meal.
"You know, Nagisa-kun, you could always kill yourself by stabbing yourself in the neck with that fork," Korosen speaks up, snatching the fork away from Nagisa, who was in the middle of shoveling some sort of tofu in his mouth.
The tofu splatters everywhere when Korosen waves the fork around.
"No way, that'd be too bloody," Nagisa frowns, picking up a bowl and sipping on the miso soup.
Korosen pauses. "Now when did you start to be afraid of blood, Nagisa-chan," he counters, peering at the blue haired boy rather incredulously. "You were practically born and raised in it."
Nagisa rolls his eyes. "I'd prefer if I didn't die yet. It's human nature to want to live for a while longer, even just a little while. I can't go against that," he bites out in return and oh, how much that green and yellow striped face irks him.
"How about stabbing yourself in the neck shallowly and waiting until the guards arrive to sedate you? When they arrive, you can just pull out the fork and slaughter everyone and escape," Korosen suggests almost immediately.
"Except they'd probably let me die here or go batshit crazy with their machine guns, so no," Nagisa sighs, finishing the last bite of his rice.
He replaces the tray on the dumbwaiter and only when the thing is locked does he realize that Korosen had cleaned the fork with a piece of tissue and left it on his desk, behind a pile of books. He sighs and smiles.
When night falls and all Nagisa sees is an abyss stretched around him, he tries to keep himself away by reciting the first two chapters of the Holy Bible. Funny thing is, there were no guards to keep watch at night and it's something he's grateful for.
When he's finished, Korosen will be dosing off in a corner.
"Korosen, wake up," Nagisa whispers into the gloom and it doesn't even take a second for the octopus to zoom over and sit at the edge of his bed.
Korosen cocks his head and looks expectantly at Nagisa. "Korosen, will you please sing me a song? I can't sleep."
It's the same request every single night. Watch the sun set from the room and let the darkness take over. Hear the guards amble away for the night and the silence settles in, creeping from the corner and tiding over the cell.
You know what they say.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
It's not so much that Nagisa was scared of the nightmares or darkness.
It was more of the fact that he was afraid of what was in the darkness, such as things that lurked and skulked in the darkness. Things like –
-Death.
Which made no sense, really, seeing how much he time he channeled into thinking up ways of committing suicide. Damn human instincts.
So Nagisa curls up and he doesn't protest when Korosen's tentacles curl around him, rocking him into sleep with a soft lullaby. It's a comforting warmth around him and this might be all he can afford in here.
Naturally, it's a surprise to Nagisa the next morning when Korosen is gone and he's lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling again, trying not to instinctively succumb to sleep when someone, horrifyingly, not Korosen or himself, hums the lullaby.
Getting out of bed would have been a good choice to find out just who on earth was going on with that song like a broken recorder. If definitely wasn't a guard, since they all hated him and none of them ever stayed the night.
Nagisa props himself up on the bed with an elbow.
But then again, even if he did find out, it wouldn't make a difference in his life, he rethinks, and flops back down on the mattress. Getting up was too much of a demanding task.
He almost jumps a mile high when there's a knock from the wall next to his bed. Wasn't next door an empty high security cell?
"Oi, are you awake yet," a lazy drawl calls out and Nagisa tries not to ogle too hard at the wall lest the guards come and try to sedate him for being insane….again.
Nagisa throws a glance at the window. It was still four in the morning. The guards wouldn't be arriving until seven. He turns to the wall and nods, until he remembers that the person on the other side couldn't see him. He settles with a quick "yes" and his voice sounds scratchy, like something being dragged across blackboards.
"Have you been here for long?" The other male questions.
"Two years," Nagisa replies, picking at some of the scabbing paint on the wall.
"Ah I see. I'll be here for the next fifteen years or so, for arson. My name's Karma, by the way. I'll be turning nineteen in December."
Nagisa pauses and tries to digest all the information. Nineteen in December, which meant that Karma was a year older than him.
"What your name?" Karma calls, softly rapping against the wall.
Silence settles over them and Nagisa wonders whether he should tell Karma his name, seeing as "Karma" couldn't possibly be a real name.
"My name is Edge," he confirms. The word slip off his tongue like water and Nagisa's always liked that word. It's what his name meant. Edge. He was the edge between life and death. He could reap lives as easy as breathing. All it took was a push to the victim and off the edge of life they went.
"Karma's not your real name is it? I've never came across anyone with such a name before," he cautions and the boy doesn't reply. "That's why I won't tell you my real name either," he continues and he swears that he could hear Karma chuckling from the other side.
"Maybe," Karma replies.
Nagisa can hear the bed creak as Karma shifts and changes position. From what he can hear, the other boy was sitting cross legged on the mattress.
"Well, anyway, it's nice to meet you. I hope we get along, Edge."
未完待續
a/n
review and let me know what you thought of it yeah. they motivate me.
constructive criticism is always good
~Ichiro
yes, i've deleted everything else because everything felt pretty shitty and it just had so much potential that i didn't really explore.
plot might change a bit, characterization should be deeper ect, so please bear with me.
thank you for everyone who has read/favorited/reviewed
